Happy Birthday, babies!

Oh man, you remember when I had that one cat, and then a whole bunch of baby cats came out of that one cat? Somehow, inexplicably, that happened an entire year ago.

Aside from dates that I made up arbitrarily, I have never known a pet's birthday before, and hence have not been able to express my cat-lady craziness to the utmost extent that it needs must go. Although, confidentially, so far that has involved only giving them fish treats and some catnip. I didn't buy them hats or anything.

The ceiling in the basement partially collapsed, but that's only tangentially related.

HERE ARE SOME PICTURES OF MY NOW-ENORMOUS BABIES:


All shapes and sizes and colors!


Super Handsome!


Crafty!


As ever!


Color-coordinated!


Adorableness!


Thanks for all the babies, Penny!

And now, just for kicks, here's a picture of some turkeys walking down the street.

Brothers.

A photo essay.

I was told this story is blog-worthy.

I have come to agree with that assessment.

The other night, I did my customary picking-up-of-Jillian. I will force her to love me. You'll see. She was surprisingly receptive to my advances, and didn't start squirming until I had been holding her for a minute or so.

I tried to readjust her, at which point she FLIPPED OUT. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" She became a flying puff ball of claws.

-- Two things. 1. When I said Jillian says "no" I meant that in the most literal sense. She literally says "no". Literally meaning "literally" and not "figuratively". 2. None of the kids have ever scratched anyone on purpose, and most accidental scratchings have been under control since they were maybe six-ish months. Jillian.

She flew and crashed into the bedroom and up into the ceiling cubby. (Fig. 1) This caused Penny to freak out and jump up there, too, growling and hissing. This caused Jack to be freak out, because he is always upset when Mommy gets upset. (BECAUSE HE IS PILOT.) I tried to comfort him, but he wouldn't even let me pet him. Sammie and Bowie had been napping peacefully on the bed, but they scrambled under it. Henry wasn't around when this happened, but he wandered in shortly after, seeing everyone freaked out and wondering what the yotz was going on.

Then, Jillian poked her head out of the cubby, and happily surveyed my now bleeding finger. She then hopped down and started batting a toy around while the other cats remained traumatized.

The cat used me to attention whore.

No one is D'Argo, thank goodness.

You guys, I just realized that instead of trying to explain the personalities of my cats, I could have just told you which Farscape character they are most like. This is alarmingly accurate!

I suppose I could do the same with other ensemble shows, but so far none have worked as well. Maybe Angel.

Sammie is Aeryn.
Bowie is Crichton.
Henry is Rygel.
Jillian is Chiana.
Jack is Pilot.
And Penny is Moya. Poor Penny.

Now which one do you want?

Happy Halloween!

And Penny you know.

Millimeter by millimeter, we're getting there.







Penny loves her babies.

I mean. You know. Most of the time.

Meet Bowie!

Bowie is the baby.

I don't play favorites, but I'm telling you upfront so there's no snags later: You can't have Bowie.

Bowie is physically incapable of doing anything that is not adorable. She stands against your legs, and then hugs them. She pets her brother. Pets him.

She is easy-going. Nay, she is unflappable. Once, I accidentally dropped a metal bowl in front of her, and she watched it bounce and clang and come to a halt, then beamed up at me. She's a follower. Whatever you want to do is okay by her!

She loves her brother Henry the most, because he is the funnest. She really really wants to play with the boys, but she is only a fourth of their collective size. Whenever everybody is running around crazy, she checks in with Mommy to make sure she's okay.

Bowie's favorite toy is ribbon. RIBBON.

Meet Samantha!

Samantha is number Four.

Sammi was the first baby to open her eyes. As she stared calmly at the rest, blindly squiggling around, she knew someone needed to be in charge of this crew, and it had to be her. That's why she looks so serious; she has a lot of responsibility.

She's not a baby. Never has been. She always eats when everyone else is finished, because she doesn't like eating with the babies. She doesn't like playing with them, either, most of the time. Unless it's to wrestle the boys. She's a tomboy like that.

She's also very girly. She does not like gross things. She will look at you pleadingly until you make the gross go away. Being praised makes her feel special. You never have to tell her something twice.

Half her face is 90% eyes.

Samantha's favorite toy is anything she can chew on.

Meet Jillian!

Jillian is your quintessential middle child.

Jillian is not an ordinary cat, because Jillian can talk!! Unfortunately, she can only say one word, and that word is "no." Before we knew that the twins were a boy and a girl, the easiest way to tell them apart was to pick one of them up. If the kitten seemed relatively relaxed, it was Jack. If it started squealing "Nu! Nu!!! Nuuuuuu!!!" it was Jillian. Or as she was simply known then, "The Whiner."

We usually call her Pillian.

Jillian doesn't want you to touch her. We're not sure where things went wrong. It may have been that time when they were very little and she managed to crawl away from the heap, to a dusty corner where she cried for possibly up to an hour before I came and found her. Her mother, I should note, showed no indications of going to get her. 4 out of 5 is still a B, I guess.

