The Good, the Bad and the Snuggly

I live in a spaghetti western movie.

I didn't realize this until I began recording short videos of my home’s furry inhabitants.  

As I watched the videos—and my pets,when I wasn’t recording them—I realized there were...

Good guys and bad guys. 

Showdowns. Staredowns.

Thundering herds.

And music.

Actually, the music is all in my head…the kind that plays during the pivotal showdown scene, or when everyone saddles up and the posse heads out to catch the Bad Guy. So it seemed that nearly every video required a Ennio Morrione score.

Here are few examples.
(Each video is only 6 seconds long, since they were taken with Vine.)

Scene 1, Western:  Camera pans over a desolate landscape. Pushed by a dusty wind, a tumble weed skitters past the skeletal remains of an animal. The audience understands this is a place of emptiness.

Here’s how the scene plays out in my house:

Of course in my version, it’s not tumbleweeds  but stuffing that came from a headless and disemboweled plush horse, courtesy of Lilah. No skeletons, but close. And no emptiness. Definitely no emptiness. That would be impossible in a house with three dogs and four cats. 

Scene 2, Western: Bad Guy is holed up in the local flophouse, with an injury sustained in a gun battle during a bank robbery. Good Guy spots him, and the Bad Guy leaps out of the window onto his waiting horse and escapes.

My house:

While we’re not exactly talking Good Guys and Bad Guys here, Elsa Clair has been spotted by Calvin, and leaps to a quick getaway.

Scene 3, Western: The showdown. In the center of town, two men face each other, eyes glaring, fingers twitching, waiting to draw on each other. Kitty, the whore with a heart of gold, runs for the sheriff, who comes just in time to break it up “afore someone gets hurt.”

My version:

Athena and Calvin stare each other down, until Sheriff Tucker arrives to save the day. You'll note we have not one, two kitties.

End scene, Western: Good Guy figures the only way to catch Bad Guy is to set him up, create a trap that he can’t resist. Usually Bad Guy gets shot, but sometimes, he gets away and the audience knows he’ll be up to no good somewhere else. Maybe he’ll sneak back to hunt down the sheriff who ran him out of town.

And in my house:

Sly Elsa Clair knows Calvin is hungry, and waits for him from their feeding spot, on top of the buffet. She successfully runs him out of town…kitchen. But he’ll be back. And all my cats find ways to be up to no good somewhere.

Fade to black.

See what I mean?

Where’s Ennio Morricone when I need him?

Stair Down

A herd of buffalo live in my house.

Or may it's a dozen third-grade boys.

Poltergeists with bowling balls?

What I have is kittens. Though at just over a year, they're technically cats. Whatever the label, they have a combined weight of perhaps a dozen pounds. Which means there is no way I can explain the amount of thumping, crashing and thundering that occurs when Elsa Clair and Calvin play their favorite game, Chase on the Stairs.

If you live in a multi-level house with feline roommates, you may be familiar with this game. There are as many variations as there are shades of cat.

The game often begins with Someone peering down from the top of the stairs at Someone Else. That's the fun part about stairs: the staring from on high.

Calvin and Elsa Clair: the stair down.

The stair stares continue. Tension builds. An ear flicks. A whisker twitches.

The Stair Stare

Then Someone pops...and the Chase is on. China rattles. The dogs wake up. I get up from my morning coffee to investigate, expecting to see hordes of cats pouring down the staircase. Instead, I'm greeted with two tiny faces attached to small kitten bodies that are sitting calmly on the bottom step. They peer at me. "Kittens? Running? Nope, haven't seen any."

Fun on the stairs.

There must be a law of physics that can account for the huge sound of two kittens racing up and down a staircase. I know that f = m x a (Force equals Mass times Acceleration, for those who don't remember the formula from science class), but maybe there's a scientist somewhere who is working madly in his cramped lab on the top floor of Victorian home developing m x a x (2k + S) = Ch (Mass times Acceleration times 2 Kittens on the Stairs = Chaos).

