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.

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.

MYSTERY CAR: THE RETURN!

You remember that time I saw that car with a weird "R" logo that I couldn't identify?

No? THAT'S WHY I LINK YOU.

Thrilling update! I saw it again! And I still have no idea what it is! But I took a really crappy picture of it with my cell phone. Look!




WHAT IS IT.

Photo Friday.

While my father is convalescing, I'm taking the opportunity to clear out his apartment. Among such sundry items as tape deck wipes, expired batteries, neck weights, old shoes, and 20-cent stamps, there are some things worth finding.

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.

Kitten piles.