tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46547250276881702862024-03-13T23:21:03.796-07:00Capricious MischiefMusings, commentary, and all-around nonsense, generally posted by one of a pair of Siamese cats. Honest!Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-45981220430948570362011-03-29T22:01:00.000-07:002011-03-29T22:09:30.311-07:00Winston: Treasures from Afar<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Our human has friends all over. It’s sort of strange, not to have met nose-to-nose, and yet one feels a close friendship with someone from a distant place, even from the other side of the world. However, since my brother and I claim friends from many lands, we can relate to such friendships.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Today, Mom brought home two packages from the office. She said something about “a gift-sharing Facebook thing” with her friends. Being friendly sorts ourselves, and always enjoying a good prezzie or two, we were both totally on board with <i>that </i>idea!</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">We have the philosophy – adopted in kittenhood – that any parcel within the house is <b>ours</b>. We care not whose name is on the address label, we <i>know </i>to whom it really belongs! So we proceeded with our usual thorough inspection of the puffy envelope and an intriguing double-component crate set, just as we had as kittens.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uNL91UdK45Y/TZKviolFFqI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/0u5M1GPA5Xo/s1600/Boxessssss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uNL91UdK45Y/TZKviolFFqI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/0u5M1GPA5Xo/s320/Boxessssss.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The first item Mom picked up was the puffy envelope. “Don’t worry about the contents, just hand us the packaging and we’ll make short order of it,” said my brother. Mom declined our assistance. But when Frank discovered the boxes inside were tied with the type of ribbon for which he has a strange fascination, he was completely enraptured and he moved in, as if hypnotized. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">“Oh no you don’t!” warned Mom. “Last time you got your paws on a piece of that gauzy ribbon, you mangled it beyond recognition AND left me with a pool of kitty spit to clean up!”</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Franklin then pretended disinterest with the ribbon (yeah, sure!) but gazed with rapt appreciation at the contents of the package: a necklace and earring set with pictures of… US! </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GXhrjmZeG68/TZKthfytMsI/AAAAAAAAAU4/DbPim5mCfFw/s1600/Jewelry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GXhrjmZeG68/TZKthfytMsI/AAAAAAAAAU4/DbPim5mCfFw/s320/Jewelry.jpg" width="195" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Seriously, folks, we had no idea we had ever posed for works of art, but then, Mom says we ARE works of art, so… ^^ The other box in that envelope held a beautiful item that perfectly addresses Mom’s Halloween obsession. To be tucked away carefully and only to be revealed at the proper season, she states, we are sure she will be the envy of all at her fall parties when she sports that adornment. And, she said, it's Guild Wars perfect!</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> The second package came in two parts. The first contained some sort of paper object. Mom was so pleased she positively gasped when she saw it. “A drawing of my character” she squealed. Amidst murmurs of “I’m going to frame that” and “Oh cute, a painting from a little one, too” we put a bored paw to mouth and said, “Move on. Move <i><b>on</b></i>. Enough with the art -- that second box is tinkling, ringing, making sounds of a MOST intriguing kind!”</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Mom opened the box, and inside was a selection of deluxe chocolates for her (meh, we say, but she was ecstatic) and most importantly, IMPORTED KITTY TOYS <i>pour nous</i>!</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Mom started talking to us about “down under,” but all we really wanted was to get <i>down under </i>the toys. We knew what to do, and we moved into the proper mode, as Play Tester Win and Play Tester Frank.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">First, we noted a catnip mouse! But we did not hurry, for as testers, we knew that before downloading the software a virus check was... I mean, before play testing, the sniff test was required. ^^</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The rodent, having passed the inspection with flying colours, was then investigated for The Play Factor.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-P_rxrLE2oGQ/TZKuK2XdCMI/AAAAAAAAAU8/FhZgeRcrZXI/s1600/Blog+%25236.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-P_rxrLE2oGQ/TZKuK2XdCMI/AAAAAAAAAU8/FhZgeRcrZXI/s320/Blog+%25236.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> Excellent!</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Next up -- a metal ball with a jingling plushie inside! Again, a cautious, distant inspection was in order at the start.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fzM3MnchTdQ/TZKyCBF2-_I/AAAAAAAAAVY/KTAUzHH5pwM/s1600/032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fzM3MnchTdQ/TZKyCBF2-_I/AAAAAAAAAVY/KTAUzHH5pwM/s320/032.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Then actual gameplay was researched. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HXpCMDxs4Fk/TZKuYJjKMoI/AAAAAAAAAVA/NgNl_vnJ41o/s1600/Blog+%25233.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HXpCMDxs4Fk/TZKuYJjKMoI/AAAAAAAAAVA/NgNl_vnJ41o/s320/Blog+%25233.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">5 out of 5! </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Finally, the dangling ball-bell-fluffy-on-a-stick thing was ready to go. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">It flew past our heads, slowly at first, then faster and faster. We went from intrigued to frenzied in about 4.3 nanoseconds! </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">We tried a paw tap.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N7MOvXXhBQ8/TZKusHwJ6fI/AAAAAAAAAVI/VPYhEa_APKI/s1600/Blog+%25235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N7MOvXXhBQ8/TZKusHwJ6fI/AAAAAAAAAVI/VPYhEa_APKI/s320/Blog+%25235.jpg" width="188" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">And eventually did the full leap into the air. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> (Note: My ears are back because I'm not even <i>close </i>to forgiving the last time he launched-and-landed -- on my tum!)</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">End of the day, Brother Franklin learned how to hook the metal ball with his paw and toss the ball across the room. (Well, fine, toss it about 18 inches, but it was impressive still!) I learned how to pounce and silence the wiggly stick thingie. And we rated all toys two paws up -- way up!</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">After a heavy evening of testing, I found a spot and settled down for...err... a closer inspection of the one toy and perhaps... *yawn*... a wee nap. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k3tX9Sf1oKQ/TZKyzM0TW-I/AAAAAAAAAVk/RlMeRsKMaFw/s1600/Blog+%252310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k3tX9Sf1oKQ/TZKyzM0TW-I/AAAAAAAAAVk/RlMeRsKMaFw/s320/Blog+%252310.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Thank you, kind friends, from all of our family! ^^ </span></span>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-59022520542269248982011-01-09T22:15:00.000-08:002011-01-09T22:46:50.347-08:00Franklin: Dishevelment<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Dishevel: to cause untidiness and disarray. Example: “The wind disheveled the papers on the desk.”</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> My brother and I are proud of our highly refined skills in the Art and Science of Catly Dishevelment.</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> In assessing the above definition, it’s important to note that the wind, the sea, nay in fact all the forces of nature <i>combined </i>have nothing on us!</span><br />
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<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Have you recently remodeled? Be sure to see Special Consultant Winston at Interior Designs by Franklin for a feng shui review.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TSqcCkAn7bI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/CLH51MuMp5U/s1600/Feng+Shui.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TSqcCkAn7bI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/CLH51MuMp5U/s320/Feng+Shui.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> Visiting the nursery? We’ll be happy to “quality test” your plants.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TSqbjy3fkvI/AAAAAAAAAUM/jqMN3-nf6dA/s1600/Plants+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TSqbjy3fkvI/AAAAAAAAAUM/jqMN3-nf6dA/s320/Plants+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TSqa_-728fI/AAAAAAAAAT4/L_0q6jUlZu8/s1600/Plants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TSqa_-728fI/AAAAAAAAAT4/L_0q6jUlZu8/s320/Plants.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Positioning a throw rug? Count on our teamwork to hook claws into corners, roll over a time or two, pounce thrice and then toss it into the air. It is a <i> throw </i>rug, after all. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TSqbGoX4ATI/AAAAAAAAAT8/gXOvbQ8v6-I/s1600/disheveled+rug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TSqbGoX4ATI/AAAAAAAAAT8/gXOvbQ8v6-I/s320/disheveled+rug.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Those who collect plushies—and let me tell you this home seems full of them—should know that either of us will be happy to pull down a selected beast, wrestle it into submission, and personalize it with random kitty spit and mangled body parts. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TSqiPULGTmI/AAAAAAAAAUU/6sFpOtjQcVY/s1600/Win+%2526+Trudi+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TSqiPULGTmI/AAAAAAAAAUU/6sFpOtjQcVY/s320/Win+%2526+Trudi+005.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">If you're decorating your indoor tree, do remember that no matter how cunningly you place those fragile ornaments on the topmost branches, we can reposition them at will. Some ornaments have been discovered lying on the floor, occasionally even unbroken, after an “unexplained fall” of more than 10 feet. As a special gift, we'll happily inspect your packages and randomly ingest yarn and ribbon in an effort to add a hint of seasonal colour to the litter box.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TSqbMpY49LI/AAAAAAAAAUA/urRLWnImCsE/s1600/Christmas+Tree+Inspector.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TSqbMpY49LI/AAAAAAAAAUA/urRLWnImCsE/s320/Christmas+Tree+Inspector.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Your paltry “Keep things away from the kitties” measures are doomed if you think placement on the eight-foot curio is the way to go. We’ll simply sally to the edge of a chair, judge the trajectory, align our sensors, use the hanging plate on the wall as a way-point, and land soundlessly on top of the cabinet, after which we can enjoy a leisurely afternoon of tossing the Christmas tree, angel, plush bear, and wreath over the edge. Come on, you didn’t <i>really </i>think that angel committed suicide by hanging herself off the side of the cabinet, did you?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> Oh, and if you believe your paper products are safe, think again.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TSqbSTo3FAI/AAAAAAAAAUE/AWr4PGz2zCo/s1600/Paper+Towels.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TSqbSTo3FAI/AAAAAAAAAUE/AWr4PGz2zCo/s320/Paper+Towels.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> Tonight Mom learned that her $200 stereo cables were broken. We have no idea how that happened, but we were relieved to hear Mom say “It wasn’t the cats – the connectors broke off, and they couldn’t have done something like that!” Paw on heart, it’s true: we’re innocent of breaking the connectors. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The happy news is that Mom learned the cables have a lifetime warranty. The not-so-happy news is that she’s now faced with a challenge of explaining the hundreds of tiny chew marks that surround said connectors…</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TSqbW_cmgNI/AAAAAAAAAUI/fey2k8aALJk/s1600/Wired.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TSqbW_cmgNI/AAAAAAAAAUI/fey2k8aALJk/s320/Wired.jpg" width="189" /></a></div><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" />Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-88562563115735064692010-11-25T15:17:00.000-08:002010-11-25T23:03:06.061-08:00Winston: Snow Time Like the Present!<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">What week is better for a kitty than this week the human’s call “Thanksgiving?” Frank and I are very grateful for all that fills our lives: a warm home that hosts a comfy kitty tree with 2 (!) plush-lined baskets (customized as a pair of buckets rather than the standard one, to prevent feline friction), a plethora of kitty toys, delicious victuals, an electronic cat tray, our own special “end of the bed” blanket (although quite frankly one wonders if Mom needed to select a <span style="font-style: italic;">Tinkerbell </span>print!), abundant attention by our loving humans, a new human in the family (future pets and kisses are surely in the offing from this one!), a plump turkey roasting in the oven with morsels sure to be shared, and so much more.</span> <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br />
