The Great Mouse Invasion: 2009

Yes, it's begun again.

Winter has finally struck. It got very very cold

This is the back deck after the first day of snowfall.

So much snow it built up on the trellis!

and the mice have decided to migrate indoors. Into my boiler room/pantry in the basement. Then, just for grins, they decide to scamper around inside the heating ducts on their way to the kitchen and take a sniff around.

Unfortunately for them, there are cats in the house.

Domino receives credit for the capture this year. I was reading with Kaboom on my lap and heard a great deal of scampering in the kitchen; not wanting to get up (and with a cat on my lap, I couldn't), I ignored it until I finished my book. Then I went off to find out what Domino was up to. Kaboom, however, had other plans and stole Domino's new toy.

That doesn't look...comfortable.

I find it odd that the scaredy cat is the better mouser and the more aggressive one will defer to him until he saw an opportunity to steal his mouse back from Kaboom.

Domino (white cat) makes his plans for mouse retrieval. Kaboom (black cat) double dog dares him to take it.

I also learned that it's apparently difficult to growl and hiss with a mouthful of mouse. I didn't know that until this episode.

In the end, I called for Eric to come and take the mouse (still alive) away from Domino who was in danger of losing it in the front entryway amongst all of our shoes. Did you know that water glasses and paper work just as well for mouse removal aids as they do for spider removal aids?

Yes, yes they do.

Eric tossed the mouse outside into the 2 foot plus drifts in our front yard and that was they end of that.

The question I keep coming back to in my mind is not: "Why do we have mice?". The question should be "Why don't we have MORE mice?" It's crumb central* around here with the Twin Food Flingers. We should have entire ARMIES of mice.

Where are they? I don't think the 17 I caught in the yard this summer made a serious dent in the local mouse population and the two we caught inside in traps, can't have been it. I guess I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Well, it could be worse. They could be [stage whisper] cockroaches.

[Shudder!]






* How often is "normal" for floor sweeping? Once a day? Once every other day? Once an hour? Cuz this floor could be swept hourly and still I'd be catching crumbs and that just ain't right.

Night sounds

I was mostly asleep when there was a tremendous Crash! followed by metallic pinging sounds.

My sleep-filled brain translated these noises into "Oh my god! Logan has shaken his crib apart, fallen to the ground and is buried under a piles of crib pieces and so hurt he's not crying!". With this frantic thought in mind, I vaulted out of bed, down the hall and into the twin's room where I flipped on the light and saw --

two sleepy babies looking up at me, wondering why I was waking them up.

They were happy to see me, though, and after a bit of milk went right back to sleep.

Eric pointed out the baby gate that was on the floor in the hallway - apparently a cat had knocked it over. Amazingly enough the sound of the crash didn't wake the babies. I did.

The metallic pinging sound was caused by the frame in Caitlin's room that Logan's crib banging had caused to fall off the shelf and shatter on the floor. In the middle of the night. At the same time the gate fell.

Goooood instincts! Baaaad translation.

Ashes

There is a box I am afraid to open sitting on my mantlepiece.

It's been sitting there since late September, 2002.

This box has always seemed unusually heavy to me. The contents sigh as they shift about inside their cardboard tomb. An ignominious end to the life of one so loved.

The box is not very large at all, but it has loomed over me for these last 6 years. My cat - what is left of my cat - lays inside. All 8 pounds of her, whiskers, tumor, teeth and all. All of that fur. The remaining hairballs she didn't live to hork up onto the floor. Great big eyes of greenish yellow. A heart that only had room for me in it, but that managed to make a tiny amount of space for a husband and eventually a little baby girl.

Well, so long as those two remembered their manners. She was a very formal kitty, after all. Forever wearing her tuxedo, ready for a party at a moment's notice. She used to sit very upright, her long, luxurious tail daintily wrapped about her white-tipped paws; bright white cravat cleaned, with every hair (and there were many) in place.

