Frankette has been showing off again how lithe and nubile she is (despite her ahem-ectomy), so…
But she couldn’t sit still long enough for the camera to get the exposure. Silly female.
Other tummies can be admired over at LisaViolet’s Dairy. Yay !
The Strong Woman of Flanders has been delighted again by a visit of Grumpy Man and The Mistress. Of course, most of the time was devoted to resting, eating, drinking and reading, but now and then a good conversation ensued and all were happy. Not so happy though was a forlorn little voice at the door of the Abode of Plenty. A sad forlorn little voice, anxiously emitted by a bedraggled and carious tick-infested ginger kitty. But boy does that one have balls !
We suspect that the poor kitling has been but fairly recently abandoned. It is rare for one of the Carious Tribes (2 tribes of cats that live near the Abode of Plenty, discernible by fur colour) to be so forthright, forthcoming, and social towards simians. Not only did he allow us to touch him, he positively vied for our caresses and tried to be under every hand at the same time. He remained steadfast for hours at the front door of the Abode of Plenty, keeping a faithful vigil that would put any elite soldier to shame. And every time one of us would venture near said door this orange waif would let his displeasure at being left out loudly known. He would try to enter too, the scamp, whenever one of us needed to get something from the car.
Grumpy Man, endeared by this little furry fellow’s bold actions, could not help but approach the cat with gentle intentions whenever he felt like it – which was all the time really, when he was not sleeping.The first time he found himself forced to relieve said furry friend of no less than 7 ticks. Throughout the weekend he would occasionally open the door and throw some choice titbits out, for our ginger guest to devour with relish. The feline door-guard clearly was hungry, and the tasty morsels apparently were appreciated. Well, actually they were inhaled. His teeth rarely touched the meat, such was his ravenous appetite.
But what is he and where does he belong ? His manners are too good for a feral cat, the pelt may be bedraggled but is still kept in reasonable order, his demonstrative affection towards humans -yes, and his almost desperate attempts to enter the Abode of Plenty also- clearly identify him as a once-beloved and cherished house-cat. Certainly his insistent and patient waiting on the rug just outside the door is proof of him once having called a home his own and knowing which way is in. His plaintive mews bespeak of a lonely and shattered heart. The crooked tail mentions an accident in the past. This kitty had been abandoned, as happens alas too often in the châlets-village where the Abode of Plenty is located. Most owners of the châlets only inhabit them during holidays. Some bring pets. And some abandon those pets upon returning home. Sad, and the source for many members of the Carious Tribes.
This feline friend has not been castrated. Nope. It was clear to see for all that this is still a virile tomcat, and if you think away the gaunt hunger-ravaged frame you might even say… a tom at the start of his prime. But we had to find a name to identify him with. And because he is a ginger tabby, because he is so frank and forthcoming, because he’s wont to walk around quite wide-legged (carrying his load of jinglebells with some discomfort we suppose) we now call him Brass Balls.
Brass Balls even seems to have his own tiny harem of 1 nubile little female, Dirty Paws. Dirty Paws is supposed to be black with white socks. The “supposed” part is due to her paws being not exactly the most clean parts of her not-so-formidable anatomy. And she keeps her distance from simians. Member of the Black Tribe, this lovely lithe she-kitty is a tad on the shy side but she too knows the value of staying close to inhabited abodes in expectation of dinner to come, which in our case usually consists of dinner airborne. We so love to throw morsels out, knowing that it is mightily appreciated, even expected.
Grumpy Man pondered about bringing Brass Balls to the House of Chaos, but decided against it in the end. For one thing, the Carious Tribes are still infected with that illness which has culled them sorely, and for another thing Brass Balls was positively teeming with ticks and we suspect he may have fleas too. Better not bring a source of infestation in when we just eradicated one last Autumn ! Sadly, the Strong Woman of Flanders too cannot take the kitty in, since she isn’t always home to give him the company and care a feline friend deserves. At least he won’t go hungry though, since Master of Lobo lives in the châlet-village too and he still puts food out for all the kitties.
