Day Late

Happy Valentines with MomBert’s artwork.

She credits my sister with the wording.

Birdie is horrified by the team results.

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Bed Surveillance

If you have pets or even small children this will probably make sense.

It’s early morning, preferably a weekend morning, and you’ve found the perfect temperature and snuggly nest in you bed, making waking up a slow process. No alarms here.

As you start waking up, you also become aware that you are not alone. There are other warm lumps tucked in around and on you.

If you are like me, you want to know who is there, but don’t really want to upset the other sleepers. Myself, I want to know how many cats. Is a Two-Cat Morning? The Holy Grail Four-Cat Morning? So I start the laboriously slow process of reaching for my phone on the bed side table with moving the rest of my body. Phone successfully acquired, I try to angle my arm to capture photos of who is there. It’s a challenge.

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It’s a Two-Cat Morning. Miles and Birdie are my typical bed companions and have found my butt and the back of my knees; I’m the lump to the right.

Without me in the bed, it’s a Three-Cat Morning. #Caturday

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Cue the sad music

I was trying to get some work done, but could hear the periodic rustle of paper in the living room somewhere out of my eye line. This could be one of the cats shredding important documents for me, or someone playing in the gigantic Amazon box that has been in the living room for months now.

The box has been a source of great entertainment. It’s fun to jump in and out of, especially with toys in one’s mouth. Olivia Wigglebothum’s newest dinner time game is to drag our string toy around while I eat. She jumps with it into the box, and then proceeds to shred the Hell out of the butcher paper as if hiding the string. The paper which started as several feet of solid wrapping is now the consistency of something you might put in a gerbil’s cage. To add interest, I recently cut a door and some “windows” in one side of the box. These are good for stealthy exits and for smacking the other cats.

However the rustling I was hearing was not the enthusiastic leaping and tearing about associated with the box. These rustles were the equivalents of dramatic, long-suffering sighs of tragic discomfort.

Birdie.

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Birdie had crafted a nest in the paper and was allegedly sleeping in between sadly rearranging her position. No one sleeps in the box! However Birdie was busy channeling her former homeless self. She’s a “domestic short hair” like everybody else in the house, but somehow she managed to poof out her fur as if she was battling the cold, cruel winds of central heating.

I swear she got into my Sarah McLachlan cd‘s. (I don’t allow the cats to watch those commercials.)

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It took me a moment to figure out WHY she was impersonating a sad street cat. Birdie is in a  deeply emotional relationship with the duvet on my bed and I had the gall to strip the bedding and wash the duvet cover in a fit of tidiness.

Since putting the duvet on the bed for cold weather, Birdie’s life has a new purpose. She talks to the duvet, she kneads it, she burrows into it, she creates little valleys and pockets to sleep in. I’ve never seen her happier than when she sleepily looks up from its polyester-filled folds. (This does not bode well for her warm weather emotional state.)

Washing and drying done, I made the bed. I selfishly wanted clean bedding for myself. I always forget that none of this is about me. Birdie and duvet reunited.

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Satan is Just Santa Spelled Wrong

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According to my cats, Satan is just Santa spelled wrong or vice versa. If it involves costumes, they certainly lean towards the Satanic interpretation. Costumes at this time of year means Christmas card photo shoot!

This year I was lucky enough to find a Santa beard. I looked last year, convinced that Maury desperately needed a white beard, but was only able to find him a moustache. Worth the $8 at Target.

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Who wore it best?

Acquiring the beard, was definitely the signal to drag out costumes. I rarely put up a Christmas tree (Someone has to put that shit away later!), but it’s nothing to drag out the costume bag.

There was the typical forest of trees wandering around the kitchen in festive capes.

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Sookie, as usual, declined to be involved and went into hiding. I basically dropped a costume on her then pulled it off before she panicked.

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Olivia Wigglebothum explored the beard situation. She already has the meowstache.

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Birdie was uncharacteristically annoyed by her costume options and I let her smack them around after pictures.

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Miles, ever patient and accepting, gave me the winning shot. Because of his facial expression though, I used lyrics from “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” as text on the card. The Grinch’s dog Max was always one of my favorites with his giant reindeer antler attire.

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You’re a rotter, Mr. Grinch!
You’re the king of sinful sots!

 

 

My Case for the Pillows

I thought they were my pillows. I bought them. Bitch, please.

Turns out I was just holding them for somebody. Guess I’m sleeping on the couch.

Crazy cheap and kind of scratchy pillowcases and duvet cover by IKEA. Bought specifically for my cats to shed all over this winter. The duvet won’t fit in the washing machine, but the cover will. I’m lucky it’s getting a high approval rating.