She wasn't always so formal, my first kitty, she came from a humble beginning: a farm somewhere in eastern Massachusetts. My friend (and roomie), Steph, brought her home from a farm where my kitty and her brother were the last of the litter. She was all eyes and whiskers, a tiny puff of black fur. Eager to pounce on anything that moved, flew, scuttled or flicked.

Long years passed. A strange lump was found. A tumor. Chemotherapy followed and we eked out one more year together, although it was not a good year for her, it was time enough for me to learn to say goodbye. She died in my arms one late September day. Her ashes were returned to me in an unusually heavy box.

I never opened that box. I was afraid of what I might see inside. Would there be teeth?

Today, however, I finally found an appropriate home for the ashes of my kitty (and the two others that followed her: Dart, out of turn at 7 and Pixel well into his 17th year) and the box wouldn't fit in the bright red, lidded, cache pot that would be her final (and far more fitting) home. Steeling myself I opened the box, alone in my kitchen.

Oh.

Oh.

Well then.

There inside was a plastic bag and in the bag just grey, gritty dust. Just some ashes. Just Xerxes. No more, no less, but nothing untoward, if you know what I mean.

I placed that rude plastic bag into the elegant cache pot, added in the sealed containers that held her brothers and put the lid on the pot. Back on the mantlepiece it went where it sits in a place of honor, where my cats rest now in a fitting container.

There it sits, holding three cat-shaped pieces of my heart.

A Scientific Approach to Cat Ownership

see more crazy cat pics

You needed a smile today, didn't you?


And now, a musical interlude.


I love the markings on Sparta. If I had the cash to buy a purebred, I'd get the Bengal. Except without all of the biting. Bad pet owner, encouraging the biting!

Here's an IT review of kitties, aka cat larva.

Tell me about your favorite pet in the comments. Hippos, anyone?!

Almost Forty

Does thirty-nine ever get any respect as an age? I mean, really: it's the gateway to 40. You are now teetering on the edge of no longer being able to claim that you are in your thirties. There's a whole other decade on the other side of the next 365/366.

And it looks like a long way down.

Me: the early days.

On my 1st birthday.

Don't worry, it's not your eyes - the photos are blurry. My mom, she's not so good with the photographic equipment.
That's my older sister to the left and me on the right. I've no idea who the boy is. Perhaps one of my billion cousins?
A very new me. Not a flattering photo at all, but would you look at that doll?! I'm terrified just looking at it! And do I ever have a lot of hair!
Dawn shares her lollipop with me. She was a good big sister that way. Note naked baby doll in background. I think it's following me.
Mom makes the best cakes, even waaaaay back then. Notice how carefully she cut a slice for me that I am busy smashing into my own face? Excellent! Dawn looks ready to snag the remaining partly mashed piece from my plate, even though she's got a bigger piece on her own plate.

You know, she looks kinda like Logan there. Or rather, Logan looks rather like she does.
Bathing beauties. Maybe it's just me, but did wading pools used to be really small and then got bigger over time? This one is barely covering our ankles and it's not like we're giants or anything. Although these days I practically tower over Dawn with my extra 4 inches. Heh heh heh!

Yup, that's my mom. If anyone wonders where the looks come from in our family, well all point collectively at her. (Sorry dad!)

So let's see: thirty-nine years and what do I have to show for it?

One of these:
One of these:
One of these:
Oh and one of these, making all of the three previous items possible:
And a pair of these:

Add in a few thousand plants, dozens of friends and relatives and that may be as good as it gets.

Not too shabby.

If only there were cake!

And naps. Definitely would like a few more naps.

Happy birthday to meeee! Zzzzzz!

Twenty Four Weeks

Just a quick update for all of you baby fans out there. I should be sleeping.

For those of you counting, the twins are now 5 and a half months old. Not exactly a big change from last week, although both of them being sick at the same time is a big change: not for the better. They're both doing better than I was and neither actually got the flu, thank goodness! However they are both filled to the brim and overflowing with boogies. Bleah. Emma has a very sad little wet cough, which makes her cry kind of gurgly. Neither one is feverish and I think they're both throwing off their colds since Emma, at least, has started sleeping through the night again. Yay Emma!