Each step in our main staircase has a lip on it (technically called decorative nosing; I looked it up), which makes it perfect for Sneaking. Elsa Clair, who is the tinier of the two kittens, hides just under the nosing (See? I found a way to use my new word). At the top, Calvin will know, just KNOW she's there, but will be unable to see her from his vantage point. He also knows that, even though his sister is small, she packs a pretty good left hook, more daunting because of it's sharp and pointy edges.

Elsa Clair Sneaking

Calvin will take up a post at the top. He'll suddenly remember he hasn't cleaned his forehead.  Elsa Clair is patient, patient. The tip of her tail curls slightly to the right. Then the left. Stops. Calvin finishes his forehead and moves onto an ear. He gets distracted by an imaginary bug and looks up at the ceiling. Finally, he reaches a tentative paw over the edge of the step, followed slowly by another. Front half of cat on the first step, back half still moored to the floor. It seems safe. A cautious descent begins. From below, a tiny black ear tip moves; before Calvin can react, Elsa Clair charges up the stairs.

And the chase begins again.

The Chase!

Even with only one cat, stairs are fun. Calvin likes to roll on his back and claw his way up stair by stair, upside down.

Calvin ready to roll and rock.

Elsa Clair loves to peer through the balusters (another new word) and swat at people as they walk by.

Cuteness with pointy edges.

Living with cats, one might begin to think that the sole purpose of stairs is to provide amusement for kittens.

But then again, isn't that the main purpose of nearly anything?

Elsa Clair, the Great Black-and-White Hunter

As soon as I grab the leashes, they come running.

The cats.

The dogs come, too, but the cats get there first. Elsa Clair skids into the laundry room, brakes screeching (I swear!) as she makes a snap-quick turn to leap onto the counter. Calvin knows his sister has her paw on the pulse of all things interesting to cats, so he's not far behind. Athena, keenly aware of her dignity, arrives after the dogs and all their inconvenient large paws and waggy tails have settled into well-behaved Sits.

Jasper, Lilah and Tucker are currently being trained to WALK across the deck, and WALK down the stairs, instead of running like crazed derby horses when the gates are released, so leashes and treats are required equipment every time we go outside.

There's always a chance that a snack will fall from the treat bag as we're getting ready, which is one of the reasons the cats materialize when I'm about to take the dogs outside. However, the true cause for all the excitement is that when I open the door, Something might get inside. Its a sure sign that spring is here when the warmth brings out the insects and the cats turn into Bug Hunters.

There are several opportunities for the winged creatures to enter the house, beginning with the first time  I open the door for the dogs. Elsa Clair stands on the corner of the counter, neck stretched out, eyes wide, plaintive mrows escaping from under her quivering pink nose. Calvin peers over her shoulder.

Anything bugging you?

I come back in a few minutes later to hang up the leashes. If an invader has made it past the storm door,  Elsa Clair is instantly on the hunt. Calvin knows something is up, and is looking puzzled, but stands ready to steal his sister's prize. Athena takes up position on the washer or dryer, where she has the best view of the action. She likes to watch.

After dark, the porch light just outside the back door attracts the most fascinating prey. Almost every night, a twitchy lamp-blind moth slips in the house and sketches an erratic flight through the laundry room. As long as it stays on or very near the ceiling, it will live a few minutes. Once it comes below a certain height, it's demise is a near certainty.

If I can reach it, and the poor creature is harmless, I'll capture it gently and release it back into the wilds of suburban living. When I'm successful, the cats glare at me dolefully, not quite believing that I ruined their sport.

I can always tell when Elsa Clair has her sights on a bug. She narrates the process with a series of meerows, wows and trilling purrs that are off the charts on the Cat Sounds Adorability Rating Scale. Her mews and calls always sound like she's asking questions, as the tone of each utterance ends in an upnote of utter cuteness.

I have been attempting to record these sweet sounds for quite a while, but have been mostly unsuccessful.  Either Elsa Clair decides her soliloquy is over, or the bug is caught by the time I grab my cell phone, or--the most common occurance--some other sound like a barking dog (as if that ever happens in my house), interferes with the recording.

Below is a video with just a taste of Elsa Clair's adorable I'm Hunting a Bug song. The clip starts slow, but is worth watching in it's 22-second entirety. Please ignore the dog sound of Jasper slurping in the background.