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And this year, there is something extra to fill our hearts, for this year there is <span style="font-weight: bold;">SNOW</span>!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Mom opened the deck door to take a photograph of an icicle suspended perilously from the edge of the roof. I wasted not a nanosecond taking advantage of the open door, slipping outside to experience this frozen water for myself.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7v7Ih6maI/AAAAAAAAARQ/_hhM6u6ugF4/s1600/November%2B2010%2B010.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543631990520715682" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7v7Ih6maI/AAAAAAAAARQ/_hhM6u6ugF4/s200/November%2B2010%2B010.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 150px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-style: italic;">I leap the white stuff, sure to leave no trace of my presence.<br />
</span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-style: italic;">I am invisible. I am<b> Stealth Kitty!</b></span><br />
<br />
<br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7wPH3-KMI/AAAAAAAAARY/ghkJlh7LIEY/s1600/November%2B2010%2B012.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543632333942171842" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7wPH3-KMI/AAAAAAAAARY/ghkJlh7LIEY/s200/November%2B2010%2B012.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 150px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a><span style="font-family: georgia; font-style: italic;"><br />
This looks intriguing!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7wuY89DtI/AAAAAAAAARo/aZp8miF3FJY/s1600/November%2B2010%2B013.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543632871102418642" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7wuY89DtI/AAAAAAAAARo/aZp8miF3FJY/s200/November%2B2010%2B013.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 150px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
Shall I? Shall I not?</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7w8FUn2LI/AAAAAAAAARw/Pgc3NX54e-o/s1600/November%2B2010%2B016.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543633106351151282" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7w8FUn2LI/AAAAAAAAARw/Pgc3NX54e-o/s200/November%2B2010%2B016.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 150px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dear heavens! I had no idea this stuff was so C-O-L-D!</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7xII91h4I/AAAAAAAAAR4/fhroDvK2x5s/s1600/November%2B2010%2B019.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543633313487751042" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7xII91h4I/AAAAAAAAAR4/fhroDvK2x5s/s200/November%2B2010%2B019.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 150px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
And now -- how do I make my escape?</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7xY4tn08I/AAAAAAAAASA/H2wD-TgaGeo/s1600/November%2B2010%2B020.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543633601182553026" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7xY4tn08I/AAAAAAAAASA/H2wD-TgaGeo/s200/November%2B2010%2B020.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 150px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
I look to the left.</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7yGN_87WI/AAAAAAAAASY/BTHIawa-43U/s1600/November%2B2010%2B021.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543634379990691170" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7yGN_87WI/AAAAAAAAASY/BTHIawa-43U/s200/November%2B2010%2B021.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 150px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a><span style="font-family: georgia; font-style: italic;"><br />
I look to the right.</span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7x8PTTMoI/AAAAAAAAASQ/JRKd2U4rjlU/s1600/November%2B2010%2B020.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><br />
<br />
</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7yPBZORGI/AAAAAAAAASg/8xBhYf3lWqQ/s1600/November%2B2010%2B025.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543634531225846882" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7yPBZORGI/AAAAAAAAASg/8xBhYf3lWqQ/s200/November%2B2010%2B025.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 150px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a><span style="font-family: georgia; font-style: italic;"><br />
I think this may be a bad choice in pathing.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7yXDlZjtI/AAAAAAAAASo/E4R-D2znI8g/s1600/November%2B2010%2B027.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543634669252742866" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7yXDlZjtI/AAAAAAAAASo/E4R-D2znI8g/s200/November%2B2010%2B027.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 150px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a><span style="font-family: georgia; font-style: italic;"><br />
There is nothing to do but bravely set course and move forward.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: georgia; font-style: italic;">I feel my Stealth Mode may be slipping away.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7yhloTU0I/AAAAAAAAASw/EgOts7Nti9A/s1600/November%2B2010%2B028.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543634850190414658" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7yhloTU0I/AAAAAAAAASw/EgOts7Nti9A/s200/November%2B2010%2B028.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 150px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a><span style="font-family: georgia; font-style: italic;"><br />
Drat! Evidence!</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7yvPAJMjI/AAAAAAAAAS4/k7PLklbAbLY/s1600/November%2B2010%2B033.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543635084634567218" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/TO7yvPAJMjI/AAAAAAAAAS4/k7PLklbAbLY/s200/November%2B2010%2B033.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 200px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 150px;" /></a><span style="font-family: georgia; font-style: italic;"><br />
What am I doing, Mom?<br />
Oh, just a bit of personal grooming.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">{The white flakes between my pawpads are a mere figment of your imagination.}</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br />
</span></div></span></span></div></div>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-42121605475090146622010-01-16T22:17:00.000-08:002010-11-25T23:04:02.616-08:00Where The Wild Things Are<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 100%;">My humans were talking the other day about how the neighborhood has changed. Mom mourned the loss of the local livestock and what she called “the blight of stacked housing developments.” (Frankly, I don’t know why she objects to stacked housing – our five-tier stacked kitty tree is excellent!) She said that once a drive to the store meant “passing farmers on tractors and fields of contented cows.” (I wonder: are cows always contented, or is that simply a human myth?) Anyway, to hear her tell it, the drive these days is more likely to involve construction signs and backed-up traffic.<br />
<br />
But perhaps she mourned too soon. For in fact, the truth is out there—outside our back door. The area is not fully urbanized yet!<br />
<br />
You know of Little Buddy, and his frequent visits to our home, in part to play, in part to consume the morsels and tidbits that our dutiful humans put outside for him. It appears we now have a Big Buddy, too.<br />
<br />
It all started last night. I was napping in the kitty hammock; Win was curled up near Mom on the sofa. The television was on. (She’s watching another bloomin’ British mystery series? Good grief!) Suddenly, we heard a loud “thump” outside the house. Mom looked outside the downstairs drapes but saw nothing. Then, murmuring that the sound seemed to have come from somewhere above, she went upstairs and looked out on the deck.<br />
<br />
“Hey,” Mom said, when she came back downstairs, “it’s a raccoon, boys. Come look!”<br />
<br />
We hurried to the curtains and slowly, clumsily making his way down the post of the deck was a large quadrapedal creature—grey and black—with black-tipped ears and a dashing facial feature covering his eyes. Said feature was not unlike my own, though he lacked the full facial coverage—eyes and snoot—that makes my breed so extraordinarily handsome.<br />
<br />
Win and I did a little window pawing, and the creature responded by doing a bit of seeming-friendly window action of his own. Mom hurried for a camera and snapped one shot, but she says it’s hardly worth my including it here, as it wasn’t “flash” (whatever that means) and “it’s pretty blurry.”<br />
<br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/S1KvzZeybWI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/8kosaYo4r4w/s1600-h/Big+Buddy+1-2010.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427593798483078498" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/S1KvzZeybWI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/8kosaYo4r4w/s200/Big+Buddy+1-2010.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 150px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a><span style="font-family: lucida grande; font-style: italic;">Franklin, Winston, and their new friend</span></div><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 100%;"><br />
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 100%;">The point is, though, that with the raucous crows in the alders, with squirrels that taunt us from the hemlocks, and now with Big Buddy, we’re closer to where the wild things are than we had ever thought!</span> </span>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-88438821381881493502009-12-29T23:11:00.000-08:002009-12-30T13:16:55.950-08:00Christmas Joy: 2009From distant <span style="font-size:100%;">memories </span>of kittenhood, I recall this thing called Christmas. Trees, lights, ornaments – it was all rather overwhelming for wee kits just a few months of age. Franklin and I had our fun, but we also engaged in an <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Escalating Nap Program™ </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">to avoid seasonal excess and to keep ourselves in our usual calm state. <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >*ahem*</span></span><span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SzvDFJYKePI/AAAAAAAAAQo/JRcnfhQ4O1s/s1600-h/Kittens+12-25-08+056.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SzvDFJYKePI/AAAAAAAAAQo/JRcnfhQ4O1s/s200/Kittens+12-25-08+056.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421141069654554866" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande; font-style: italic;">Last year -- oh the memories!</span></span></span></span></span></span><br /></div><span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This year, brother and I are fully engaged in all the season offers: From batting ornaments down the stairwell to inspecting packages for random bits of ribbons to nibbling the wreath to burning a few whiskers on the scented candles</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">—</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">we’re on board! There’s no need for an ENP this year... unless it’s for our humans. ^^</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We swung into Christmas Mode even before Mom carried the first of her 14 boxes of decorations down the attic stairs. You see, someone foolishly left the bathroom door open prior to decking the halls, and this allowed Frank to (again) express his undying love for The Tiger plush toy.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Szr9rCBPDmI/AAAAAAAAAPI/NRyzej0_kbw/s1600-h/Frank+and+Friend.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Szr9rCBPDmI/AAAAAAAAAPI/NRyzej0_kbw/s200/Frank+and+Friend.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420924017212067426" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:lucida grande;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">Innocent Frank; he just "happened" upon the scene.