Emma: "Logan, you know what? Mommy's going to get me a pony since I sleep through the night."

Logan: [Gasps.] "Mommy! Is this true?!"
Me: "Uhhhh...nuh-no. Err...not really? Umm...maybe? Wait. What was the question?"

Emma: "A pony. It can live under my crib."
Logan: [In the background.] "Waaaaaah!"

Emma: "My work here is done."

Where was I?

Yes. So! They like to hang out together a lot more and only occasionally will they pitch a fit over the other one tearing a toy out of their hand and/or mouth. You have to be careful how close together you place them because they get very excited and will grab at each other's face. Ow! They're still practicing sitting up, but still slip and fall over and go bonk. Emma is still crawling backwards and getting frustrated, but she also does cute little pushups when she's excited about something. Unfortunately, I have very few photos this week due to the glassy-eyed experience that is a 105 degree fever.

Interestingly enough, the cats seem to like the babies. They're at least-ways not afraid of them and you will even catch my scaredy cat, Kaboom, hanging out right next to them.

Kaboom sits well within baby grabbing range. He almost seems to...like it!

It's a funny thing, after he's spent all of these months living under our bed that he now shows up to get petted by the wee ones. Both of the twins get all excited when they see the cats go wandering by and if they come close enough, either baby will reach out a pudgy little hand and pet/grab a fistful of kitty. Fortunately for all involved, the kitties seem totally OK with this course of events. We're working on teaching how to pet softly and gently, but excitement turns open hands into tiny claws of cat clenching fur removal units. Not that we don't have enough fur floating around already, mind you.

I have also seen one or the other baby attempt to put a cat in their mouth.

It was a novel concept: to see cats covered in people spit. At least they don't appear to be allergic!

Well it's time to hie me off to bed. This time I shall leave you with this face to ponder.

Little boy blue. Someone needs some cheek squeezin'!

Logan: "Mommy? Can't I have a pony, too?"
Me: "Can't...resist...eyes!"

Wordless Wednesday III

Nap time.

For more Wordless Wednesday posts, click here.

For more of my Wordless Wednesday posts, click here instead.

Always Respect the Claws

Valerie lost her kitty, Ozzy, to cancer last week. Last night she wrote a Speaking for him. Essentially a eulogy. If you've ever loved and lost a pet, especially a cat, you should go read it.

Rules of Ozzie:

- I can touch you, you can't touch me.
- I can come up to you and sniff and put my paw on you and sit up so I can get very close to you..... but that still doesn't mean you can pet me.
- If you don't follow this rule I will hiss. At the very least.
- If you show any fear I may swipe at you as you walk by me.

You might need a few tissues. I'm just sayin'....

I'm still a little haunted by Pixel, but in a good way (For more about Pixel, just search my blog for his name. There are many stories. Bring tissues.). Each loss leaves a little hole in your heart. Each kitty seems to ghost through the house for up to a year after their death. Are they tiny furred ghosts or are they just really loud memories? I don't think you can live with anyone for 16 years and not see them walking through your days for ages after they are officially gone.

Can you?

I don't generally believe in ghosts, but kitties seem to be different. Then again, other than my immediate family and Eric, I've never lived as long with anyone that has died other than my cats. Their deaths always feel a lot more real than that of the humans in my life that have died.

That's pretty weird, isn't it?

Little House on the Desert Plain

Our house is 20 years old this year.

It has been ours for the last 13 years; we bought it the year before we got married and thought it was perfect. We had been renting a 700 sq ft apartment and when we bought 3x that size, we couldn't figure out why the current owners complained that the kitchen wasn't big enough!

Hah ha! Ha! Haaaa.

We were young and foolish then.

