This is the face of a killer. Ain't she sweet? Thanks to a genetic anomaly, Nikki is a permanently small cat who rather resembles a fuzzy-furred kitten. Lola, strikingly larger, looks like a feline contract killer yet her hunting skills are no match for her sister's. Nikki is one of the deadliest, most efficient hunters I've met; her [...]
Ever wake up on Sunday morning, post-whatever frenetic activity kept you up until 2AM the night before and...go back to bed? That was me this morning. Lola and Nikki, my hypercats, politely allowed me an extra hour and a half before reminding me that sleepytime NEVER trumps breakfast. I stumbled into my what-if-you-were-in-a-car-accident-oh-gawd grubbies--it's studio day* today--and served [...]
This is Lola, giving me her "What is your PROBLEM?" look.* I get that look whenever she's just about had it with humans and their screwups. But THIS time, I'm not taking the blame, 'cause it's Lola's own daggone fault. Came home Tuesday night and did NOT find a silver-furred greeter at the door. Usually I get Lola's puckish, catseye [...]
(originally published 4/3/2012) [dropcap]I[/dropcap] opened the bedroom door yesterday morning and Lola strolled in, purring ecstatically, wearing my underpants on her head. (Yes, I took pictures and no, you can’t see them) I made a mental note to ALSO lock up the dirty laundry basket. These days all household objects, from art to razors, fall into one of these categories: [...]
This post starts with a sore toe, meanders through a lipstick-addicted cat and ends up at a very intriguing idea: Disruptive creativity. More about that later. In the meantime, I don't have gout. This is a good thing. You never realize how much toes do for you until one of them hurts abominably. Try getting up from the floor WITHOUT bending your big toe. (For the record, you balance yourself on both hands, swing your legs absolutely straightlegged until you're in a modified scissor-split, and then walk your body up on your heels. If you think that this not only looks absolutely stupid but also presents the world with an extended view of your backside, well, you're entirely right.)
I opened the bedroom door yesterday morning and Lola strolled in, purring ecstatically, wearing my underpants on her head. (Yes, I took pictures and no, you can't see them) I made a mental note to ALSO lock up the dirty laundry basket.
OK, I'm beginning to look like a doting mamma with home videos, but...I kept finding towels on the floor in the guest bath. Wasn't difficult to figure out who was doing it--not with The Princess Lola and Nikki the Tikkimaus around--but all the other towel racks in the house were safe from their depredations. So I hung the towel back on the rack, grabbed Izzy the 'Pad (that iMovie feature is really killer), and settled into the bathtub to wait. It didn't take long:
Savannah kittens make wonderful housemates...if you stay two steps ahead of their inventive little minds. Give them enough "legal" stuff to do, the theory goes, and they won't edit your art collection (i.e., break stuff). I gave them a "highly difficult" puzzle, guaranteed to keep dogs occupied for weeks, with small wooden cups that move along a track. The animal is supposed to slide the cups until they can be upended, to reveal treat. The kittens liberated all the treats in about 15 minutes and then, bored, headed for the bathroom to play toilet bowl jacuzzi (they LIKE water). So I made them a cat gym.
OK, just had to brag a bit, although I'm not sure if I'm bragging about what a great cat trainer I am (frankly, if I were, I wouldn't be sweeping up broken sculptures), or the unusually large brains of my cats.
I've got it all over Jane Goodall. To make friends with wildlife, she had to go to the deep, dark jungles full of crocodiles, tsetse flies, tents and very poor room service. All *I* do is go home. My friend Shelby and I trekked down south a few weeks ago to pick up Nikki the Tikimaus and The Princess Lola. We returned with two carrierfuls of terrified kitten yowling to be let O-U-T. We set the carriers on the floor of the cat isolation center (AKA the laundry room), unfastened the doors and stepped back, expecting to see two furry streaks running past.