</span><br /></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I, of course, remained uninterested. Or at least put on a show of being bored by the whole prospect.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Szr-AJFmioI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/kDwqj3U7Jmc/s1600-h/Winston+Uninterested.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Szr-AJFmioI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/kDwqj3U7Jmc/s200/Winston+Uninterested.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420924379886684802" border="0" /></a></span></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Not Interested. Probably.</span></span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">As our people clambered in the door one bright afternoon, we could not fail to notice they’d accidentally dragged in an enormous piece of vegetation behind them. We understand they tromped miles through a thing called a Christmas Tree Farm to select the tree; it towers to the height of at least 20 cats standing paw on shoulder! Mom was immediately on phone and Facebook, inviting friends to a tree decorating party. Much fun ensued.</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Szr-j5kJ_0I/AAAAAAAAAPY/QRCKeWbvlKM/s1600-h/Oh+Christmas+Tree%21.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Szr-j5kJ_0I/AAAAAAAAAPY/QRCKeWbvlKM/s200/Oh+Christmas+Tree%21.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420924994195160898" border="0" /></a></span></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >The Tree, After Decorating Party</span><br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We are pleased that there is copious room beneath the Fraser Fir, for that is most important. There's no better a place for kitties than under a tree, sipping at the water in the tree stand, batting at one of the gazillion ornaments bedecking its boughs, giving a tug to a loose light strand, naughtily tinkling the glass bell Mom put up as her "Cat Alarm."</span></span><br /></div></div></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Szr_FXmXN2I/AAAAAAAAAPg/_OqabAhOFoI/s1600-h/View+from+Below.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Szr_FXmXN2I/AAAAAAAAAPg/_OqabAhOFoI/s200/View+from+Below.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420925569193162594" border="0" /></a></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >The View From Below</span></span></span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Mom. friends, and family members hung stockings and placed decorations over every surface in the house—even the top of cabinets and above the people box! They strung lights in the windows, across the mantel, around mirrors, and along the stairway banister. Tha last placement is special. The garland has tempting vegetation all its own. Said vegetation has proved nearly as irresistible to my brother as stuffed tigers! Daily, Mom awakes to find a trail of poinsettias down the stairs and Frank's proud announcement that he’s taken care of all the pruning needs for the day.</span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Szr_4ZGLR5I/AAAAAAAAAPo/N6JQwKidZvY/s1600-h/Tasty.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Szr_4ZGLR5I/AAAAAAAAAPo/N6JQwKidZvY/s200/Tasty.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420926445768361874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Tasty -- and Fir and Poinsettia are low-cal, so I can</span></span></span></span><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >preserve my male model figure!</span></span></span></span><br /></div><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" > <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Both Frank and I enjoy watching the world go by through our window. The holiday spirit fills the air. We have a cat's eye view both day...<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SzsAgYldopI/AAAAAAAAAPw/nBzTfHppZeQ/s1600-h/Winston+in+Window.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SzsAgYldopI/AAAAAAAAAPw/nBzTfHppZeQ/s200/Winston+in+Window.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420927132825920146" border="0" /></a></span></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Winston Stands Watch</span></span></span></span><br /></div><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />and night.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SzsAr5QM_JI/AAAAAAAAAP4/wp9PCRsP8U0/s1600-h/Window+Watchers.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SzsAr5QM_JI/AAAAAAAAAP4/wp9PCRsP8U0/s200/Window+Watchers.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420927330573679762" border="0" /></a></span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Watch-Kitty Pas de Deux</span><br /></span></div><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There are extra attractions in the yard this time of year, even visiting wildlife! We have stared at those white creatures below the window for hours and have yet to see them move, so great are their stealth abilities! </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SzsBX6rPw-I/AAAAAAAAAQA/RQiqYSleRuc/s1600-h/Motionless+Moose.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SzsBX6rPw-I/AAAAAAAAAQA/RQiqYSleRuc/s200/Motionless+Moose.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420928086869787618" border="0" /></a></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Motionless Moose -- Amazing!</span><span style=";font-family:lucida grande;font-size:85%;" > </span></div><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />We proudly display a large flashing decoration on the roof. I enjoy sitting in the darkened window, watching its lights and motion. Sometimes, late at night, I hear the distant hoot of a train crossing the valley below our home while I’m viewing the rooftop decoration, and that makes it even more special.</span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SzsCSrnzlKI/AAAAAAAAAQI/LNA5b9lV-EY/s1600-h/Train.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SzsCSrnzlKI/AAAAAAAAAQI/LNA5b9lV-EY/s200/Train.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420929096441107618" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Rooftop Deco</span></span></span><br /></div><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><br />We have a lighted pathway, as well. While we've no real snow this year, we've plasticine snowmen to join us in welcoming visitors.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SzsCjQCpHnI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/JAinowQjFXk/s1600-h/Pathway.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SzsCjQCpHnI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/JAinowQjFXk/s200/Pathway.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420929381095251570" border="0" /></a></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">The Pathway</span></span></span><br /></div><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><br />All and all, it has been a splendid holiday. We received many gifts of a cat-toy nature, and supped on a delicious turkey dinner, as well.<br /><br />But I've one word of caution for those who share our abode: Rumour has it that <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> New Year's Eve is coming. If you guys blast off those bloomin’ Party Poppers again this year, the new slippers get it!<br /></span></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br /></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SzsFUYBkpxI/AAAAAAAAAQg/wMl08C0-_uU/s1600-h/Winter+Dreams.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SzsFUYBkpxI/AAAAAAAAAQg/wMl08C0-_uU/s200/Winter+Dreams.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420932424075093778" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Winter Dreams</span></span></span></div></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></span></span></span>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-49972091598658344922009-10-01T22:00:00.000-07:002009-10-01T22:30:08.766-07:00Franklin: Seasonal Decor<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I’ve resigned myself to this fact: My brother is a slouch. A slovenly creature who doesn’t care a whit about his surroundings. I, on the other hand, am keenly interested in interior decoration. Today, I had a chance to assist with some of the early seasonal decorative efforts in my abode.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />It started with the retrieval of an intriguing assortment of hardware and software from the storage room downstairs. We were leery…</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SsV-lgalYlI/AAAAAAAAANg/NChpLfChP3A/s1600-h/What+is+it.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SsV-lgalYlI/AAAAAAAAANg/NChpLfChP3A/s200/What+is+it.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387851712040362578" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic; font-family: lucida grande;">What’s going on?</div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One of us decided to reconnoiter, the other to keep watch on what looked like an elaborate construction project.</span></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SsWB7ex6sdI/AAAAAAAAAN4/GzL1CNAQB_4/s1600-h/Ill+keep+guard.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SsWB7ex6sdI/AAAAAAAAAN4/GzL1CNAQB_4/s200/Ill+keep+guard.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387855388093362642" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >You check it out -- I’ll keep watch.</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">From a bunch of metal pipes a somewhat identifiable structure appeared. Well, identifiable if you scrunched your head sideways and held a paw over your left eye.<br /></span><br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SsV_sV4IJAI/AAAAAAAAANo/YV8bKO_GHys/s1600-h/Mysterious+Metal.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SsV_sV4IJAI/AAAAAAAAANo/YV8bKO_GHys/s200/Mysterious+Metal.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387852928982197250" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >What is this mysterious metal?</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;font-family:trebuchet ms;">In a few minutes, an enormous effigy appeared, right in the middle of the room called “living.” Although, quite <span style="font-style: italic;">frank</span>ly—and yes, I delight in that term!—we do much more living in the cat tree than in this particular room. But I digress.<br /><br />Upon the feature being placed upright, I decided to investigate.</div><p></p> </div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SsWAmCy-ywI/AAAAAAAAANw/fU_5rNFa2DU/s1600-h/Impressive+paws.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SsWAmCy-ywI/AAAAAAAAANw/fU_5rNFa2DU/s200/Impressive+paws.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387853920292752130" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Impressive Paws!</span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I moved to the upper expanses and continued my perusal.</span><br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SsWDAQfWfMI/AAAAAAAAAOA/tVGTetqqsaU/s1600-h/Careful+inspection.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SsWDAQfWfMI/AAAAAAAAAOA/tVGTetqqsaU/s200/Careful+inspection.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387856569668369602" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Interesting use of fabric and texture here.<br />(Hmmm... is that string edible?)</span><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SsWENx7GBKI/AAAAAAAAAOI/LJiW-oB9qak/s1600-h/Paw+larger+than+cat.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SsWENx7GBKI/AAAAAAAAAOI/LJiW-oB9qak/s200/Paw+larger+than+cat.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387857901493028002" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Good grief, his front paws are bigger than I am!<br /><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I decided that in the interests of safety, I should do a full inspection. After all, we must be sure that this structure meets all safety standards and can hold the weight of, say, a cat or two if they should just happen to climb aboard in the middle of the night. And in fact, he appears to be able to withstand some amount of kitty mischief, although Winston and I will be doing more testing in the wee hours.<br /><br />All in all...<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SsWJXheq2bI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/3UvAf0QJBcY/s1600-h/Pretty+cute.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SsWJXheq2bI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/3UvAf0QJBcY/s200/Pretty+cute.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387863566435670450" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Awwwww</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I have to admit Scrappy is pretty darn cute!<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SsWKLvgePdI/AAAAAAAAAOg/85HdgUSHm3Q/s1600-h/Naptime.