It wasn't a fixer-upper, 'cause we're just not handy like that. A little painting, a little electrical work, sure, but not the rip-up-the-walls and add-a-new-room types. Thus began the years of check writing.

First, we finished the basement. And by we, of course, I mean the company we hired because we would do horrible damage to ourselves if we attempted such a thing. This was followed by a massive interior repainting which we did ourselves. That was fun! Especially since it was the summer of the Miller moth invasion. Imagine being 12' up on a ladder, painting the ceiling when Miller moths start dive bombing your head.

The expression is creepy crawly, not creepy fly into your face and make you almost lose your grip and fall to your death/derangement/damage, thankyouverymuch!

That was also the summer that we discovered that there really is a limit to the number of moths your cats will eat.

That's when we also discovered that the vacuum with hose attachment is a great way to get rid of moths.

Um. Anyway! More years passed by and I was busy throwing hissy fits over the lack of counter space in the kitchen. This was combined with Eric's decision to go to law school and the knowledge that we wouldn't be able to move for several years, even if we wanted to. I then demanded insisted strongly suggested that if we were to remain in this house for the next 5-7 years, that for my sanity's sake we needed a kitchen remodel. And while we were at it, let's re-do the master bathroom. Oh and get rid of the carpet, too.

I designed the kitchen on graph paper, lovingly, to scale. Eric wrote the check. We each have our talents.

Then, after we discovered the amount of damage Pixel had done to the basement walls, we had a mini-remodel in the basement (Ripped out the bottom 12" of drywall all the way around and 24" in the corners.) and put bamboo flooring down there as well.

After all that, the house was looking guuuuuuud. It was then time to repaint the outside from the eye-searing pastel yellow to a deep, intense shade of blue. A color that is not for the color faint of heart. The eye-searing had actually calmed down over the years, but initially it was awful. My apologies to those of you that like yellow and specifically pastel yellow, but it was never the color for us. I remember distinctly that when we pulled up to the house with our real estate agent that both of us took one look and were willing to pass. Fortunately the agent insisted we look inside. Smart lady.

And we looked upon our house and it was good.

Until we had a massive hail storm and had to replace the roof, along with everyone else in the neighborhood.

Oh and let's not forget last summer's remodel of the rooms for the kids. That journey began here and ended here.

Then, finally, after complaining miserably about being hot in the summer of my Preggosaurus-ness (First reference to Preggosaurus.) and noticing that the A/C couldn't keep the temperature below 81 degrees, we saw that the windows were shot. The double paned window seals were gone and there wasn't just a little moisture in there: it was a Biodome. Sea-monkeys could have set up shop in there, disappointing yet another generation of children for their failure to actually be...monkeys. (Nice job, sellers of brine shrimp. You suck!)

Ahem. Yes. Where was I?

Oh! So then Eric and I made a deal. He could buy his neat new-to-him car and I could get new windows.*

Score!

What?!

Oh.

I disappointed you, didn't I? I should have bargained for something else? Windows aren't as sexy as a new used car, that's true, but it is what I wanted and felt kinda like a luxury. Although it's kinda funny to call being kept warm in the winter and cool in the summer a luxury, isn't it? Hmm. Maybe I should've asked for more sleep?

No, wait. He doesn't have any of that either.

So windows it was! Errr...is!

I feel warmer already!

No, I'm not exaggerating. You can no longer feel cold air pouring down on you while you sit on the sofa next to the window. (I can hear Sierra cheering from here.) A definite problem when watching movies at night. In the winter. As an added bonus, the street noise has been cut down considerably.

Aaaaand!

The windows are clean.

That's right! It was all a ruse to avoid washing the windows! Bwaaahahahhaaa!

Aha! Ha! Heeeeee! *wheeze*

I need to get out more.

So, here's my question:

If eyes are the windows to the soul, what are windows? The eyes of the house? If so, (Eww! Creepy image!) 9 out of 16 of our house's eyes just had laser surgery.

Come on over! It's warm inside!