Master of Lobo is a bit of a strange case. He claims to be of the Animal Protection, but they said they kicked him out. He puts food outside because those poor cats need it, but he refuses to lace them with anti-conceptives that would keep the numbers down and relieve the pressure on the cats’ survival. We don’t know what to make of it. But for sure he’s the major reason why the Carious Tribes survive Winter at all.
Brass Balls was staring sadly at us when we were filling up the car again in order to leave for home. No doubt he’s seen that before… and we left the Abode of Plenty with a slanted set of staring eyes burning in our backs.
Picture below: gastronomical bliss NOM NOM NOM ….
Agh, how those weeks fly by… it’s weekend again and this means the usual suspects over at The Friday Ark, Carnival of the Cats hosted by Chey’s Place, and The Bad Kitty Cats Festival of Chaos which takes place at Megan & Bad Kittens Three at Bad Kitty Cats Journal.
Frankette poses for Tummy Tuesday. Well… sort of…
No doubt less wacko kitties can be found at LisaViolet’s Dairy !
Every feline denizen of the House of Chaos seems to has developed his -or in one case her- own unique individual sleeping pose. You might think that the average kitty would simply curl up and snore, but rest assured that this is only the “base pose”. Something like “base position” in ballet. The possibilities, once past that first pose, are endless and actually only limited by the creativity and personal weirdness of the cat. It could also be dictated by his sense of safety. And self-confidence.
A lot of cats curl up, that’s a fact. Sometimes they keep it at the half-curl, where their paws are folded alongside the body, but often you’ll find an almost perfectly round furry ball that snores. Other felines prefer to just lie down on their stomachs, paws folded neatly underneath, like a Sphinx. And then there’s the classical kitten-pose: stretched all out all over the place, legs akimbo, upside-down or just in such an impossible angle that leaves you wondering what demon it belongs to. But usually the sleeping pose is dictated by the following circumstances: status of the cat in the household, the possibility of violence happening to the napping kitty, the temperature and the basic comfort of the napping spot.
Judging on those premises you might think that Zorro would sleep like a pasha, flat on his back, legs sprawled all over the place because he is Da Numba One Kitty Of Da House ?
He’s an obsessive curler. His is the “sleeping tight” part of the night wish. His favourite place is at the insides of simian’s knees. Or on top of the simian’s legs if convenient. And if that isn’t possible the dressing gown of The Mistress will do in a pinch. But wherever you can find him sleeping you’ll find him rolled up into a tight ball and alert to any sound or movement in his surroundings. Do not be deceived by the angelic expression on that soft furry snoring face. One moment you’re looking at a cuddly teddy-bear, next you’re trying to fend off a 4-limbed buzz-saw. Zorro never warns.
Having been the brunt of his sibling’s displeasure for 10 years now you might think that Loup-Garou would be a furtive sleeper, anxiously perched somewhere and ever alert to his brother’s presence.
In fact, he can adopt quite relaxed sleeping positions and the only requisition for him to lay down someplace is that said place is soft and comfy. Preferably simian. Once settled in he will simply fold his ample body alongside whatever he’s sleeping next to. His spot of preference, however, is The Mistress’ head. On top of. But when it’s Winter and the night is chilly our black baby prefers to burrow under the down cover of The Nest. And then he lies between Grumpy Man and The Mistress in perfect purring contentment. By day he can be found snoring blissfully on top of the dirty laundry.
Bean Sidhe is another knee-snuggler. This massive kitty just likes to lie upon, over, across and on top of a simain’s legs. But when the simian in question dares to move in his/her sleep a loud protest will be emitted by the indignant feline. He so does not like to be disturbed in his naps ! Bean Sidhe is also an obsessive clean-laundry napper. No matter how precarious he has to perch upon a pile of clean laundry, it must be conquered and turned into the most luxurious and clean-smelling bed of the premises. Since his massive form is too big for a full curl-up he has adopted the “fold position”: head to toes and tail alongside the rest.