High and Mighty

Every once in awhile, one of the cats discovers a New Place.  It's not as if her or she suddenly has access to unexplored territory. More likely, Someone realizes she can go somewhere she hasn't thought of previously, or he attempts to squeeze in, jump on, or go into someplace that just hadn't occurred to him until that moment.

Calvin had been eyeing the top of the medicine cabinet in our main bathroom for a couple of weeks. He would jump up on the counter while I was putting on my makeup in the morning. He'd climb in and out of the sink and be ever so Helpful in that way that cats have of being completely in the way. The he'd get bored, and I'd notice him looking up.

"Really Calvin?" I asked, when I realized what he was pondering. "Don't even think about it. It is Not a Good Idea. I haven't dusted up there in...hmm...well I don't know that I've ever dusted there." Yuck. Then I'd pull out my hair dryer and Stupendous Cat would get distracted by the cord, hop off the counter and suddenly remember he had some other kind of Trouble to get into.

Until last week. He began staring at the top of the cabinet the minute he hopped up on the counter. Then he hunched down and performed his ritual I'm Getting Ready to Jump butt wiggle. And up he went.

Ah, the look of accomplishment. Satisfaction. Superiority. Cats are so impressed with themselves when they reach a new higher-than-people spot. Okay, well, cats are impressed with themselves nearly all the time anyway, but the "I'm Impressive" meter goes to 11 on these occasions. Calvin was no exception. He paraded back and forth across the top, tail held high, reveling in his achievement.

Calvin reaches the summit.

The exultation lasted until Calvin realized I intended to leave the bathroom. That was the moment he figured out there was a down side to this feat. Literally. Our intrepid explorer had only considered how to go up; the reverse trip hadn't been given similar attention. This posed a bit of a conundrum.

He began the I Need to Get Down But Don't Know How To dance. If you've never seen it, it goes something like this: One step forward, one step back, one step forward, one step back. Repeat. Put your front half over the edge with paws on the vertical surface. Then scrunch back to your perch. Repeat three times. Sit down and clean yourself. Then start again, from the beginning.

After several rounds of the dance, the cat decides he or she really does need to get down, and--during one of the paws-on-vertical-surface moments--continues the movement into a hopefully-graceful-but-usually-not leap to the ground.

Once a cat has discovered a new place, of course, he must Return to it. He must Own it. He must show the world--and the other cats--that the most exalted of felines has reached new heights.

To do that, it is necessary to explore every inch of the fresh territory, ensuring no corner is left untouched, no dustball left undisturbed. Then you must lay down and roll around, striking adorable poses and ratcheting up the cute factor. This last bit delays the inevitable Get Down From There moment that humans always seem to reach way before cats do.

There's no more dust up here.

Striking a pose.

One of the bests parts of being First, though, is the amount of prestige one gains when one of the other cats sees you Up There. It didn't take long before Elsa Clair came strolling into the bathroom when Calvin was reigning. She padded nonchalantly onto the tiles and caught a deliberate movement from him, who was looking down at her. Elsa Clair stared at her brother: "How did you--?"

For a few moments, Calvin's cat smugness reading was off the charts.

Elsa Clair's eyes flashed to the counter. The mirror. The cabinet. She had the whole route planned out before she twitched another whisker.

She leapt to the counter.

Calculated the next jump.

Elsa Clair figures it out.

And joined Calvin at the top.

The two cats stared at each other. Ears flicked. Eyes squinted. Volumes were spoken. Calvin poked Elsa Clair.  Slowly, grudgingly, the interloper conceded the victory. Besides, the top of the medicine cabinet was boring.

The staredown

Elsa Clair left.

Calvin wore his greatness like a crown the rest of the day.

Calvin, King of the Bathroom

The Carpet Shark Attacks

With three dogs and four cats in the house, one does not need to channel surf to find something entertaining to watch. Usually, all you have to do is look around until you find a four-legged Someone to provide amusement.  More often than not, there are several at hand. Particularly for me, since I tend to travel the house with a dog and cat entourage.

Calvin is such a funny cat that he nearly always provides a laugh or two or seventeen. I'm not so sure the dogs agree, but they are very tolerant of his antics. The other day, he was in a bit of a mad cat mood and decided that his toy of choice for the moment was Lilah. He became Calvin the Carpet Shark, a dastardly denizen of the family room, who preys on its unknowing inhabitants. The kitten crouched down low, waggled his little butt and pounced in Lilah's general direction. 