* The moral of the story? Rent. It's cheaper.

Tap. Tap tap.

Tap.

Tap tap.

"Ungggh." I don't want to wake up from the warm, dark, heavy unconsciousness. Noooo!

Tap.

Tap tap.

"Unggh." I crack open my left eye in time to see a small pudgy arm rising to tap me on the chest again. Logan's big blue eyes greet my blurry gaze and he smiles welcomingly.

"You're still in there!" he seems to say. "Wake up. Want milk. Want up."

"No, honey, go back to sleep. Mommy wants a nap." My speech is slurred with exhaustion. My lap is filled with my cat, Domino. I'm pinned to the bed by his weight, with my left arm wrapped around Logan. Emma is sleeping in the twins' room, my good sleeper. My eyes fall closed again and the cat purrs, vibrating gently.

Tap. Tap tap. "Enh! Enh!" Logan is insistent, but I'm so tired that I groggily shift his position, hoping that a change of scenery will make him happy and let me sleep for a few more minutes. Now he lays across my ribs, partly kneeling, facing the cat. Domino misses being close to me, first it was because of my giant belly, now it's because I constantly have a baby in my arms. He's taken advantage of my napping to lay down right on top of me where he can be conspicuously within petting range. I reach down and pet his head clumsily. I know that just like Caitlin, he needs attention. Poor kitty. Poor Caitlin.

"Enh! Enh! Enh! Enh!" Uh oh. He sounds like he's starting to get serious about this waking up thing. I open both eyes this time and pull him up to a sitting position on my chest. He gives me an excited squawk and flatters me with his electric smile. Then he starts babbling, "Ooo! Ooo! You! You! Hiiiii!" This proves to be my undoing. I can't resist the smiling and cooing combination. I wake up all the way and coo back.

Laying him down at my side, I admire both my son and my cat. The cats still weigh more than the twins, but the twins are catching up. Domino opens his eyes to slits and observes the usurper laying next to him and decides to let him live a little longer. Perhaps he'll devour the noisemaker another day. Logan remains unconcerned and unimpressed. Resigned, I get up, dislodging the cat.

No rest for the Hatchet.

One month

The twins are one month old today. Whoo hoo!

We survived!

OK, so there's not much difference between today and Thursday, when they turned 4 weeks old, so instead, here are a few photographs.

Logan: exhausted after having a bath. He smiled at me again! Eric is terribly jealous.
Emma: also exhausted after having a bath. Those cheeks are ultimately squeezable!
In other news, I wanted to show you the plethora of blankets we've been given that people have made for us, with their very own talented hands.

• From left to right, the first blanket with the brightly colored cat print is the underside and the topside is the red/white/black penguins. This was made by Eric's Aunt Shelly. There is a second one on the way for Logan. Big enough for toddler beds! Caitlin still loves hers that Shelly made 6 years ago.
  
• The second (purple/green/multi-color) and and third (pastel multi-color) blankets were crocheted by my mom. Originally the pastel was supposed to be Logan's, but Caitlin vetoed it in favor of Emma getting the pastel. Mom had another she was working on in lavender, but it turns out that design was identical to the design she'd crocheted for Caitlin. So we rolled over to Hobby Lobby and picked up colors for a custom designed blanket, just for Logan. Mom worked on that the entire time she was in Colorado and finished it just a couple of days before she left. It's beautiful and nice and warm.
• The fourth blanket (orange/pink/purple flowered top-side, orange flannel reverse) and fifth blanket (bright blue space wizards with green reverse) are quilts made for me by Ellen. When I said "no pastels" she jumped all over it! They're gorgeous! Eye-popping, too.

Thanks everyone! You're so talented!
Here is Domino. Originally, he was guarding the twins when I went to go get my camera to photograph the three of them. Domino takes his baby guarding duties very seriously. Unfortunately, Eric took the twins while I was gone and deposited them into their car seats for a snooze. I don't know why, but they really like snoozing in their car seats, as opposed to laying flat in a crib and anything that gives me hands-free time I'm all over!