There's one thing that Jillian loves more than anything, and that's Jack. It's a good thing that Jack likes her too, otherwise she would be his stalker. She's always trying to get him away from the other kittens to play with her alone. She hides and watches when he uses the litter. She has boundary issues.

When she's not busy being a total weirdo, she can be pretty adorable. She plays with her toys not by batting them, but by pushing them along the floor like a kid with a diecast car. Plus, she easily provides "Hey, there's two of them!" photo ops.

Jillian's favorite toys are the puffy balls.

Meet Henry!

Henry was born second.

This information is irrelevant, because Henry is first in life. And while I don't feel qualified to permanently settle the nature/nuture debate that has intrigued Man for generations, I will tell you this: Henry was born that way. You could tell the way he slap-fought his brother over milk before his eyes had even opened.

He also liked to push heads and hog water and generally commandeer every new experience. This did not make him popular. But then, Henry discovered that he was a Lion. And part of what lions do is protect everybody. That's why he's the first to investigate every scary noise and count heads afterward. Lions also don't cover their business. Someone will get that.

Henry is even bigger than his brother. He has huge paws and jackrabbit feet. He still looks unfinished, like the gangly and awkward teenage boy he is. He likes to chase Jack around so they can do Man Things together.

While this all keeps him very busy, he will always, always take time out for hugging and cuddling. There's nothing more important.

Henry's favorite toy is water.

Meet Jack!

Jack is the eldest.

He weighs 11 pounds. He's broad and stocky. He doesn't realize any of this, and thinks he is still a tiny baby, so he crashes into things a lot. He's a total marshmallow and a sweet, well-behaved little boy. ... At least when he's not hanging out with his brother.

He's scared of a lot of things, but not vacuum cleaners. He is very shiny because he takes grooming very seriously. When he uses the litter, more or less all of it winds up in a mountain covering his business. He does not like stinky things. He is conscientious.

He loves his mommy, and is usually found with his twin sister following a few feet behind. But he really loves the moments he can get alone with people.

Jack's favorite toy is the scratching board.

Remember that time I had six cats?

Here's the thing ... I have six cats.

You may recall, back in the days when I occasionally used my blog, when I told you about this cat I took in that wound up multiplying. You may also recall that I said I wasn't going to keep all of them.

I am untrustworthy.

It's not that I didn't try. I tried very, very hard. But you can scarcely imagine how undesirable adorable tiny fluffy kittens are until you're trying to get people to take them. Of course, let's be clear. I'm not a complete incompetent. If my only concern were getting the kittens out of the house, I'm sure I could have done that. My real concern, though, was with finding them homes. Good homes with decent people where I wouldn't have to worry about what fate I'd consigned my babies to. That particular quest was full of many misadventures. One person only wanted kittens that were 5 weeks old. (Why?) One applicant wanted a cat with a predictable personality. (She wanted a dog.) Two sets of neighbors took kittens home and brought them back within a week. (And one set hasn't been seen since.) Then there was the charming if batty French lady my sister's mother-in-law knows from church. She is a lover, and collector, of animals, and swore that she had a good friend who was in want of kittens. Three months later the conversation was veering off in directions like, "Well, I met this couple in the bagel shop, and they seemed pretty nice. They were there putting up a missing poster for the second cat they've lost this year. Want to give your kittens to them?" I've stopped calling her.

So I have six cats. I guess haven't completely abandoned hope of homes. I'm still crossing my fingers on my Auntie Pat, who gushes about how gorgeous one of the kittens is and how much she wants her, but won't take her for reasons it would take a map to get to. Plus, I mean, would you like a cat or two, Internet? It's cool, I trust you.

But anyway. I figured I should tell you about my cats. The first step is admitting you have a problem. My next trick will be devoting an entry a day to introducing the little darlings. Then you'll know everything there is to know about the last six months of my life. And then? Who knows, my friends. Who knows.

Watch this space!

P.S. I also have a Secret Exciting Cat Project that I've probably already told you about. Full disclosure if it turns out not to be an epic failure.

Not a paid sponsor.

Do you have cats? Do you have many cats? Are your cats pretty gross most of the time?

Me too. As you may recall, I have six cats. (More on that at some vague point in the future.) They live mostly in the poorly-ventilated basement and they are tiny-to-medium sized factories of gross.

How often do you smell things, would you say? I am constantly smelling things. I believe that I am a very smell-oriented person. One time, I took a tour of the Fragonard Perfume Museum, and a smarmy perfumier explained that they employ super smellers, who are usually dudes. He gave me the eye as he said this, and I have no idea why. But the feeling it produced in me was one I would later come to identify as "I will cut your face!"

Anyway, you know what my favorite smell is? Nothing. I love the smell of nothing. I love it when my hands smell like hands and my bedlinens smell like air. One time, staying over someone's house, I spent a good ten minutes wondering if they had given me unclean sheets to sleep on. That seemed very unlikely! In fact, they hadn't. They just didn't use dye-free perfume-free everything-free detergent. So I wound up smelling all night. It should probably go without saying that I am not a fan of air fresheners. They generally smell like cheerful chemicals and give me headaches. I will use scented candles, if they're good quality. But I have to light them and blow them out near a vent or open window.