Lilah, bemused, nosed him and ever so gently took one of his paws in her mouth. He rolled over on his back and grabbed her with his claws. Not meanly, just playfully. And he showed her his Big Kitty Jaws of shark teeth--to make a more powerful impression.

Of course Lilah was spectacularly unimpressed, but she went along with the game, standing quietly through the Calvin attack. At one point, it look like he was Velcroed to her face, but she didn't mind. The cat continued swatting and rolling, adding a few mews for effect. 

It was definitely worthy of a giggle or two on my part, but I didn't let it go on too long. A toss of a furry mouse magicked Calvin the Carpet Shark into Calvin the Great Mouse Hunter, and off he ran. 

I believe the slow wag and quick glance Lilah gave me as she lay down with a sigh could be loosely translated as a thank you. 

I swear, it's better than Animal Planet. And it's 24/7.

Lilah, you have something on your face. Oh, wait, that's Calvin.

CSI My Kitchen, Part II

In my last post (which I recommend reading before you read further on this one), I had made a rather disheartening discovery one morning of a toy Mousie laying in a sad, wet puddle in my kitchen. A few days later, I was confronted with the felt-eyed stare of another victim.

My current theory was that they had been Waterbowled.

Since my dogs were with me all night, they had....ahem...watertight alibis.  So I figured the culprit was one of the cats or kittens. But Dawn, Athena, Calvin and Elsa Clair were all innocence and whiskers, and nobody came forward as a witness, or to confess.

With two dunked Mousies, I wondered if perhaps the perpetrator was making a game out of it, and feared this may be just the start of a trend.

And then, a few days after I encountered the first two victims, my fears were realized, as yet another bedraggled and sogged cat toy lay just a few inches from the water bowl.

Victim #3: Another Pink Mousie

I had to face the facts; we now had on our hands--or paws--a Serial Dunker.

And it only got worse from there.

Every few days I would discover a new twist on the crime:

Three Dunked Mousies:

Multiple victims

Two victims, still in the water bowl:

Floating like ex-goldfish.

Dunked Crinkle Balls:

Jasper is on the case.

It looked like our perp was getting creative.

Once again, I tried to interrogate our four suspects. The following are excerpts from our interviews. I've provided translations for those who don't speak Cat.

Me: Dawn, where were you last night?
Dawn: Merp. Merp. Mowl. [Translation: I was sleeping. Or something. Where's my Noms?]

Dawn

Me: Athena, were you responsible for this wet Mousie?
Athena: Mew. Ew. Ew. [Translation: Yuck! I wouldn't touch that thing. It's wet.]

Athena

Me: Calvin, do you know who waterbowled this Mousie?
Calvin: Mrow! Eerow. Purr. Purr. Purr. [Translation:  Mousie! I want to play with it.]

Calvin

Me: Elsa Clair, what do you know about these Dunked Mousies?
Elsa Clair: Meeoow? Marow wow. Purr. [Translation: Dunked Mousies? I don't know anything. Gotta run, got stuff to do.]

Elsa Clair

In short, I was getting nowhere fast.

And I was running out of Mousies.

And thus, I felt lucky when the next weekend I got a break in the case.

Or maybe luck had nothing to do with it. I was home and therefore was able to keep a closer eye on Things. Like Cats.

I had decided to try an experiment; I didn't clean up the Dunked Mousies immediately after discovering them. I left them out, to see who might play with them; maybe I'd catch our little Dunker in the act.

Sure enough, Calvin came by. Started pawing at the wet Mousies. Batting at them. Sniffing at them. But that's all he did. And it didn't prove anything other than the fact that Calvin found waterlogged fake fur intriguing enough to play with.

These Mousies are wet!

Calvin toys with one of his...toys.

The next day, yet another sad little Mousie floated in the waterbowl. Even though it seemed wrong somehow, I left it there for awhile.

Once again, Calvin took interest. He sniffed at and then gently touched the bobbing blue toy. A few times. Then he walked away. And that was that. Which only showed that my little black and white kitty liked to poke things in the water. It just wasn't enough.