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SsWKLvgePdI/AAAAAAAAAOg/85HdgUSHm3Q/s200/Naptime.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387864463554526674" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Memo to Self: New Hiding Place</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And he offers a great spot from which to pounce my brother and any passing humans! ^^<br /></span></div></div></span></div></div>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-55370198514576859762009-07-31T21:31:00.000-07:002009-07-31T21:59:28.537-07:00Winston: Invasion of the EMT<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Beware when humans start speaking to themselves for it usually signals upcoming drama. Mom was muttering over her papers the other day. I don’t know exactly what papers they are, something about “bills” or whatever. But she was grousing about “rising costs” and “ridiculous rip-offs” and “why am I paying for that’s?” for quite some time, after which she utilized the talking device to arrange some sort of change to this mighty triumvirate called “Telephone, Internet service, and Television.” </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Now, I don’t care a whit about Telephone. I’ve tried that talking device, but my paw pads proved too large for the keys and I kept ringing through to Namibia, which makes Mom a bit cranky. Television is only good for Bert & Ernie in their featured performances on Sesame Street, and those come far too infrequently. However, we kitties are wise to the ways of the Internetz, and we appreciate that Mom has been considering an upgrade. (After all, faster connectivity aids our ability to more quickly order our 40 pounds of turkey breast through Albertsons.com. Using her plastic money, of course.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This afternoon, a human showed up to make the installation of these technological improvements, and I knew right away we were not going to hit it off. When I sauntered up to him and tried to make nice, he ignored me. When I politely offered the Kitty Sniffing Human Pants Cuff™ greeting, I was rebuffed. So when he went outside, I hoped to have seen the last of him.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Alas, such was not the case. Within a few minutes, this person was back inside the house, complaining about a wasp string, breathing heavily, and carrying on as only humans can do. Several verbal interchanges ensued, with an eventual call to an entity called Nine One One as the gasping human stretched out on the floor of my domicile!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The house was soon filled with a hubbub of arriving humans toting large carriers, talking boxes, and a plethora of other items. These folks checked out the CableModemTelevisionTelephone Human and pronounced him to <span style="font-weight: bold;">not</span> be in a life threatening state. After that, even <span style="font-weight: bold;">more</span> humans arrived to transport the sick human to the veterinarian. Or the medical center. I didn’t catch which.<br /><br />I was so distressed by all the commotion (and so caught up in the drama) I slammed myself against the door of the room in which my brother and I had been imprisoned, then, as the door was opened, sprang to the top of the door and landed on the head of the human who was offering my release. Ooopsie!<br /><br />In the end, Mom learned that CableModemTelevisionTelephone Human ended up being just fine. Life around the homestead has returned to normal. I must say, though,l that I couldn't help but notice those folks in the official suits arrived in a positively <span style="font-weight: bold;">splendid </span>vehicle: shiny, with flashing lights and an impressive yowl that surely can be heard for miles around!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Be still my pounding heart! I have found my new calling: EMT Winston!</span>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-26507876697205448762009-07-26T16:34:00.000-07:002009-07-26T18:05:25.467-07:00Franklin: Winston's on a Roll... literally<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I was minding my own business a few days ago, when I heard some sort of commotion coming from the stairway landing. The sounds of ripping, tearing, snarling, and some heavy clunking against the heating vent and the circulating fan met my ears.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I investigated.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SmzzWPqxOnI/AAAAAAAAAMg/4mFFsX_iNZo/s1600-h/TP+-+What+is+All+That.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SmzzWPqxOnI/AAAAAAAAAMg/4mFFsX_iNZo/s200/TP+-+What+is+All+That.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362928819780008562" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;" >What is that racket?</span></span><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SmzzWPqxOnI/AAAAAAAAAMg/4mFFsX_iNZo/s1600-h/TP+-+What+is+All+That.JPG"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><br /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Peeking below, I spied something pretty alarming: a massive pile of the remains of not just one, but TWO rolls of Costco's best, littering the floor. I proceeded to check out the situation at closer range.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SmzzWPqxOnI/AAAAAAAAAMg/4mFFsX_iNZo/s1600-h/TP+-+What+is+All+That.JPG"><br /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SmzzipKZIoI/AAAAAAAAAMo/M2X1DZeHMeg/s1600-h/TP+--+What+Happened+Here.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SmzzipKZIoI/AAAAAAAAAMo/M2X1DZeHMeg/s200/TP+--+What+Happened+Here.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362929032781963906" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Hmmmm... I suspect Hurricane Winston</span><br /></div><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Winston sauntered in, polishing his claws against his chest fur. “Guess I told them who was boss, eh?” he asked proudly, as he flopped down amongst the dregs of his earlier activities. I calmly explained that I thought he was going to be in BIG trouble.</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Smz0VcmHmCI/AAAAAAAAAMw/RoJk5SYavCY/s1600-h/TP+-+You+Are+Going+to+be+in+Such+Big+Trouble.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Smz0VcmHmCI/AAAAAAAAAMw/RoJk5SYavCY/s200/TP+-+You+Are+Going+to+be+in+Such+Big+Trouble.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362929905581922338" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >This is srsly bad, bro.</span><br /></div><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">“You’re not planning on telling, are you?” he asked, eyes narrowing.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">“Well, no,” I said, "but if it comes to ‘Who was involved in this Bad Kitty Behavior™?' I am not going to take the fall!”<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Upon that, Win launched at me in a fit of fury, tail bushed, ears back.</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Smz0nQbNQjI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NR9CK1OLBW4/s1600-h/TP+-+What+do+you+mean....JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Smz0nQbNQjI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NR9CK1OLBW4/s200/TP+-+What+do+you+mean....JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362930211552576050" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >You would tell? Prepare to die!</span> </div><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Now, my sibling outweighs me by 50%, and on a normal day, you might expect me to emerge the non-victor in any sort of <span style="font-style: italic;">mano a mano </span><span>confrontation</span>. However, exercising exceptional battle strategy -- greatly enhanced by the fact that my assailant was exhausted from his earlier shredding exercises -- I soon pinned Win to the floor. Taking pity on the silly fellow, I told him I’d try to help cover up the whole thing.</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Smz0zXT4qCI/AAAAAAAAANA/MYdiJE0W98Q/s1600-h/TP+-+You+Told.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Smz0zXT4qCI/AAAAAAAAANA/MYdiJE0W98Q/s200/TP+-+You+Told.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362930419559344162" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Hold still, will you?</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >I have a plan!</span> </div><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">When next our humans found us, we were innocently napping in the kitty tree. When asked about the incident, neither of us had a word to say!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Smz3C4MUMeI/AAAAAAAAANQ/3eUPNRlaXyU/s1600-h/TP+-+After+the+Drama.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Smz3C4MUMeI/AAAAAAAAANQ/3eUPNRlaXyU/s200/TP+-+After+the+Drama.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362932885107257826" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Say what?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >We've been sleeping here all afternoon!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" ></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Moral of Story: Deny outright, and count on your cute face and innocent blue eye to get you out of nearly any fix.</span>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-58310547850967089152009-07-15T21:55:00.000-07:002009-07-16T00:01:24.494-07:00Win: Abandoned yet again<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Frank and I have been less than amused. The human entity has been sparse around here these last two weeks, as certain people headed to some place called Europe, leaving us in the care of other family members who engage in what my brother and I call "drive-by feedings."</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Sure these humans love us, and they gave us a pet or a chuck under the chin when they stop by. But due to their own busy lives, they must skedaddle out promptly after filling the food bowls, which leaves us looking at the closed door in bemusement. We’ve spent more than a few forlorn hours gazing out the front windows, waiting for the return of our caregivers.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Last night, the house was filled with noise and the hustle and bustle of many humans, toting in those strange-looking cat carriers without airholes ("suitcases," we told?), bags of foodstuffs of complete disinterest to felines (I heard enough rapturous comments about "European chocolates and baked goods" to last several lifetimes), human trinkets and baubles, and so forth.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">They have returned.</span><o:p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"></o:p><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Frank and I, having scoured the Internet during their absence, had built up some expectations about this trip and what we might be offered as homage upon the return of the wandering humans: a bit of weinerschnitzel from Austria? A dab of rare Danube salmon? Perhaps a supply of catnip harvested from the sunny slopes of a 13</span><sup style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">th</sup><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> Century monastery?</span><o:p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></o:p><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">No.</span><o:p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></o:p><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">She brought us a small stuffed bear in a red sweater, cooing</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">, “Oh, look, boys, it’s Trudi Bear from Vienna!”</span><o:p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> (We find it amusing, but somewhat pathetic, when humans make fools of themselves.)</o:p><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Frank and I exchanged knowing looks and a silent pledge: That blooming bear will be earless by tomorrow, and a mere shadow of his stuffed self by week’s end.</span><o:p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"></o:p><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Sl60DFjKlSI/AAAAAAAAALg/a7oPZ0shh2c/s1600-h/Not+hugging.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 170px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Sl60DFjKlSI/AAAAAAAAALg/a7oPZ0shh2c/s200/Not+hugging.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358918571739747618" border="0" /></a><p style="text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: lucida grande;">Denial</span><br /></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">Or perhaps not…</p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Sl7NH5vaoYI/AAAAAAAAALo/EUQpaA7_hbw/s1600-h/Winston+and+Trudi.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Sl7NH5vaoYI/AAAAAAAAALo/EUQpaA7_hbw/s200/Winston+and+Trudi.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358946142259945858" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: lucida grande;">Buddies?