Patter patter tiny feet

With 8 feline residents the House of Chaos sometimes resembles a Mad House. Not that we simians complain so much about it, oh no, far be it for us to grumble at the regular ruckus and mayhem being caused by the fact that 7 of the 8 are still quite young (4 months to 4 years currently) and are thus inclined to be a tad frolicky. They, as our Flemish native language so succinctly puts it, “bring life into the brewery” and on the odd quiet day we simians can actually feel pangs of worry – wondering what our furry darlings are up to now.

Of course they aren’t causing havoc all of the time. Cats are energetic but like every other mammal on this piece of prime real estate in the galaxy they do need the occasional moment of rest and relaxation. During those peaceful moments our ears are gently tickled by the soft snores emanating from the weirdest places possible where one might find a feline reposing in slumber yet in a most uncomfortable-looking pose. Gently stroke such a sleeping form and the snores will turn into thunderous purrs and said feline will sleepily turn over the belly for some scritchings there. Ware the Venus-Fly-Trap though…

But the rest of the time ? A constant patter patter of tiny feet, the stumble and bustle of a quick play-fight, the groans and creaks of furniture sighing under torturous battles, the hiss and snarl of a game that’s suddenly turned into full-fledged war… just the usual sounds of 8 felines living under the same roof and loving it. Thus, there is rarely a moment of peace and quiet in the House of Chaos and that alarms visitors to no end but provides the resident simians with endless mirth and enjoyment.

We can imagine, though, the dire plight of our esteemed and beloved visitors… There you are, after a long day of hard work, finally stretching your weary limbs luxuriously on the bed, eyes slowly falling shut, mind gently drifting off into well-deserved slumber, a dream beckons… CRASH ! PATTER PATTER ! RUMBLE THUNDER *wrowl* PATTER PATTER ! tippity tippity CRASH THUMBLE *snarl*… ad nauseam.

It usually involves Hrimnir, who has not yet come to grips with a small but extremely densely-muscled body and a frolicky nature -causing him to misjudge his jumps and pounces most of the time, and Isegrim, who is coming to grips with his still-growing adolescent body (minus the testosterone of course, since some essential equipment is now missing) combined with the energy levels of a supernova on steroids. Couple that with Bean Sidhe’s occasional bouts of un-laziness and the massive bod of this Maine Coone mix and you’ve got the recipe for disaster. Fortunately Grumpy Man has done some sturdy home-improvements lately.

It is a joy to behold: since those three rascals are just about full-grown and thus rather formidable, but it is a fracas the female kitties would rather stay clear of. They aren’t so enamoured with the boisterous boy-play, preferring the swift and vicious pounce-claw-retreat of the female of the species, rather than the rambunctious pounce-flatten-gnaw of the males. There is also the fact that Freya and Frankette do possess a rather delicate physique, although one cannot help but admit that Frankinneke has the elegant lines of a sausage, and this keeps the lady-kitties distant from any wild adventures. But Frankendrolleke, the 6 months-old kitten, is another story altogether.

He’s currently experiencing a growth-spurt of titanic proportions, meaning that the tiny tyke isn’t that tiny anymore, but he still has the body of only a 4-month old after all. Now, a kitten is elasticity incarnate, but there are limits even to the most of pliable bodies. Yet, it must be admitted, that when one beholds Frankendrolleke being dragged about by an adult feline denizen of the House of Chaos, one cannot help but pause and wonder and reflect… that these tiny furry fuzz-balls are far sturdier than expected, and that Mother Nature has mysterious ways in order to ensure that the young survive the curiosity and playfulness of their elders. Basically the kitten bounces. May get flattened for a moment, but will bounce back. May be thrown against an object, but will bounce back. May be bitten and scratched and gnawed upon, but will emerge from the horror with body and pelt intact, but self-esteem a bit lacking.

Now picture this: the tiny fuzz-ball is wriggling under the furry fat sausage that is his (probable) dam, hind legs furiously trying to scratch away at her belly but -alas!- accomplishing nothing more serious than tickling her. That’s an ample belly we’re talking about, you see. One may even wonder whether Mother Nature has endowed this probable mother with the belly in order to help her survive her kitling’s struggles whenever she wants to groom him. And groom him she will. Which our kitten clearly not likes. Motherly attention and care and all, he’d rather curl up somewhere cosy and quiet but Mom has other ideas.

And after the grooming comes the battle-lesson: being battered around the place by a walking sausage is not exactly dignified, and we can surely understand why Frankendrolleke tries to avoid this like the plague. Tippity-tippity go tiny legs and off he dashes. Unfortunately he’s not swift enough, the sausage lumbers over, and again the tyke is flattened. Tsk, the rigours of kitten-life…

And where is Loup-Garou in all this, you may ask ? Ah… the Old One Of Twelve Years will usually hide his august self in a remote spot, not easily accessible for the curious kitty in search of some fun, and glare away all who would dare approach anyway. Old Lou likes his tranquility, thank you oh so very much, and even Frankendrolleke has learned by now that it is not really a wise move, career-wise, to disturb the repose of the black elder. He has discovered that Loup-Garou makes for a cosy bed though. And strangely, Lou doesn’t mind the tyke slumbering on top of him. Of all strange bed-mates…

Picture below: MO-hom !

Oh ? Sunday already ? My my… talking about time hitting the faster-than-light barrier… time again to visit the Carnival of the Cats (hosted by IMeowza), Weekend Cat Blogging (hosted by Paaulchens Food blog?!), the Bad Cats Festival of Chaos (once a month, hosted by Nikita), the Cat Blogosphere, and the Friday Ark.

Extra note: please send your purrayurrs over to Osiris who lives with friends in Belgium and is struggling to recover from urine-tract and kidney problems. He’s a strong fellow, and the vet said this morning that he has started to eat again, but you know how it is…  Hang on in there Bruverr !