What's in the waterbowl, Calvin?

Mousie smells kinda watery.

And then...it stopped. As suddenly as it started.

The toys were still found in various places around the house.

But not in or near the waterbowl. And not drenched.

Weeks went by. I guess Someone got bored. Or wet. Or cautious.

No more bodies. No more floating Mousies.

Calm settled over the household. I began to walk barefoot again. I would look in the waterbowl and find only water.

Until, one day in late winter, while my husband was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with his requisite glass of Ovaltine, he saw it.

From across the table he could see Calvin facing the waterbowl with his back to Brian. With a flick of his paw, Calvin fished a Mousie out of the water. And then picked it up in his mouth and plunked it back in. Flicked it out. Dunked it in. Flicked it out.

Perhaps feeling Brian's accusatory gaze, Calvin froze and turned around. He looked at Brian, calmly turned around and walked away, tail held high.

Of course that doesn't really prove anything about the original crimes. Perhaps Calvin had been the culprit all along. Maybe he learned from the real mastermind, who has since given up the habit.

But that  was the last of it. Months later and there have been no additional victims.

The Mousies in our house can rest easy.

It's over.

Or  is it?

And so it begins...

[CUE SCARY MUSIC.]

CSI My Kitchen

In the winter morning darkness, I tried not to stumble down the stairs. Jasper, Lilah and Tucker, all legs and tails and happy moods, swirled around me. Though I've been getting up for years at this obscene hour of the day, 6 AM always seems much more objectionable when the sun hasn't even thought about approaching the horizon. And here, on the mountaintop, where the rays take their time to climb past the height and the trees, it's tempting to call it night time and creep back to bed.

But one has to pay the bills, and the Dogs Need to Go Outside and the Cats Must Be Fed. And so it goes most weekday mornings as I convince myself I don't have to turn on the lights. Because I shouldn't have to do that in the morning. I just shouldn't. And if I squint the right way, I can see enough through the limpid dark to get to the kitchen. Only then do I allow myself to flip a switch; since I'm turning the lights on in just one room, it somehow feels a little more acceptable to my sleep-deprived brain.

Which is why, in the moment before my fingers reached out to shed some light on my morning, I didn't see it. And I stepped in it.

Nothing like putting a bare and vulnerable foot into something wet and slippery and unseen to stop you cold. If you have pets, you'll understand the list of possibilities that flashed through my head at that frozen moment.

I slapped the light on.

And looked down.

The lifeless body lay limply on my kitchen floor. The tail thrown at an awkward angle. Eyes black and sightless as felt. Pink ears darkened and sagging. Fur wet, matted...and blue.

It took me a moment to register the death of a cat toy--a once vibrant blue fake-fur Mousie.

While my husband and I and the dogs had slept blissfully unaware--well, maybe not blissfully, but definitely unaware--a tiny kitty plaything was being drenched and ruined.

I had walked into a crime scene, literally, as I was still standing in a splash of water,  a few inches away from the victim.

The Victim: Blue Mousie

But right now, I had business to attend to, as Jasper, Lilah and Tucker reminded me, scampering to the back door in anticipation of their morning constitutional.

Leaving the scene undisturbed, I took the dogs outside, set them to their business and returned, to begin the slow, painstaking work of solving the Mystery of the Drowned Mousie.  That was my theory, at least; death by waterbowl.  Anyway, with the dogs outside, it would be a little easier to look for clues without a dozen large paws muddying the evidence.

I removed the body and placed it by a heating vent, in the hope that it would dry out enough to still be a viable kitty amusement. Other than the splashes of water and the proximity to the bowl, there were no other hints of the culprit or the act; whoever he or she was had not left behind any telling details.

I brought the dogs in and began the daily breakfast routine, feeding the cats first, then the dogs. As the kitties chowed down, I looked at the fe-line up and pondered which of them had done in the Mousie.

The Line Up

Jasper, Lilah and Tucker, of course, had perfect alibis; they were with my husband and I all night, in our bedroom with the door closed. And since I was the last human to bed, I knew first-hand there were no bodies in the kitchen before I headed upstairs.