The blanket Domino is laying on was also crocheted by my mom for Caitlin as a carriage blanket. It is heavy, I suspect to keep it from flying off in a wind.

So there you have it: cuteness, talented friends and family and a kitty shot.

Domino

Domino, shot by Sierra, plus bonus feet!
It's a long way down when she shoots it!

My cats understand English

Completely.

Don't let them fool you - they understand our language, even if they don't always agree with what we're saying.

For instance, "Get off the table!" is understood, although they may try to ignore you.

On Saturday, it was early and I was in the little room off my bedroom (OK, come on, you know where I was.) and I heard Caitlin singing in her room, down the hall. At my feet were both cats, lolling around. I called out to Caitlin and asked her if she'd go feed the cats in an ordinary voice. Nothing different than any other way I'd phrase something, no strange intonation, no hand gestures, just the simple request.

Both cats, even before she said "OK!", jumped up and went running for the stairs.

They may not like to hear "Stop that!", but they understand English perfectly fine.

Stinkers!

So far my requests to "Go get Dad!" have been ignored. I suppose "Get me a snack!" is right out too, isn't it?

One Year Later...

A lot can happen in a year.

Weddings, engagements, anniversaries, births, deaths (him, too), birthdays (too many to link!), first days of school, first lost teeth, first dances, massive gardening challenges, hummingbirds, pregnancies (Misty, me, and my kid sister), losing friends to far away states, making new friends, a little travel, starting a new business and putting it on hold.

Failures. Triumphs. Anger. Contentment.

Every year contains so many different experiences, not all are fun or nice, but all appear to be meaningful in some fashion. This, I believe, is why I don't regret a single year of my age: I'm 38 and I'm damned proud of it. Every year has gotten better and better, so how can you regret your age when the alternative is death? Besides, the whole concept of my life peaking in my twenties and going downhill from there? Total bummer for someone that plans on living until well into her nineties! I mean, can you really imagine spending the next 70 years of your life as a let down after 25? Come on!

This year, though, has been a little different. Blogging is a funny thing. It's rather like writing letters to your nearest and dearest and not being surprised, shocked or offended if random strangers also get that letter. Strangely enough, that part's kinda cool. (Hi, random strangers! Nice ta meetcha!) This tiny piece of the internet has allowed me to stay in better/constant contact with my friends that have moved in a way that I never would have otherwise. I'm terrible about calling anyone and forget about receiving letters or cards. Besides, if you could only see my handwriting, you'd understand! Sometimes even I don't know what I've written.

I has also noticed that one of my biggest fans (many of whom are silent) is my mother-in-law. The funny side effect of letting the family in on the existence of the blog is that those that choose to read it have gotten to know me better. The ties that bind, indeed! I think it's also helped me to reconnect with my sisters. This is a big deal to me and I can't even begin to tell you how happy I was to spend an hour on the phone with my big sister and chatter away without feeling like we were both tiptoeing around one another. That's a big change in the last year.

It has also allowed me to put all of those pictures in one location and stop bombarding the inboxes of assorted friends and family members.

So, yeah.

One year. 327 posts. A whole whacking lot of pictures, realizations, observations, memories, laughter and tears. Hell, I cried just finding the posts to link above (The Dance and Goodbye Pixel are too much for me, even now).

Welcome to my world. Stick around, it's gonna get better and better.

Misery, I has it!

This is me with an allergy attack.


Whimper!

Domino

Domino is teaching me to play fetch. It's very endearing. Maybe he just does it because he's bored, or because he knows that MomCat ain't gettin' up offa that sofa any time soon. Either way, he brings me small-fuzzy-soft-hardcenter-thing (aka a "pipe cleaner") and drops it onto the sofa next to me, or drops it onto the bed with me (sometimes in the middle of the night - poor timing!), or drops it at my feet when I'm in the bathroom (where I spend much of my day).