</span><br /></p>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-4208548781436019212009-06-18T19:00:00.000-07:002009-06-18T19:10:04.881-07:00Franklin: Watching Winston Get Wired<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SjryFR87WzI/AAAAAAAAALQ/w4fCWZpl81I/s1600-h/Snoozing+Winston.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 102px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SjryFR87WzI/AAAAAAAAALQ/w4fCWZpl81I/s200/Snoozing+Winston.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348853679988103986" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Winston, Contented After a Heavy Meal<br /><span style="font-size:78%;">(of God-Knows-What!</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;">)</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />I hate to rat out my brother, but it needs to be said, Winston is huge on getting wired. More accurately, he likes <span style="font-style: italic;">eating </span>wires.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Mom discovered this when he had a little “stomach rebound” in the den and chucked up part of a twisty-tie. She looked in horror at the leavings and asked him what he thought he was doing, ingesting a piece of wire and plastic. I noticed Winston stepped into our Patented IgnoreMode™ demeanor, casually licking a paw, looking at the ceiling, and pretending he doesn’t understand English.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Later that night, Mom apparently heard some suspicious activities under her bed. I figured Win was just playing with Duckie, Moose, or another of our toys. But after a stern “Stop that racket!” – it being 2:00 AM or later – she decided to turn on the lights and see what he really was up to. I popped off my position atop her feet to check it out, too.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />There, on the floor beneath the bed, Mom found plentiful evidence of Winston’s latest culinary efforts in the form of about a dozen nipped, snipped, and nibbled bits of insulated wire. I guess that crazy cat just can’t stay away from the white wire connected to the clock radio!</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />As she scrambled around under the bed picking up the pieces, my brother got the usual firm lecture, including plenty of that “What were you <span style="font-style: italic;">thinking</span>?” and “This is <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">baaaad </span>kitty behavior!” stuff. I was relieved that I was (uncustomarily) innocent as she completely removed the wire from the radio in disgust, then shook her finger at Win and warned him about continued naughtiness.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">No matter. He enlisted me in helping him tomorrow, as he undertakes a mealtime foray in the direction of the stereo. I guess his Menu du jour is a two-course meal!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SjrzHoWir6I/AAAAAAAAALY/nvMp1vPFuN0/s1600-h/Keep+Watch.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 166px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SjrzHoWir6I/AAAAAAAAALY/nvMp1vPFuN0/s200/Keep+Watch.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348854819872485282" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Win to Frank:<br />"You keep watch, I'm on it!"</span><br /></div>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-46660969149157828542009-06-06T12:50:00.000-07:002009-06-06T19:00:00.047-07:00Winston: Career Planning<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Lately I’ve been thinking: A cat needs a profession. Sure it’s all fine and well to be the official bed warmer, the greeter kitty who welcomes folks to the home, or even the official desk rearranger, but it’s probably time for us to settle on a career.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So I’ve been experimenting with various open positions:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Mouser Kitty: </span>I am proud to say that since my brother and I joined this household, not a single mouse, rat, or other vermin has taken up residence within its walls. No matter that we’ve never had one even <span style="font-style: italic;">think </span>about coming near the place, I’m confident our reputation for sharp teeth and raking claws has kept them at bay.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SiscjvqSUtI/AAAAAAAAAKw/ARaV6IwwEV8/s1600-h/Practice.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 197px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SiscjvqSUtI/AAAAAAAAAKw/ARaV6IwwEV8/s200/Practice.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344396783220052690" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Winston: Early Hunting Practice</span><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Janitor Kitty: </span>When there’s vacuuming to be done, I cruise the area and point out any pine needles or bits of dust that need attention by flopping upon them.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Laundry Kitty: </span>I am quite sure the clean laundry is all the better for my sleeping on the folded clothes. Kitty fur <span style="font-style: italic;">is </span>a fashion statement, no?<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Plumber Kitty: </span>I pointed out a small toilet leak the other day, thereby saving the house from flooding. Strangely, my humans showed slight displeasure in this service, perhaps because I pointed out the problem by drinking the water pooled at its base? (Note to self: That blue bowl stuff is <span style="font-style: italic;">nasty</span>!)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Carpenter Kitty: </span>Open the tool drawer, I’m there! Hammering a nail, putting in a ceiling hook, fixing a broken lock – if it takes tools, I’m your buddy.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SisYt8YlqcI/AAAAAAAAAKY/F7scgyMccjM/s1600-h/Electrician+Winston.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 152px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SisYt8YlqcI/AAAAAAAAAKY/F7scgyMccjM/s200/Electrician+Winston.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344392560387664322" border="0" /></a></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Audio Kitty</span></span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Audio Kitty:</span> Need help with setting up your home entertainment system? I'm your kit.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Techno Kitty: </span>Of all the jobs that I’m considering, working on computers draws me the most. Who else sacrifices half his whiskers to learning about cooling fans? Who else is adept at adjusting template settings in Word, realigning power cords, and hiding that plastic device laughingly called a “mouse?” International Institute of Kitnology, here I come!</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Oh, by the way, I discussed potential jobs with my brother. He told me the following:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Franklin’s Career Aspirations: </span>Male Model</span>.<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SisZNjlA_1I/AAAAAAAAAKg/B_YxSvDsJBI/s1600-h/Franklin--Male+Model.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 184px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SisZNjlA_1I/AAAAAAAAAKg/B_YxSvDsJBI/s200/Franklin--Male+Model.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344393103484714834" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Frankie Strikes a Pose</span></span></span></div>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-9835755816139679982009-05-19T18:46:00.000-07:002009-05-19T22:15:22.635-07:00Franklin: Avian Adventure<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/ShNhtozQ2hI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/620uf3U1Un4/s1600-h/Bird+Watching+-+Franklin.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/ShNhtozQ2hI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/620uf3U1Un4/s200/Bird+Watching+-+Franklin.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337717420038609426" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Franklin: A Eye to the Sky</span><br /><br /></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The last few days have offered exploration, excitement, and a bit of upheaval, too. This weekend Win and I made our first foray onto The Deck – that tantalizing 10-square-feet of al fresco heaven just outside the dining room door. Mom insists that we’re exclusively “house cats,” but it seems that if she’s outside and the weather is fine, we will be allowed to claim this valuable acreage as an extension of our realm.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But before we were allowed to visit, Mom set to sweeping, washing, planting, and discretely tossing last year’s floral failures. Sunday, another glorious day, saw her readying to prepare a barbecue dinner. But when Win and I stepped onto the now-sparkly deck to join her, a sonic eruption took place! Two creatures of the winged type began carrying on in a most raucous manner -- hopping from alder to fir and back again, swooping low overhead, cawing, crying, even hacking at the tree branches to raise the maximum amount of noise.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/ShNh_uzH_CI/AAAAAAAAAKA/jzlO6nocLIA/s1600-h/Bird+Watching+-+Winston.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/ShNh_uzH_CI/AAAAAAAAAKA/jzlO6nocLIA/s200/Bird+Watching+-+Winston.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337717730886286370" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Winston: What is that racket?</span></div><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It was clear something untoward was going on. They quieted if we left the deck, but the instant Mom stepped out – and even more if Win or I set a paw to the cedar surface – all heck broke loose! And upon investigation, Mom found that to which we had pointed a paw some minutes earlier: a black beast in feathered form, lying amongst the groundcover.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Neither of us are expert on avian species, but after careful listening to the beasts above, and with judicious use of the Alta Vista “Bird -> Cat” translator, we confirmed that the two in the bush were parent crows, and the one in the hand –- excuse me, in the ivy -- was their fledgling. Mom said we needed to give the smaller bird time to right itself, so she sat food and water next to him and observed him over the evening. The next morning he appeared to be gone. However, he was still present after all; he had just hopped to a new hiding place.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A mission of mercy was in order! We volunteered the use of our carrier to take the fledgling to a wild animal recovery center. (Surprisingly, our offer to serve as traveling companions was courteously declined.) The wild animal center will care for Diablo and release him to the wild once he’s better. Mom will be sending them some help of the financial sort, so that they can carry on their good works.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Peace has returned to the backyard and we may now safely visit the deck again. Having done our bit to help our fellow creature, we’ve now turned to less noble but no less worthy pursuits: perfecting the art of distraction so that one of us can snack on those tasty pansies!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/ShOQeNGQ8JI/AAAAAAAAAKI/ScR03lIab64/s1600-h/Kits+Spring+2009+017.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/ShOQeNGQ8JI/AAAAAAAAAKI/ScR03lIab64/s200/Kits+Spring+2009+017.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337768831950581906" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Are they gone yet?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >More importantly, will anyone notice if we behead the dahlias?</span></div>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-24989924125934815352009-05-10T17:10:00.000-07:002009-05-10T22:27:28.902-07:00Winston: He’s Got a Tiger by the Tail…<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Mom decorates her house with “themes.” Or so I told her telling a friend. “The main bathroom came with wallpaper that looks like savannah grass and a beige/brown colour scheme,” she said, “so I turned it into my Lion Room.” She’s a real cat person, so it wasn’t a far stretch for her to put up lion towels, hang lion pictures, lay down a lion throw rug, and decorate with figures representing that alleged “king of beasts.” (If he’s so royal, why is he eating raw meat and sleeping with flies, I ask you? The nickname obviously has nothing to do with fact and everything to do with effective PR.)<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Anyway, the focal point of the room, and the one that is keenly of interest to Franklin and me, is the ceiling-tall rack behind the floor-mounted water bowl. The three shelves of this rack are packed with a growing collection of lion plushies that started coming together during Mom’s childhood. Large, small, supine, standing… they number about 40, and they make a splendid display—an <span style="font-style: italic;">hommage au chat</span>—that is entirely pleasing to Frank and me.