I decided to interrogate the cats that night, after I got home from work. I interviewed them one at a time, away from each other, in case Someone was in cat cahoots with Someone Else.

"Does this look familiar?" I asked each cat, holding up the now-dried but somewhat scraggly blue fur toy by the tail. I was hoping to catch the killer off guard and reveal a guilty look.

The Suspects:

Dawn, the Queen

Athena, the Master Mind

Calvin, Stupendous Cat

Elsa Clair, Smart 'n' Sweet 

The results were somewhat predictable.

Each cat in turn looked adorable, swatted at the toy and then chased it when I tossed it across the floor.

Note to self: Cats Don't Do Guilt.

With no clues, no additional evidence, no confessions and no witnesses, my case had reached a dead end rather quickly. I was stumped and it looked like our mystery would never be solved.

Maybe, though, I was looking at it wrong. It could have been an accident. Perhaps someone had inadvertently knocked the Mousie in the waterbowl from atop the buffet. Instead I should be looking for the hero who fished it out.

The story could have ended right there. I had started to think I had an anonymous cat crusader, rescuing helpless toys from the terror of the deep water dish. I began to look at my cats with pride, knowing one of them had seen a wrong and righted it.

But sometimes evildoers get hooked on the evil that they do. And mischief makers want to make more mischief.  And thus it was when I came downstairs a few days later to find another victim.

This time it was pink.

Victim #2: Pink Mousie

Once again, the sad, soggy fake-furry creature lay in a puddle of water. Once again, the absence of clues was maddening. And once again, the cats maintained their innocence.

Over the next several days, I would find myself looking at the bewhiskered suspects. "Which of you is it? Which of you during the darkest hours of the night finds it a satisfying to dunk a Mousie?"

I couldn't helping thinking as I looked into those enigmatic eyes above cute pink noses. Someone is Hiding Something.

Okay, well, Someone Hides Something nearly every day, as I discover cat toys under pillows, tucked in couch cushions and mixed in with the laundry. But this was different.

Deep inside, I feared that one of them had become a serial dunker.

And it would be only a matter of time before another Mousie got dunked.

Will the kitty culprit strike again?
Will I have to buy more Mousies?
Will we ever know whodunit?

Read my next post to find out.

Cache & Carry

If you share your home with cats or kittens, or spend any time with animals of the feline variety, you will know that one of their favorite things to do is to poke their paws into things. Around things. Through things. And under things.

So it came as no surprise to me, and probably wouldn't surprise anyone who knows kitties, to have come across our Calvin with his little furry paws madly scrabbling underneath the bookcase in my kitchen. Probably a lost kitty toy, I figured.

Calvin trying to reach something.

Who could resist that adorable face? I had to help him get what was underneath the bookcase.

I tried to reach under the bookcase, but my hand couldn't fit.

Now it so happens that we keep a yardstick under the couch in the family room. This would make perfect sense if you knew anything about our friend Tucker's favorite game--well, second favorite after chasing The Ball. This game involves putting The Ball in an inaccessible place, unsuccessfully trying to retrieve it, and then whining pitifully until somebody gets it for him.

Such an inaccessible place, for example, is under the couch. This has happened enough times that we decided it was expedient to keep a yardstick under the couch for the unfortunately not-so-rare occasions when Tucker decides that it's the best place to roll his Ball. Then all we have to do is reach under the couch, grab the yardstick and pull it towards us and, somewhat miraculously for Tucker, we've saved the day as the slobbery blue Ball comes rolling out from underneath.

But I digress.

Getting back to the cat-astrophe at hand--or paw--I grabbed the yardstick out from under the family room couch and used it to sweep under the bookcase to get whatever toy was under there that was tempting Mr. Calvin so.

Calvin, the ever Helpful cat

Looks like I found something

And what I found was the Mother Lode.

If you look past the begonia petals from the plant on the plant stand above, you will see no less than 20 kitty toys--and an arrow-shaped magnet, which had become a kitty toy.

For a moment, Calvin is more interested in the yardstick than the toys.