What was I talking about? OH YES: MANY CATS. If you have stinky cats, I am about to save your life: I picked up this can of stuff at my local supermarket because I figured, "... Eh!"

IT IS MAGICAL, OKAY. IT IS MADE OF MAGIC.

It got rid of the impossible-to-locate pee smell of cats long dead, okay. It made my basement smell like there was not a herd of cats living in it. It even made my exterior garbage can smell like ... well, like maybe we were throwing only the biological refuse of one cat in there, as opposed to six. Plus, I swear it makes the litter less dusty. And then when the gross smell is gone, it doesn't smell like anything! (After a fashion. It has a vaguely ozone-like smell for a few minutes after spraying.)

I considered the option that maybe I had just gotten used to the awful funk. (It's possible!) But then we ran out of spray on Monday and holy cats I had to go buy some more because it was incredibly, horrifyingly apparent how well it had previously been working.

Nothing works, you guys! Nothing! When is the last time something actually did what its manufacturers claimed it did? I mean, aside from ... spoons, and things like that?

That is all. If it's the early morning hours for you, and you have insomnia, please make sure to read this entry three times in a row before humming the national anthem.

Happy Easter!

Or: This is now a baby blog, but with kittens. Sorry!

Last year on Easter, you may recall, my beloved cat died and it was very terrible and sad. This year, we decided to go, instead, with a box of kittens. Upgrade, basically.



Box of kittens. The smears you can see on the sides are from their eye medicine. Their eyes look pretty good!




This is tabby and the girl black one. We call the black ones "the twins" even though they are no more twins than the rest of them. Tabby is a girl.




The twins. The girl is biting her brother, but normally they love each other. They stick together most of the time. He has a few white hairs on his chest, and they both may or may not have eyebrows.




This is gray. She is kind of a loner. Also these next pictures are post-eye goo.




This is orange. This is the clearest picture I could get of orange, because he is bad. He likes to fight with his siblings. But he also loves to cuddle, and will bite his siblings until you pick him up and cuddle him.




He fights with gray a lot.




She does not take his crap.

And no, they don't have names beyond their color designations, and a few nicknames (such as "Pretty Face" or "The Whiner"). Three or four of them will eventually be living elsewhere, and there's no point in calling them something so that I can get annoyed when their new families give them far stupider names. Probably.



... And oh, right! My father. He's doing very well, thank you. I am going to bring him some colored eggs tomorrow. On Monday he will find out if they will admit him to their affiliated rehab clinic. He'd stay there for about a week. That may not sound desirable, but it totally, totally is. If you'd like to cross your fingers for anything, be it for not sending him home soon. He really needs to be monitored and worked on to get him on his feet again, and if they send him home it will be very difficult and frustrating. For him, but, I mean, for me.

Also all my bills are paid up for like, the first time this year! Holy shit, I hope the irony fairies aren't gearing up for something.

So.

The kittens have colds/eye infections. All of them. The colds have just about run their course, but the eye infections necessitate eye goo. Penny is not thrilled about this turn of events, but she needs to get used to it, frankly. They're old enough now that we don't need to stress about them getting cold, so tomorrow we'll move them all out of the furnace room into a place that's actually clean and acceptable for kittens. Penny.

Oh, and also tomorrow I'm escorting my father into town to get a little spinal surgery.

You could say that I'm feeling anxious and that would not be inaccurate.

Kitten piles.

Halfpennies!!

So you'll recall, about a month ago, I acquired a cat. My household has had a long and illustrious history of acquiring cats, stretching back before I was born.

As a bit of trivia, we've never managed to acquire one that was knocked up, even though apparently cats are knocked up all the time. When Penny showed up, though, the sentence "I hope she's not pregnant!" was introduced almost immediately. I don't even know why! She didn't look at all pregnant. But the what if was overwhelming.

I checked in with Stephanie, because I know she's had a couple cats show up with a surprise inside. I asked her how to be sure if a cat is pregnant. Her reply was pretty much, "When kittens start coming out of them."

Oh man, you guys. By that definition? My cat is totally pregnant.

I'll have to get back to you on this.

Kitten tally = FIVE PENCE!!!!:
1. All black
2. Orange
3. Penny-colored (tortoiseshell)
4. Gray tabby
5. Dark gray? Black? It's getting hard to tell at this point. Tabby!

They are, of course, adorable, but we told Penny that's quite enough out of her.

VISUAL AID!

I feel so bad putting up this picture of Penny, because she looks like she's made of pure evil. She's actually ridiculously sweet. I just interrupted her five-second meal break to get this, and the babies were all crying. So she was like, "Look what you fucking did." Also: Jesus hell, all those were inside her yesterday.



L to R: black (?) one, back of other black one's head, orange one, gray tabby, regular tabby (last baby)

LATER!



You can only see maybe two and a half in this one, but they're all in there. Plus omg look at tabby baby. Penny is still looking a mess. She is very tired and has not had a bath.