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But amongst the lions, there is another cat, an outcast, a stripped beast Mom calls “Tiger.” Apparently Mom donated money to an animal group called World Wildlife Fund and they sent her a gift.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Now, it upsets our catly sensibilities to have this mismatched animal amongst an otherwise organized display. So, with great regularity, we have taken to stealing him and hiding his absurdly-stripped self in another room in the house: under the bed, on the dinner table, behind the computer, inside the laundry hamper… you name it, we’ve used it for a secret stashing spot.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It’s not just the hiding to which Mom objects, though, for without any reasoning that we can divine, she also objects to our chewing on Tiger, leaving him not just mangled, but moist. And she gets particularly cranky when—at 3 or 4 in the morning—Franklin pulls Tiger into the bedroom and loudly growls while practicing his pounces. (I, being the soul of discretion, have learned to practice in Silent Mode.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Mom has started hiding Tiger on the upper shelves, hoping we won’t see him, and she's telling the household and guests, “New rule: close the door when you leave.” Sometimes, though, someone forgets and the door stays open. Today was such a day. So with our usual lightning speed—for one never knows how long one will have an opportunity—we entered the room. Franklin quickly mounted the rack and started tossing lions down, left and right, as he served as reconnaissance in <span style="font-style: italic;">Operation Tiger Search</span>.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I heard a noise on the stairs and quickly exited the room. Franklin was a bit late, though, only noticing the sound of approach when a step fell in the hallway. As he proudly recounted later, “I knew I was too late to jump down and get out of the room before I got caught in the act! So I froze on the top shelf—not even blinking, not a single whisker twitching—as the light came on. And success! No one noticed my blue-eyed, ivory coloured, long-tailed self-of-lifelike proportions amongst the fanciful stuffed animals.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Or at least that’s what <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">he </span>says.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I haven’t the heart to tell him that moments later, I heard laughter and comments about “a missed Kodak Moment” from downstairs. I am quite sure Franklin will never admit that such comments could have had anything <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">whatever </span>to do with him!</span>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-2819708303888024852009-05-02T21:06:00.000-07:002009-05-03T13:50:29.323-07:00Cat-astrophes Part Vier<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The boys are now 8 months old. Still kittenish in behavior, they’ve gotten taller, leaner, and smarter in their mischief-making. A case in point is the way they “assist me” in my daily work.<br /><br />I’ve worked with a computer game developer for the last 8 years. I really love our game, and I play it a lot on my own time. I often have my second computer in the game during the work day, for that gives me a quick means to learn about issues our team needs to attend to. (For instance, tonight I learned of an exploit that was giving a lot of unearned players rewards. It pays to idle in the guild hall. :) )<br /><br />Franklin and Winston like the game too. They like it so much, in fact, that whenever I step away from my desk, they pop onto my chair and head right for the keyboard. This can cause some problems, as I tell a player “Going AFK for a moment,” head upstairs to grab a root beer, and suddenly the player gets messaged, "kkkkkkkkkllllllll=== " and other alarming comments.<br /><br /> "New style of trash talking?" my opponent asks?<br /> "Yes" I reply bravely, fighting back a blush, "my kittens say "Bring it!"<br /><br />The boys are exceptionally good at editing my documents, too. I’ve found myself looking at page 55 of a 2-page document because a kitty sat down to smooth his fur while resting a paw against the “Enter” key. I've found words in languages unknown on earth, and formatting that defies the common bounds of publishing. I actually had a colour shift on one document.<br /><br />Now, fortunately, Winston and Franklin have not mastered actual gameplay or document deletion.<br /><br />But clearly, it’s only a matter of time.<br /><br /></span>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-35747754373861778852009-04-15T22:31:00.000-07:002009-04-16T00:35:19.266-07:00Franklin: Canines of Mass Destruction<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My brother and I were taking our usual early evening nap on the kitty tree today when we heard Mom say, “That’s odd, I hear voices just outside, like on the other side of the wall of the house.” She rose to head upstairs to see who might be lurking near our fence when she – and we – glanced out the big door to see a large, four-legged animal of considerable size in our backyard.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Win and I were immediately on Stage Three Alert. We leapt from the Kitty Tree of Repose ™ and beat paws to the door. Win was on top of it, I must say, puffing his fur to easily twice its normal proportions, whipping the tail back and forth, baring a fang or two – the very model of exceptional domestic protection! I hung back a few feet, the better to admire Big Brother’s performance… or to see if the large, four-legged beast should breach our defenses. I mean, someone has to be ready to call for reinforcements, yes?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Mom said the beast was a “dawg.” And she firmly stated that said “dawg” had no business in our yard. Just then, the human from a nearby domicile – with nary a by-your-leave! – opened the gate, walked into the backyard, and started making lunges in the direction of said dawg. Mom, at the same time, cracked the door open to ask if he needed assistance, while simultaneously, Win and I were approaching the door, bandy-legged and buffed of fur.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">All in a split second, Dawg leapt towards the open door, cats adopted pounce position, Mom prepared her Mighty Kick of Protection (that’s a Monk Elite, of course) , and the human from the nearby domicile grabbed for the hardware around the dawg’s neck. And in that split second, a Fracas for the Ages was averted.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">For…</span><br /><ul><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Dawg was subdued and dragged off in humiliation.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Dawg owner called a pledge over his shoulder to install something called “chicken wire” to contain said beast.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Mom made courteous noises about how she hoped the problem would sort itself out, and how there was (this time!) no harm done.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And Win and I settled back onto the kitty tree to ponder whether said “<span style="font-style: italic;">chicken</span> wire” was some sort of snarky statement about the intruding creature's Inner Dawg.</span></li></ul><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Because frankly, compared to two sets of pointy teeth, 36 carefully sharpened claws, and Mom’s Kick of Doom, that beast didn’t stand a bloomin' chance.</span>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-83310806231990593752009-04-10T22:41:00.000-07:002009-04-11T21:25:10.855-07:00The Evening Meow<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">In that classic movie, </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Lady and the Tramp</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">, the dogs in London have a cool way to get news around the neighborhoods. They call it "The Twilight Bark." Each "edition" of this listenable newspaper includes tidbits of news from Kensington to Knightsbridge to Chelsea and beyond, passed along by a chain of loyal “subscribers” who bark the latest info over fences and down alleyways, where it's picked up and echoed by the next canine courier.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Well, I think news of Win and Frankie's kitty handouts may have reached our local edition of "The Evening Meow." It started when their friend -- formerly Name TBD, now called Little Buddy -- started coming around once every few days for a snack. He's show up at the sliding glass door and The Boyz would leap off the kitty tree or, if upstairs, bound down the stairs at my call of "Hey, kids, your little buddy is here!" I'd slip out a small portion of kibbles and Frank and Win would meow in a friendly manner -- sometimes even pat at the window in greeting. With time, the frequency of his visits moved from every few days to once a day, to a couple of times a day. But he's welcome, and he knows it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I suspect, though, that he has been spreading the word. Yesterday, I noticed a large grey-stripped tabby lingering hopefully outside the door. Today, a grey-and-white partial Persian made an appearance, peering into the bowl with an expectant expression. I figure Little Buddy has passed the word around: "Hey, there’s good eatin’ at the house on the corner with the tall trees in front!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Any day now, I expect to open the drapes to find a queue of kitties waiting courteously for their victuals. With that in mind, I'd best go to the store now and restock the pantry. After all Little Budd<span style="font-weight: bold;">IES</span> don't want to find an empty bowl. :)</span>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-82856007352337725792009-04-03T23:41:00.000-07:002009-06-06T22:25:27.144-07:00Kits Passing in the Night<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SisjI0gxoqI/AAAAAAAAAK4/VKIa6R1S5xA/s1600-h/Little+Buddy.jpg"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"></span><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 174px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SisjI0gxoqI/AAAAAAAAAK4/VKIa6R1S5xA/s200/Little+Buddy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344404017247265442" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Little Buddy & Friend</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />To the left of me, about five feet away from my desk, is a sliding glass door that opens into the backyard. I keep the drapes open all day and sometimes into the night, as Franklin and Winston really enjoy having a view outside. So far they seem to be ok with being house kitties, but I can tell they’re very intrigued by the whole phenomenon of weather: rain, wind, snow (this week's local April Fool’s joke), or even just the long rays of the afternoon sunshine filtering into the room.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Nothing intrigues them more, though, than our local Cat About Town, who stops by at all hours to pay a through-the-window visit. He looks about a year or two old, a mixed breed leaning towards Siamese. Grey tips, blue eyes, stripped tail, I’d call him a Frost Point, if he didn’t have a few missing points to his points. He is, in a word, adorable.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">At first, this "intruder" made the boys quite nervous. But over time, Frankie and Win have become quite ardent fans of this “big kid” in the neighborhood. I only have to say “Oh, look, boys, it’s your buddy!” and they come running to the door, to press their noses against the window as they make little half-meow/half-purr sounds in cordial (stereophonic) greeting to their guest.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Sisn3P3nUPI/AAAAAAAAALI/SsLssMBxU_Q/s1600-h/Little+Buddy+--+First+Encounter.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/Sisn3P3nUPI/AAAAAAAAALI/SsLssMBxU_Q/s200/Little+Buddy+--+First+Encounter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344409212911309042" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Who <span style="font-weight: bold;">IS</span> that?</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">As part of our outreach to… ahh, no name! Well, as outreach to our guest, we’ve been putting out a bit of dry cat food when he stops by. Maintaining the kitty smorgasbord in Health Department-approved state poses a bit of a challenge, though, for the spring-awakened garden slugs are quite attracted to the food, and most days, the bowl contains far more protein than Mr. Purina might stipulate on his packages.