One might well ask, why so many toys? And thus, I will provide one with an answer. Every night, Jasper, Lilah, and Tucker sleep in our bedroom with Brian and I, while we leave the cats the run of the house. And right before we head upstairs, I take a handful of cat toys and scatter them on the floor, so that the cats and kittens can amuse themselves in the evening after we've retired. In the mornings, when I come downstairs, I pick up whatever toys are left, and put them away. This is because my dogs think all toys are dog toys and great fun is had by all of the pups as they run  around with tiny kitty toys in big slobbery doggy mouths. The end result is usually a mangled mess of crunched up fuzzy bits, which aren't even interesting to kittens.

Now don't worry about whether the cats and kittens have enough to play with during the day. There's always each other and of course the dogs themselves. And there are always a few toys left out that they can pounce on and chase and bury in blankets and run around with. And while the dogs still sometimes get to those toys, there are usually one or two survivors. And of course, there are nighttime toys.

So now, another routine is added to our evening ritual. Before I grab some cat toys and throw them on the floor, I grab the yardstick from under the family room couch and take a nice sweep underneath the bookcase in case there are toys that are needed for the evening.

Dawn stops by to assess the Evening Recovery Mission.

They might even be enough to share? Well if there were a word for "share" in Cat.

During one of my nightly sweeps, I made yet another discovery: I noticed that all the toys were the same.

(I guess, at this point, I should admit that I did buy some kitty toys in bulk. Because, well, there's Jasper, Lilah and Tucker.  And it's less expensive to buy a couple dozen cat toys wholesale.)

While I was pulling the cache of similar cat toys out from under the bookcase, Ms. Athena  made an appearance. And it seemed that she was even more interested than usual in what I was doing.

Athena takes notice.

And Calvin joins in the fun.

That's when it occurred to me: these must be Athena's favorite toys, her favorite mousies. And what made this so interesting was because in all of her two years with us, Athena has rarely ever played with toys. She seems afraid of them--or afraid that someone--let's call her Dawn--will pounce her and take it away if she tries to play with a toy.

Lots of the same kind of mousie.

It turns out that Athena does, in fact, have a favorite type of mouse. And she plays with that mouse-- or those mice--in a special spot in the corner where Dawn and the kittens don't tend to bother her. I guess somewhere along the way, during the night, Athena loses them under the bookcase.

Now I pay special attention to the kitty toys that I toss on the floor every night. And I make sure that there are at least a few of Athena's favorites included among the evening's choices.

Athena with one of her special mousies.

I think everyone should be able to have their own special mousie.

Living Together

In the end, it took about six weeks...from kittens hidden away like fairy tale characters in their bathroom safe room, to full-fledged family members roaming amidst the friendly monsters/inhabitants who inhabit the world inside our home.

In my last post, the kittens were spending time inside a pen I set up in our family room. And when the dogs were outside chasing squirrels in the back yard, I would let Elsa Clair and Calvin run around the house; this helped them become familiar with lots of kitty Hidey Places and escape routes.

By this time, our two babies were such escape artists that there were daily close encounters with the dogs and cats as one or the other of the little fur balls flew over the gate when I opened the bathroom door. The dogs were mostly compuzzled; the cats were a little annoyed. But there was no meanness or chasing from the elder critters, and no fear from the kittens. It was time to let everyone mingle.

Armed with a squirt bottle in one hand and some treats in my pocket to control dogs and cats, I allowed the kittens the run of the house--well, almost the run.  Many of the bedroom doors were closed to restrict their access.  Since the kittens knew their way around the rest of the rooms, it made it easy to follow them as they explored and played and kittied here and there.

Dawn and Athena didn't really Like the kittens. Of course, they are Cats, and if it wasn't the Cat's Idea to get the kittens (and it was most certainly Not), then they don't like it. They registered their displeasure with hisses and glares, but eventually got used to the extra felines in the house. I fed them together, gave them all treats at the same time, and made sure to pet and give Scratchies to the elder cats whenever the kittens were around.  This may have helped a bit.

And while Their Highnesses would probably not willingly admit it, I think they're starting to like the little black and white Nuisances. I've seen Athena come bolting through the kitchen with Calvin hot on her tail. And when nobody is looking, late at night, Dawn and Elsa Clair sleep next to each other on a furry cloth at the top of the stairs.

