Having a quiet evening, winding down from another dang eventful day.
Top Hat comes over and noses my leg for attention.
Then some bloody huge multi-engine turboprop flying machine goes by, low overhead (as they do, in this neighborhood).
Top Hat gets totally alert. Is she about to panic?
Nope. Looks alarmed for a moment, then runs over to the window for a look out.
One of these days, she'll catch one of those big aluminum birdies!
I must remember to inspect the cats' hiding places. Just in case they've acquired any anti-aircraft weaponry.
And now here's Southmoon looking for attention. Real mountain lions don't roll over for belly rubs... do they?
Update: Had I mentioned that Top Hat plays fetch? Top Hat plays fetch. It's a recent development. She'll come to me, toy mouse in mouth, and drop it. I pick it up and toss it. She runs after it (quite an amusing spectacle; I'll have to get video of it someday), plays with it for a moment, then brings it back for another toss. This typically goes on until Huckleberry gets involved; he doesn't fetch, but he gets enthusiastic enough about chasing that he breaks up the game.
For one thing, they've been subjected to a string of visitors who like cats; cat people are scary*.
And then there's the noise from the park, as the pre-Fourth-of-July festivities ramp up, with the usual big booms.**
Which brings to mind signs I saw a couple of days ago, warning against the use of fireworks and promising that suspicious activity would be Reported To The Authorities.
Apparently setting of fireworks on Independence Day now constitutes suspicious activity. Glad we've got that clear.
* When someone who doesn't like critters in general, and who's allergic to cats in particular, comes to visit, the cats gather 'round.
** This is California. Basically all incorporated cities forbid fireworks of any kind. At the state level, only the very lamest of the safe-n-lame fireworks are allowed. So, here in a city that forbids all fireworks? People set off the big boomers that are prohibited by federal law. Apparently imported from Mexico, along with the pot, meth, Honduran kids, and whatnot.
Seems I should be wearing steel-toed shoes when giving the fuzzballs their evening romp. (The most effective way to get them out of the bedroom is to get out the laser pointer and have them chase the dot out of the bedroom and then around the living room for a while.)
This makes two nights in a row that Huckleberry has trodden on one or another of my toes, with his claws extended in maximum-traction-on-carpet configuration.
Alas, I didn't have a camera handy to capture the moment, but:
Huckleberry just summoned Great Cthulhu!
He climbed up on my desk, reached waaaay up, grabbed Cthulhu by the foot, and pulled him down.
Now he's playing with him. Toying, even.
Never leave your Great Old Ones where a cat can get ahold of them.
Update: He tried again, and I had a camera handy, but the stack of papers whereon he was standing included a thick tome of slick cover and rather less than letter-size cross-section, and his wicked plan failed amid sliding papers. Let this be a lesson to you: never use An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations as a stepping-stone for evil.
Update 2: I can haz Great Old One?
Feetnote: From the bottom of Huckleberry's foot to the bottom of Cthulhu's foot is just about 34 inches. Did I mention Momcat looked to be a Maine Coon? And the fuzzballs are still growing.
Three out of three cats surveyed are afraid of Squeaky Pikathulhu.
(I'd had the thing for years, presumably bought from Stuffe & Nonsense at one con or another, and never realized it had a squeaker until this afternoon when I took it down from the shelf and dusted it.)
Sometimes, a loose mat can get among the pedals, creating a hazardous condition.
This just happened to me, fortunately at low speed. Only there was a one-letter difference.
A loose cat, as it turns out, can have much the same effect. (And it was an aftermarket cat, though I understand the mat problem commonly involved aftermarket mats, too, so it's not all that much different.)
I still haven't gotten the critters to bark at the postman, but here's an oddity: I keep reading that one should never try to give a cat a belly rub, 'cause that's strictly a dog thing. And yet: all three of the now-very-overgrown kittens solicit, and seem to appreciate, belly rubs and skritches. Even when administered with a foot, or at dog-level intensity. (Though I haven't gotten the standard canine hind-leg-jerking response from any of them.)
Addenda, as I click random links on that site:
Here: "Cats can’t open kibble bags or cans of food, and they can’t hop in the refrigerator and help themselves to leftovers." Um. Leave a bag of Trader Joes's kibble on the floor around here, and it'll soon be torn open. And, while I haven't, yet, found the refrigerator inexplicably open, the critters certainly have learned to open kitchen cabinets.
Here: "...even a few ounces of chocolate can be enough to cause illness in a small dog..." A few ounces is a lot of chocolate! On a bad day, an ounce of chocolate will make me sick, never mind a small dog.
OK: heat up the oven, and get a mixing bowl out. Two overripe bananas, eeny-meeny-miney, three eggs, remove Huckleberry, a goodly slosh of milk, a modest slosh of oil, don't forget the sugar, remove Huckleberry, stir in all-purpose whole-grain baking mix to obtain proper batter consistency, remove Huckleberry, put in muffin pan... oops.
See what I left out? Pecan bits. Darn cat was being so distracting (while trying ever so hard to be helpful) that I ended up making nutless muffins.
Oh, well. They're OK. They'd just be better with the pecans.