He's also very good at noticing that I'm awake a lot at night and takes advantage of this quiet time by curling up next to me and getting within petting range. He's discovered that The Belly means no lap space, but at night the sideways Belly becomes a good place to lay down on, putting him well within petting range.
Macro lens shots!

He purrs and purrs and purrs at me. I suspect he's writing his Cat Thesis on:

Living With Humans: Can Humans Learn to Speak Cat?

• Entertainment. Brought MomCat small-fuzzy-soft-hardcenter-thing. Dropped it within paw range.
  Observed behavior: picks up small-fuzzy-soft-hardcenter-thing with front paw, makes hard-sharp noise, displays teeth and throws small-fuzzy-soft-hardcenter-thing. Retrieval of small-fuzzy-soft-hardcenter-thing results in repeat of hard-sharp noise and tooth display. Repeated testing shows same behavior.
  
• Hunger. Will attempt to obtain food pellets from MomCat using Body Language. Rub myself in an obvious manner against food storage box. Look at MomCat. Rub body against corner opposite from food storage box. Look at MomCat. Rub self against MomCat and return to food storage box.
  Observed behavior: MomCat makes growly noises with higher pitched end, then opens food storage box and retrieves food. We can communicate! Now if only we can get her or ShortCat to move faster and more frequently. DadCat appears clueless to the food requests and stays in sleep mode longer than MomCat or ShortCat. Repeated testing is frustrating. Food pellets are only released twice daily. Will have to seek out alternative food source.
• Outside Cave. There are creatures outside the cave that we would like to investigate further, however, Big Cats do not appear able to understand Cat Language related to Opening Portals. We sit next to Portal and observe fast-fliers, wondering how they feel to sense of touch/taste/smell.
  Observed behavior: Looking at MomCat (or other Big Cats) does not result in Portal opening. Making loud, obvious complaint noise does not have positive result. Quiet commentary noise gets growly noise with higher pitched end, clearly Big Cats are watching, but do not open Portal. Some small fast-fliers come right up to soft smell-through enabled Portal and observe us, but then leave. Large fast non-fliers get within striking distance and then flee. Very large non-fliers appear aggressive, wearing night camoflage and are considered potentially dangerous. Very, very small fast-fliers sometimes make it through opening in soft smell-through enabled Portal and can be investigated via touch/taste/smell. Have successfully waited for ShortCat to open soft smell-through enabled Portal and moved outside cave briskly, however MomCat interrupts investigations too soon. Must consider having Agent Sleeps-Under-Bed, "Kaboom", provide distraction during next opportunity.

Breaking Ground

Bags after bag after bag of 12 year old plus trash has been thrown out of the closet. Items untouched since the day we moved in. Dust gathering in layers that could tell the story of our lives in this house.

Layers of moving in dust. Layers of painting other rooms dust. Layers of remodeling dust. Layer upon layer of 5 different cat's worth of cat hair infused dust.

Today is the day that all changes. Now a new layer of dust is going down - the remodeling of this room dust.

Sierra (Thank you! Thank you so much!) volunteered to help paint the room and remove carpeting. Today we (I say "we" but really, it was Eric and Sierra - I just got my ginormous self out of the way) started with removing all remaining stuff that we want to keep out of the room (temporarily in some cases), ripping up carpeting and padding, removing the baseboards and tack strips and discovering just what kind of damage Pixel did to the subfloor. You know, considering that we'd replaced the original carpet just a couple of years after we moved in and that that room was off limits to cats for many years, it is amazing just how quickly Pixel was able to destroy that carpet. Oh, and he had to work hard at it, too, since there was grey rubber mats all over to protect the floor from the weights.

So yes. The floor.

Here's the plan:

1. Remove carpeting and pad. Done!
2. Remove staples in floor.
3. Remove baseboards.
4. Vacuum floor.
5. Paint with Kilz to seal in anything...unpleasant.
6. Begin painting walls.
7. Once the walls are done, remove fan.
8. Paint ceiling in fabulous dark blue with glow in the dark paint used on the stars.
9. Install fan.
10. Apply stencils.
11. Install new flooring.
    