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Name-TBD just paid the boys a late-night visit. I can’t help but wonder why he would be outside at 11:30 PM. But really, I can’t help but wonder why he’s out at all. Win and Frank immediately broke off their evening doze on the cat tree to perform their usual greeting ritual. Name-TBD daintily accepted a fresh, slug-free bowl of food, ate a few bites, and slipped away into the damp, dark night. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But before he left, I saw him peering inside the house, and from the wistful expression on his face, I can’t help but think he was noticing the climbing tree, the paper-filled pouncing box, the kitty blanket...imagining himself inside such a room, safe and warm. I know if I leave the door open for more than a few seconds, he will be inside. And really, I wonder if that would be a bad thing... :)</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SisnbcUCnBI/AAAAAAAAALA/jsi8GqrrxRA/s1600-h/Little+Buddy+--+Checking+Food+Supply.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 142px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SisnbcUCnBI/AAAAAAAAALA/jsi8GqrrxRA/s200/Little+Buddy+--+Checking+Food+Supply.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344408735215426578" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: lucida grande;">Do you have enough kibbles, mon ami?</span></div>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-37398613176564277202009-02-27T01:31:00.000-08:002009-03-10T12:34:14.073-07:00Franklin: Travel<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I hear there’s a human expression: Travel broadens one. Allow me to wave a dismissive paw at the notion, for that entire concept is ridiculous. Kitties are much too sensible to take to the road, the air, or<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> *shudder*</span></span> the water for some sort of “fun.” We’re much too intelligent to load up our bowls, boxes, kibbles, cans, toys, cat trees, and all the other necessary accoutrements of our lives just to… to <span style="font-style: italic;">move </span>somewhere.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">If I want to move, I’ve shift from Mom’s chair to the wedge of sunshine beneath the dining room window. If I need a bloomin’ change of scenery, I’ll make the trek from the kitchen into the family room.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So all this time, I believed that I had adopted sensible people. Apparently not. I first detected signs of the travel bug when I heard Mom talking excitedly on the phone about “the Magic Kingdom” and some sort of rodent. (Rodent? On pul-lease! This “Mr. Disney” to whom she reverently refers obviously made a real poor choice in mascot!) Anyway, last week, the bed was covered with rectangular carrying devices, spare shoes, and neatly folded clothes. Brother and I couldn’t do too much about the “suitcases,” as she called them, save for planting a lot of spare fur bits in the interior crevices—all the better to adorn Mom’s dark sweaters. However, we did take the time to service a few more shoe laces and leave the formerly-folded clothes in a not-so-folded state. A cat has to show a certain protest for any change in his routine, after all!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Independent creatures that Winston and I have become, we both agree the house was rather quiet for those four days. Sure, we had good care: family members stopped by twice a day to put out food, change up water dishes, and pay us a bit of petting homage. Still… late at night, I found myself wandering the hallway, wondering just where I were supposed to put my furry self when bedtime came.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A few days ago, I <span style="font-size:78%;">*cough*</span> just happened to be sitting in the window, minding my own business, when a car pulled up outside and my people returned, burdened with boxes, bags, and bulging suitcases. In order to enforce my dignity, I eschewed a formal greeting and headed back up the stairs to pay careful attention to grooming my back paw. Winston busied himself with eating a few crunchies, and gave them a "What, you were gone?" expression that I high-fived him for later.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But I have to admit, we're both secretly glad they brought us those plush Goofies and Stitches!</span>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-16942954588916139102009-02-08T13:18:00.000-08:002009-02-08T16:37:24.494-08:00Winston: On Facial Fur<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Mom’s computer is broken. I swear that Franklin and I had <span style="font-style: italic;">nothing </span>to do with it.<span style="font-size:78%;"> (Probably.)<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Y</span>es, we were walking across the keyboard a few nights ago, before being rudely told to go about our normal business. However, the blow-up happened when she was playing that game—the one with the flashing spells and the cool music and all—and suddenly the machine made a “pop” sound, and died. Her tech friend said she probably has a faulty hard drive.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This is not a good thing.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But in a way it <span style="font-style: italic;">is </span>a bit of a good thing because the computer is out for repair. In the meantime, she won’t be able to embarrass me by putting up pictures of me in my current, somewhat dilapidated state.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I don’t know what happened. I can’t for the life of me figure it out. Franklin first called attention to the situation by pointing at me and laughing one afternoon, as Mom was petting me. (I think he was jealous that she was cooing over me, and wanted to divert attention in his direction.) Anyway, Mom suddenly exclaimed, “Winston, what happened to your whiskers? They’re a mess!”<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Now, I can’t see them very well--it makes me even more cross-eyed when I try--but she says about a third of my whiskers are broken off, a couple are bent at odd angles, and I have fewer above one eye than the other. I heard her tell a friend, “Winston looks pretty funny right now.” Franklin has taken to stroking his luxuriant whiskers in front of everyone, softly chuckling behind his paw. I have tried to tell folks that this whole thing is an intentional fashion choice, that I was going for this season’s “rakish look,” but so far no one seems to be buying it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The race is on: I must regrow a snootful of whiskers and pop a few more on my forehead before the computer gets back and I’m forever captured in an embarrassing photograph! I hope to win this contest, if only by… yes… a whisker. ;)<br /></span>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-90636688447972897222009-01-27T00:32:00.000-08:002009-01-27T00:50:59.860-08:00Teen Kitties<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Franklin and Winston have reached the tender age of 20 weeks. If they are kittens no longer, I guess you could call them “teener cats.” At this stage they’re lean and lanky and active as all get out. If the kitten months were about mischief, the teen months are already showing signs of being about <span style="font-style: italic;">serious </span>antics, as they learn how to climb inside the stereo, surmount the 8-foot curio in a single bound, balance on the top of the bookshelf, and pick my “tucked away for safe keeping” plushies from any of a dozen hiding places.<br /><br />The kits show no signs of “slowing down as they mature.” Rather, they only show a higher level of creativity in what they get into, and how they get into it. ;)<br /><br />Several weeks ago, the whole family started considering the “to neuter or not to neuter” question. It shouldn’t be a hard question, really. There are far too many homeless cats and kittens, and adding to the pet population is unnecessary. On the other hand, there is no shortage of demand for an attractive Siamese, and both of the boys would probably sire beautiful kittens. Plus, I would dearly love to have kittens in the house, even for just a few weeks before they go to their new homes. (Well, their new homes assuming I could part with them!)<br /><br />In consulting with our veterinarian, though, he said that un-neutered adult male cats do not really make very good pets. They’re much too interested in “the ladies,” which means it can be a constant struggle to keep them inside. Too, they’re known to damage carpets and furniture beyond a bit of claw sharpening, if you know what I mean. And finally, having two adult males might lead to territorial disputes. I know that situation pretty well, for years ago we had a father and son who began fighting so badly my mother ended up taking the son into her home. It turned out to be a blessing, because Mom had firmly stated she didn’t want a cat but she and Ambrose ended up being completed devoted to one another. (Yes, Ambrose, as in Ambrose P. Hill, the U.S. Civil War general. Yet another unusual kitty name. ;) )<br /><br />Anyway, last week we made the trip over to our friendly animal hospital and Franklin and Win underwent “the operation.” They returned a little groggy but none the worse for the experience and by the next morning were back to bouncing off the walls again. As for me, I guess I’ll restrict my love of kittens to my photo albums or visits to the local pet shop, knowing we made the best choice for the Win and Frankie, overall.<br /></span>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-5189999435298526832009-01-14T21:33:00.000-08:002009-01-15T18:15:45.008-08:00Cat-astrophes -- Part Trois<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Foot Fetish:</span> Every shoe in the house has shredded shoelaces. Even the shoes that don’t have laces have a wary look about them, knowing if they did have laces, they would be chewed, clawed, and otherwise defiled. Half of the trainers have missing aiglets (the plastic tip at the end of the laces—bonus points in Trivial Pursuit!). And my new lavender slippers with the furry tops have a suspicious moistness about them in the mornings, as if to suggest someone</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">—</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I dare not say who!</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">—</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">may have been licking the fur in the wee hours of the night.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SW7aK-YDouI/AAAAAAAAAI8/6rVBVh4Dus4/s1600-h/Aiglet+Heaven.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 116px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SW7aK-YDouI/AAAAAAAAAI8/6rVBVh4Dus4/s200/Aiglet+Heaven.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291406494284358370" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Succulent Shoelaces</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Packaging as a Decorative Accent: </span>The Boyz got a really fancy cat tree a couple of months ago. It has seven levels that offer a choice of two houses, a ramp, a set of stairs, a tube, a pair of high shelves, and a hammock (which is their favorite part). However, they may just prefer the carton the whole thing came in. I don’t claim that to be a unique observation; the same has been said about gifts given to small children and dawgs. However, the lengths to which the kitties venerate the carton is extraordinary, including digging holes to allow multi-level access, bending the top three inches to form a ridge so that they can tight-rope walk along the edge, and licking off the various labels to make the entire structure <span style="font-style: italic;">oh </span>that much more attractive. <span style="font-size:85%;">Aye, right.</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"> :)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Everest Experience: </span>As smallscale (and somewhat hairier) Sir Edmund Hillarys, Winston and Franklin have embraced the instinctive desire to climb and have taken it to</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">—</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">forgive me</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">—</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">new heights. They’ve tested draperies, curtains, hanging bath towels, even an eight-foot curio cabinet, whose conquest resulted in substantial disturbance amongst my game shrine. Their latest récréation du jour is surmounting shower curtains. Crack-of-dawn crashes over the last few days confirm that sometimes “I climbed it because it is there” can be appended with, “Well, not any more.” ;)</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SW7aZlfdJBI/AAAAAAAAAJE/odlJMhC5JqU/s1600-h/Trouble+with+Slippers.