Dawn and Elsa Clair sharing a bed. Jasper looks a tad Worried. But that's Jasper's normal state.

Feeding time is happy time. Usually, everyone is in the same positions. Athena and Dawn on either end, and the kittens in the center.

Athena grooms Dawn, while Elsa Clair takes notes.

Athena grabs a Secret Sniff of Elsa Clair.

 

The Queen is in residence. A lowly kitten is Not Welcome.

Athena jumped onto her bed only to discover it was occupied by Elsa Clair. Neither was giving up an inch. The Queen was Not Pleased. 

Calvin and Athena play Cat Inside the Box. In this case, the CIB was Dawn.

A variation of CIB is Cat Inside the Drum. The kittens are fascinated. I think Dawn was having fun.

Athena teaches Elsa Clair and Calvin the finer points of Helping put the groceries away.

 

During Hurricane Sandy, we took refuge in the basement, where Athena served as referee during a competitive game of foosball between the kittens.

Dawn demonstrates the Full Meatloaf position to Calvin.

As for the dogs, the squirt bottle turned out to be mostly unnecessary. I think I only had to use it twice ...mostly a warning shot across someone's bow to make sure they weren't too aggressively nosey with the kittens. Because now that they had access, Jasper, Lilah and Tucker just wanted to Smell them. And by Smell them, I mean stick your nose as far into kitty fur as you can get and Inhale.  Deeply. It's a wonder they didn't sniff the kittens right up their nostrils. The dogs could have broke their Sniffers with the amount of of snorting they attempted.

Two dog noses trying to Sniff Elsa Clair. Jasper's head is about the same size as Elsa's entire body, but she doesn't seem to mind.

Elsa Clair and Jasper nose to nose.

Tucker is trying to figure out what could be so interesting about paper in a Box. Calvin is happy to show him.

 

Jasper discovers a potential stowaway in Aaron's luggage. He promises Calvin he won't tell.

Once they got their fill of Sniffs, then it was on to Licks. Actually, that was mostly Lilah. The kittens needed to be Cleaned. Really. She spent the good part of several days hanging around, trying to lick Someone. Didn't matter whether it was Elsa Clair or Calvin. She just want one Lick. Or maybe two. Her Dr. Lilah instincts were so strong, she just had to Lick a Kitten. For the most part, they would walk away from Lilah, or offer a tiny Leave Me Alone hiss.  Until one day, she caught Elsa Clair in Sleepy Kitty Mode. That day surely ranks as one of the Top Five for Lilah.

Lilah gets a Good Sniff of a sleepy Elsa Clair.

Elsa is so comfortable with the dogs around that she just dozes off. And Lilah--Happy Happy Lilah--was able to just lay there and Sniff to her heart's content.

Eventually, Calvin joined his sister in the cat bed. And patient, patient Lilah got to Lick Calvin's ears. It was a banner day.

Today, four months after Elsa Clair and Calvin came to live with us, peace reigns in our home. Everyone gets along, for the most part, though sometimes there are differences of opinion as in any typical home. But usually those are quickly solved, with few issues. I think the only thing that has ever gotten hurt was Tucker's feelings after his Ball antics had irritated Athena one time too many and she swatted him just for walking by her.

Everyone tries to respect each other now. With an emphasis on "tries." We're all fallible here--humans, dogs and cats. Nobody's perfect (though I would guess the Dawn and Athena might argue with that.)

Tucker is Worried. Is that where kittens come from? He thought they were dust bunnies. Maybe they're Dust Kittens? We'd better keep the floors swept.

The dogs may all run to look out the window, but the commotion is not enough to make Elsa Clair and Calvin leave their comfortable bed.

Favorite Kitten Game: chase the dogs' leashes as we get ready to Go Outside. Lilah and Calvin are having some fun with Chase the Leash here.

Typical daytime scene: Tucker, Calvin, Athena and Jasper share the couch.

Typical nighttime scene: Jasper, Calvin and Lilah share the couch.

"I got something on my foot." Calvin curled up on Jasper's foot and fell asleep. Jasper spent about 5 minutes worrying about it; he didn't want to wake up the sleeping kitty. Eventually, he slowly and gently slid his paw out from under him, without a murmur from Calvin.