12. Install new baseboards.
13. Pass out from fumes.
14. Install bookcases, crib, rocking chair and sundry other nursery items.
15. Photograph everything for posterity because the room will never be this organized and clean, ever again.
16. Drinks for everyone! Except the Preggosaurus, who will grumble into her lemonade while being uninhibitedly thrilled that the nursery is done and she didn't have to inhale more fumes than necessary.

Pictures!

Really before. This was in the middle of the sorting and removing crap from the closet.



During rip up. Half carpet, quarter pad, quarter sub-floor. And yes, that is a squat cage, thanks for asking.
After the rip up was completed.

Here is Caitlin's new fan. Eric installed it yesterday. The twins will have a matching fan. The existing one came with the house and us oooogly! Not just ugly, people, oooooogly.
The sky in the twin's room will be a night sky, I think. Gotta do things differently this time. The flooring in both rooms will match, though. Eric is going to install Pergo-type flooring in maple to match the fan blades and thus bring more light into the room. I can hear my very-allergic-to-cats mother-in-law cheering from here. Yes, we are removing the carpeting and replacing it with much easier to clean flooring. The twins' room will be first and then Caitlin's room. Then, if I haven't burned Eric out too much, I'll even have him do our room.

Ooooh, the excitement! I know, it's not much in the way of excitement but hey! I'm hugely pregnant, I can't take too much excitement!

Discovery of the Week

I am made of Catnip.

No, really!

At the end of the day, when I get ready for bed, my Cat Guardian ensures that no harm comes to me in the Water Room. There, one or the other of them wait patiently for me to finish up my nightly ablutions and then head to bed, where they will jump up and curl next to me for their nightly petting and snuggling. The Momma Cat = Catnip observation is due to the fact. that every time I drop my shirt to the floor, Domino (usually) or Kaboom immediately have to sit on it.

Roll in it. Sniff it some more. Roll. Chew a little. Knead it. Generally act as if they are rolling around in a pile of catnip. Thus, I must be made of catnip, or sweat catnip.

Or else they're madly in love with the Momma Cat, but know that that kind of intense rolling, kneading and biting would get them chucked out of the room if applied directly to the Momma Cat skin. It's odd, but quite endearing.

And that's the way I like my cats, friends, family, children and husband: odd but endearing.

Newsflash!

Kaboom, the cat that never comes downstairs while company is visiting and is terrified of small children was seen downstairs, during a playdate today and let the other child pet him!

Remarkable!

I have remarked on it.

My furry alarm clock

went off at 5:30am this morning.

And it doesn't have a snooze button.

It wanted to play.

Domino stomped all over me at 5:30 this morning, a time when I've (recently) been getting up into order to pee and eat early First Breakfast. Today, however, I just wanted to sleep, so he decided to start playing with the ties on my pajama bottoms. While fun for him, it was mostly irritating to me. Blearily, I pushed his paws away, but that didn't work. Then I tucked the ties away and that helped. Petting him wasn't enough attention, he said.

I've learned over the years how to pet cats while still 90% asleep. It's a Ninja Cat Owning Move. It's either that or chuck them from the bed and I'm not the chucking type. Eric is. (And he wonders why the cats love me more?!)

So Domino jumps off the bed and jingles off down the stairs, his tags tinkling together. Then I heard it: click, draaaaaag, clackitah-clackitah-clack, coming up the stairs. He jumped back into the bed and dropped his Squirrel On a Stick in my lap.

Insistent little bugger!

Now that I was more awake and had had my bladder jumped on repeatedly, I had to get up. I did and took the toy with me into the bathroom. I wiggled it a little and then left it behind when I returned to bed and caught a few more zzzzz's before it was time to wake up and feed the ravenous twins.

Five thirty is way too early for cat toys!