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 94px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SW7aZlfdJBI/AAAAAAAAAJE/odlJMhC5JqU/s200/Trouble+with+Slippers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291406745302541330" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Gasp!<br />You are going to be in soooo much trouble!</span></div>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-24306969254497205542009-01-07T23:41:00.000-08:002009-01-09T14:27:36.563-08:00Cat-astrophes -- Part Deux<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The snow is gone now, washed away in rainstorms that make one think of arcs and animal duos. The frosty goodness was lovely while it lasted, and I will hope for a beautiful White Christmas every year now. And after reflection, I think it's time for a few more observations in the continuing saga of <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">(soap opera announcer voice here) </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Life with Kitties</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">:</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Christmas Tree De-Decoration: </span> I figured this year I’d be smart. There’s no point in putting up tempting breakable ornaments, especially since I’ve been collecting for years and have—by actual count—13 large storage boxes of decorations. I decided to go with all non-breakables like brass or wood, or soft ornaments like felt, yarn, or fabric. The problem is, the kitties love plushies, and consider anything within reach their toy. So I heard "Jingle Bells" (or jingling bells, anyway) at all hours of the day and night, as Winston captured a plush santa and carried it down the hall, or as Franklin dragged a stuffed reindeer twice his size to the top of the stairway and then pushed it over the edge. My lovely Noble Fit—7 feet tall, hand cut at the tree farm—was a sight to see: Graceful, delicate... and decorated only from 3 feet and up. ;)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Super Shoppers:</span> Let's put it this way, from 3 AM QFC bag exploration to afternoon purchase inspection, there's never been a shopping bag The Boyz didn't love.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SWWzFqbeSiI/AAAAAAAAAIs/8eQYxAt3jDM/s1600-h/Shopping+Bags.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 160px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SWWzFqbeSiI/AAAAAAAAAIs/8eQYxAt3jDM/s200/Shopping+Bags.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288830247286753826" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Something is wrong.<br />I found no roast chicken in this bag!</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Fish Food = Haute Cuisine:</span> Apparently, fish are carnivores. Who knew? I figured they ate veggies, yet their flake food is nothing but the processed carcasses of their predecessors. Frankie and Win noticed that I had a small fish food sample on my desk. “Please, Mom, could we have that packet?” they politely inquired. Forty-two times I replied, “Get off the desk, let go of that packet, and leave the fishie food alone.” Sometime in the night, they crept onto my desk anyway and made off with the TetraMin. The package is now covered with tiny teeth marks and there’s a dime-sized hole in the center from which, I believe, someone has been licking taste samples!</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SWW1QtziGTI/AAAAAAAAAI0/6V7Mscq4QaY/s1600-h/Aquarium.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SWW1QtziGTI/AAAAAAAAAI0/6V7Mscq4QaY/s200/Aquarium.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288832636194789682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >I see you in there.</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Both Win and Frankie have taken to looking longingly into the aquarium when I feed the fish. As you can imagine, a well-clawed and well-toothed mammal plastered to the side of the tank causes some concern amongst the inhabitants. In fact, a couple of the gourmis are now swimming exclusively in the rear area of the tank and I think the tetras have begun roving security patrols.<br /></span>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-28132532967568470572009-01-02T20:50:00.000-08:002009-06-06T22:28:54.533-07:00Winston: I Invent a New Card Game<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Over this human holiday called New Year’s, I came up with what I think is a brilliant new concept: It’s a card game where you wager coins, paper money, bits of plastic, or even kitty kibbles (!) and win rewards based on the cards in your paw. I call it “poker.”<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This new game takes skill, cunning, and a very cool demeanor. You must be able to look someone in the eye and not reveal glee at a good paw, or despair at a lousy draw of cards. In fact, you benefit greatly if you are able to make a paw full of cat litter look like a bowl of turkey breast, based on your facial expression.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SV7x1o754pI/AAAAAAAAAIc/zkZa8mGbY3Y/s1600-h/Kitty+Poker+2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SV7x1o754pI/AAAAAAAAAIc/zkZa8mGbY3Y/s200/Kitty+Poker+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286928916403577490" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Never avoid meeting you opponent's eyes.</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My humans invited friends and family over to our house to play the new game; they all seemed to enjoy it immensely. In fact, gaming ensued into the wee hours. One of the newly-trained players snapped a few photographs. I suspect he thought by doing that he would capture my exceptional ability to remain impassive as I wagered; perhaps he thought he'd divine the code to my game-winning demeanor.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">No matter. </span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SV7y65ULT9I/AAAAAAAAAIk/fDQcLf2eJO8/s1600-h/Kitty+Poker+1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 189px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SV7y65ULT9I/AAAAAAAAAIk/fDQcLf2eJO8/s200/Kitty+Poker+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286930106211323858" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >I call your stack of worthless plastic</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >and raise you two fishy treats.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />I drew to an inside straight flush and cleared the table.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And in the spirit of the holiday, Franklin and I hope your celebration was joyful and wish you much happiness in the New Year.</span></div>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-12567509908061369352008-12-30T18:54:00.000-08:002008-12-30T19:48:25.262-08:00Cat-astrophes -- Part Un<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It’s been a cold winter here in Seattle. We’ve been pretty much snowed in for about 10 days, off and on. The temperature has been in the 30s for so long, it’s going to feel positively balmy when it gets back to the normal winter 40s. Being home with the kits has been interesting. I’ve made a few notes on their recent antics:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Morning Coffee, anyone? </span>The other morning, I heard a significant crash from the direction of the kitchen. In my semi-awake state, I called out to the kits to knock off whatever they were doing, then fell back asleep. A half-hour later, I visited the kitchen, only to find my morning mocha all over the counter, rangetop, floor, new Christmas throw rug, and even inside the stove, in the glass panels that make up the door’s window. “Wow,” I said aloud in an admiring voice, “that took some doing!” Much discussion of “bad kitty behavior” ensued as I sponged, wiped, mopped, and scrubbed away the coffee. All the while, I was “helped” by two kittens who had absolutely <span style="font-weight: bold;">no </span>idea how the cup had been spilled! They suggested a “seismic event” or “marauding reindeer.”</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SVrrUxTv0cI/AAAAAAAAAHM/XcpcT1uhNC4/s1600-h/Winston+12-25-08.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 152px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SVrrUxTv0cI/AAAAAAAAAHM/XcpcT1uhNC4/s200/Winston+12-25-08.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285795854738772418" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >Honest, Mom. It was reindeer. Eight of 'em!</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Mmmmmmm…. Catsicle:</span> I was peeking out the door the other day, checking out the snow. I looked around, no cats underfoot, all was clear to close the door. A few minutes later, I noticed Winston clawing at the front door. Thinking that was singularly unusual behavior, I looked around to see what Franklin was up to. No Franklin. Well, no Franklin until I opened the front door and found him wedged between the house and storm doors. Oh, don’t worry, there was plenty of room for him – he’s still a tiny little thing. The main problem was it was 24 degrees outside, and I’m not sure if I would have noticed him being amongst the missing for a while. Hence… the title. ;) (I hasten to add, I do cat-checks frequently and am obsessive about safety. Toilet lids down, rooms with tempting small objects have doors closed, etc. That one got by me, though. So now I do a nose count before I open the door and turn to do one again as I close it behind me. Honestly, these are pretty high-maintenance kitties! :)</span></div>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4654725027688170286.post-28245370210861059332008-12-24T14:01:00.001-08:002008-12-25T02:33:29.864-08:00Oh! Christmas Tree!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SVK2vJ1_juI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZYa3_E1jMf0/s1600-h/First+Look.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SVK2vJ1_juI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZYa3_E1jMf0/s200/First+Look.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283486234071502562" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Franklin and Winston are enjoying the season. They’re very intrigued by the tree, of course. In addition, they've found themselves indulging in all sorts of interesting new taste treats -- whether invited or not. (“Cream cheese salsa dip FTW!” they cheer.) Mostly, they're smitten with my plushy collection. I have plushies both on the tree and lined up along the back of the sofa. It's sort of a "Santa, and Reindeer, and Bears, oh my!" thing. Now, nary a day goes by that I don’t find a Christmas mouse or a Beanie Penquin in my hallway, under my bed, or down the stairway. There has been no actual damage (knock wood!) but it’s sort of like finding little seasonal corpses lying all over the house. ;)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SVNeoMYiOaI/AAAAAAAAAGs/d2l-Z5wcun0/s1600-h/Kitten+%26+Snoopy.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SVNeoMYiOaI/AAAAAAAAAGs/d2l-Z5wcun0/s200/Kitten+%26+Snoopy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283670832447633826" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I like to play the Musical Snoopy for The Boyz; this plushie even has flashing lights! They really get pretty excited about that little guy. Stepping closer, one will take a tentative bat at the toy, wondering if it will fight back. I figure by tomorrow, Winston (or will it be Franklin?) will have figured out how to trigger the music, and we'll be awakened to Vince Guaraldi (he's the guy who wrote that great jazz score for A Charlie Brown Christmas) at, say, 3:30 AM.</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SVNfBZDKSBI/AAAAAAAAAG0/6uvjDKxpgpI/s1600-h/Sleepy+Kitty.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OnRaymF7Q20/SVNfBZDKSBI/AAAAAAAAAG0/6uvjDKxpgpI/s200/Sleepy+Kitty.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283671265344374802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But the seasonal pièce de résistance is, as one might expect, the Christmas tree. It causes quite a ruckus when folks stagger into a little kit's house bearing eight or nine feet of Noble Fir goodness. The timing was questionable, I suppose: we got the real tree before we got the official kitty climbing tree. I feared Win and Frankie might compete in Swiss Rounds of “King of the Tree,” but thankfully, they resisted climbing altogether. They satisfied themselves with a thorough, five-sense inspection of the tree as we brought it in and have been busily removing all of the lower decorations since their installation.<br /><br />I would say Win and Frankie give Christmas two paws up. And just think, they haven't even opened their packages yet! :)<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" ></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" ><br />Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.</span></div></div>Gaile Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02255729143863942474noreply@blogger.com0