11-8-07

The foster kittens continue to do well. From the skittish bunch they were when we first got them, they’ve chilled out into pretty friendly ones. None of them care for being held, but they’ll put up with it for a minute or two, all of them except Deuce. Deuce prefers that his kitten-human bonding time involve him grabbing a finger with one of his claws and then pulling it (the finger) close so that he can lick and chew on it. He’s such a sweet guy, but definitely not a snuggler.

They seem to do the majority of their running around at night. We sit and watch TV and can hear them directly overhead, rolling toys across the floor and thumping around like monkeys.


Talk about your come-hither look!


Malley in the sun.


Fight!


“No, I’m serious! There’s a pile of catnip THIS HIGH! We’ve gotta figure out how to get to it!” (Jesikat looks skeptical)


Sweet little Peyton.


Spooky in the sun.


Malley in the sun.

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Yesterday evening I was in the kitchen cleaning up, and Tommy started dancing around making his whiny I’m-disturbed noises, so I looked up to see a wasp hovering around the ceiling light. I grabbed the fly swatter and started swatting at the wasp, and eventually it ventured into the path of the fly swatter and I smacked it like a tennis ball, and it went flying.

I was standing in the middle of the kitchen looking for the wasp (they’re kind of hard to spot on a dark wood floor sometimes), when I heard Sugarbutt (who’d been hanging out on top of the cabinets) come racing around toward the refrigerator, then stop and sniff vigorously. He backed up suddenly, and started scrubbing at his face with one paw, so I grabbed the stepladder and climbed up to look on top of the cabinets, where I saw the wasp laying and kicking in a death-throes manner. I smacked it several times, then scooped it up with the swatter, climbed back down to floor level, and went and tossed it out to the chickens. (I don’t know if the chickens actually eat the wasps I toss out there, but they certainly get excited when I do it.) A few minutes later Sugarbutt came down from his perch and Fred got a close look at him, and told me he’d definitely been stung by the wasp, because one side of his mouth was all pink and swollen.

Long story short (too late!), Fred gave him an antihistamine, and within the hour Sugarbutt was completely back to normal. Considering that the last time one of the cats was stung by a wasp (Miz Poo, several years ago), she ended up at the vet’s for the day and a large bill, I’m relieved.

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Previously
2006: Y’all just shut UP. We do NOT have eight cats.
2005: “What can I do to convince you to adopt Sugarbutt?”

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