Category: Life with Coon Cats

It’s snowing here at the Cat Farm — just a nuisance snow.  Hopefully, it won’t be so much of a nuisance that Steve and I will have to move our date to see The Grand Budapest Hotel to tomorrow, but. . .we shall see.

The cats, as might be expected, are being Proactive regarding the weather.

Here’s Scrabble, tucked between the lamp and the work shelf in Steve’s office, back firmly against the radiator, so she’ll be warm, no matter how much it snows:

Mozart is taking up the same defensive posture, though in my room, in his spot between the file cabinets and the supply bureau:

The kids, meanwhile, are in the kitchen.  Trooper is on The Box:

. . .while Sprite takes the whole thing seriously:

So, when Trooper first came to us, he was a Twizler Champeen.  He would play with some of the other toys we have in our sparse(!) collection of Feline Entertainment Items, notably the Floofy Ball, and Turtle.  He would also do some serious kickhat with the springs, but we couldn’t interest him in the old braided leather cord that had been a favorite with. . .several generations of Cat Farm Cats.

When Sprite arrived, she fell upon the leather cord with high-pitched squeaks of Coon Cat Gladness and dragged it around with her everywhere, insisting, whenever she found an idle person of the Thumbs persuasion (which, in this house, is often) that we Make The String Work.  Such was her enthusiasm that she won Trooper over to String Play.

Well, upon inspection earlier in the week, it was revealed that the old leather cord really was old, and brittle and just plain worn out, so I remembered to stop at Tractor Supply to take on rawhide boot laces, in order to make a new cord.

In order to braid the strings together, I tied a knot in one end, and closed it into the top drawer of the file cabinet, then I stepped back, keeping tension on the cords, and began to braid.

Trooper was in his box.  He kind of glanced at me, decided I was Being Funny Like I Did, and went back to sleep.  Sprite, of course, came to sit on my feet and bat at the dangling ends.

. . .at least, she did until the braid was about half-done, when she looked up — and saw what I was doing.  She squeaked, went over to the box and woke Trooper up.  He still didn’t Get It — and then he did, and jumped out of the box to sit and watch the progress of the braid.

When the last knot was tied, I couldn’t get it out of the file cabinet fast enough; Sprite wanted it NOW; it was hers; I had made it for her, and by Bast, she wanted it.

The old leather cord went the way of such things, and here’s Trooper and Sprite and the new string:

So, Illisidi is not yet perfect, but hopefully workable.  The one biggest concern remains an outflowing of error messages the first time I open any file in LibreOffice.  Once past the error messages, though, I can open files with impunity, and they seem not to be changing into oak leaves in the morning, so I guess I’m going to have to put up with what I can’t fix.  Certainly, I’m very tired, at this point, of uninstalling and reinstalling LibreOffice, and a writer must write with something.

Fans of Mozart will wish to hear that he has good days and bad days.  He’s a fan, currently, of Friskies gravy lovers with a liberal handful of Fancy Feast dry food on top, like jimmies.  He eats the crunchies and licks up the gravy.  If  I could figure out a way to just put gravy over crunchies, I’d do that, but I’m afraid of feeding him the salt bomb that is canned gravy meant for consumption by Thumbs.

Fans of Sprite will wish to know that, for all her giddy ways, she takes her royal duties seriously.  The other day, Mozart suddenly gave out with the Kitty in Trouble yell, from the living room.  I got up to see what the problem was, to find that Sprite had arrived ahead of me and was vigorously washing his ears (See there, Grandpa? Everybody feels better when they have clean ears.), which really did seem to solve the problem/break the cycle of distress.

In other news, today is Monday, which, being as I’m a freelance, shouldn’t matter, but somehow does.  Perhaps because I was woken up by a nightmare, and took some time to settle again.  Perhaps because it’s a greyish morning, and we’re under threat of Snowpocalypse.  Again.

Whatever.

In a few minutes, I’ll head out to town, errands, and the gym, and this afternoon, it’s back to work.

How’s the start of your week going?

So, Steve took Jack the Giant Killer into the shop this morning while I ran errands in the opposite direction, and went to gym, too!  Presently, I’m working on Number Ten Ox, who has been wired up with the funny keyboard and the trackball.  We have only just located the HDMI wire, so later this afternoon, I’ll have a Big Screen to work from, too.

What with one thing and another, I got zero writing done yesterday.  Hoping very much to do better today.  For those playing along at home, the manuscript now stands at 33,194 words in this iteration, which seems likely to stick.   And the next time I run into the Backroom Boys, I’m gonna beat their punkinhaids.  Just sayin’.

Though I didn’t get any actual writing done yesterday, I did get a the Sunday chores done, including the Brushing of the Coon Cats.

This chore is enlivened by the fact that each of the Coon Cats has a different approach to being groomed.

Mozart takes the What Fresh Hell is This? approach, which includes writhing away from the brush as if it were on fire, swearing loudly, and screaming that a murder is being done and won’t anyone help him!  He swears, in his high, squeaky voice, the entire time his claws are being clipped, folds his ears down so they can’t be cleaned, and will have nothing to do with the anti-static towel that smells like flowers.

Trooper, on the other hand, Understands that the Thumbs wish to groom him.  After, all he is magnificent, as Trooper is the first to admit.  He allows the brush and the comb with an air of regal complacency, is testy, but calm during the manicure, and resigned in the matter of the ears.  He graciously declines the smelly towel.

Sprite. . .loves the whole process.  She adores being brushed, purrs while she’s combed, puts her paw forward to be clipped — I honestly think she’d let me paint her claws for her.  She eeks! if I forget to clean her ears, and can think of no better end to her spa experience than to be stroked with a towel that will make her smell like a flower.

I’m thinking of pairing her with Mozart so he can see how it’s done, but I’m afraid he’ll teach her Bad Language.

The plan for the rest of the day is eat lunch, write, wait for the tech to call with news of Jack’s condition.

How’s Monday treating you?

*Today’s title comes from Warren Zevon, “For my next trick, I’ll need a volunteer.”  Here’s a link.

Today, we celebrate the sixteenth anniversary of the birth of Kennebec Mozart.  He’s celebrating by sleeping in his special corner in my office, with his back pressed firmly against the radiator.   A little later in the day, Steve and I will toast his good health and long years on-station here at the Cat Farm with vanilla ice cream.

Since we’re right in the middle of the Major Morning Nap, I’m not going to disturb him for a photo op.  Here’s a picture from October:

Early today, Trooper declared his supremacy over the String, by placing himself squarely on top of it.  During the course of our breakfast, Sprite conducted several campaigns to try to win the String back.  All were met with failure.  This is the last soiree.  Note that the Stuffed Bunny has joined the fray, apparently on Sprite’s side, since he seems to be biting Trooper’s tail.

Later, resigned to this momentary setback in her plans for World Dominion, Princess Sprite naps in the window.

Edited to Add:  Steve says:
For those following along at home … it appears that the tiny kitty in question — from tip of tail to tip of toe — measured exactly four feet ( yes, 48 inches) …

Scrabble has taken to tucking herself into this Scrabble-sized corner in Steve’s office, against the radiator, where it’s nice and toasty:

It being Sunday, Mozart decided to have a Second Breakfast, with his Faithful Fan Club looking on.  Hungrily.

. . .the orange thing is a throwing ring; the Toy of the Hour, even when there are no Thumbs around to throw it.  Sprite carries it with her from room to room, like a teddy bear.