Hrimnir is more of an eclectic sleeper. You can find him securely ensconced in the embrace of Morpheus just about anywhere short of a railroad track (and that is because there’s no railroad close-by). His sleeping positions depend on the spot really, like a furry ball in the dirty or clean laundry, or a blissful on-the-back in the couch. Only in the midst of Winter, during the coldest night possible, will you find him curled up tightly. You could say he prefers his freedom. When sleeping he sometimes gives the impression of being a very very flat cat. Yeah, well that’s Hrimnir.
Franky is the weird one really. Apart from his preference to sleep closely snuggled against his sister he usually can be found lying on his back in the most splendid way on the couch or in The Nest. On the couch he has been observed to stretch out in his sleep and taking up every available space possible. Not that he’s a hog or anything, he’s just … expressive in his sleeping habits. And when you wake him up he responds with the most endearing chirrup I’ve ever heard coming from a feline.
Frankette is, you might say, a bit of the odd-ball in the House of Chaos. When she isn’t curled up against her brother she can be found on any spot away from the cold floor and always on her belly, usually with her paws underneath herself. She looks very contented when she does that, but we suspect she actually does it because she still isn’t sure about her place in this household and prefers to adopt a position from which she can swiftly flee when menace -or Zorro- approaches. However, on those rare occasions when she does sleep in the vicinity of a simian (on in The Nest) she has this look on her tiny furry face of utter, total, all-encompassing and complete bliss. No other cat looks that serene I tell you ! Or that happy.
Picture below: Sibling bliss.
It’s weekend again, my… time flies by, and thus we have the usual bunch over at The Friday Ark, The Carnival of the Cats over at This, That And The Other Thing, Weekend Cat Blogging with Cat Blogosphere and The Bad Kitty Cats of Chaos which will be hosted by Pet’s Garden Blog.
A shot of our two resident Frankensiblings together… aren’t they the loveliest twain ? As Frankette clearly enjoys the presence of her big brother, Franky simply lays it out wide and cozy. He likes his comfort, that kitty.
The picture may seem a bit blurry but that’s due to a new acquisition. I have bought myself a new All-Seeing Eye because the Canon Eos 350D is a tad cumbersome and we needed a smaller camera for those quick snapshots. Hence the Sony Cybershot DSC-W80 made its Grande Entrée in the House of Chaos. It’s got only 7 megapixels, has a lag between pushing the button and actually having the picture taken that takes aaaages, and I’m still figuring out the finer settings, but it does shoot films which is the only thing the Canon Monster can’t do. Cool.
More tummies can be admired at LisaViolet’s Dairy.
The feline denizens of the House of Chaos have over the years (or months for some of the more recent additions) learned to live with the presence of the smelly simians that populate said House. They have adapted to our boorish ways of us not washing ourselves with our own tongues, as is proper, and us eating the most bizarre foodstuffs that generate all kinds of odours to waft from the various cavities of our big smelly bodies, which is also proper, but some of the stuff we eat does provoke rather bizarre emanations truth to tell. And, likewise, they are stymied by our approach to smell. To a cat smell is just an extra means of communication, to a human it is something to be abhorred and masked with all kinds of chemicals, or in the case of certain smells, to be savoured with a certain kind of relish. But never ever is body odour considered by humans as a kind of message. Not a positive message at least, unless it came from a small and hideously expensive bottle. And that has the felines puzzled.
They may never understand why we insist upon washing our coverings. Of course, all of the feline denizens of the House of Chaos appreciate the thoughtful gesture of The Mistress when she heaps on the dirty laundry in the veranda near the washing machine. It makes for a perfect nest in a not-too-warm environment to snuggle away in at night, and at day it is the sweetest softest lushest spot in the warm embrace of Father Sun, comfortably ensconced in the familiar smell of their favourite simians. Why we continue to take away that soft nest, then wet our clothes and have them covered with the chemical smell of “Marseille Soap” remains a mystery to them. What’s wrong with Eau de Simian ?
Likewise they stare at us with horrified wonder when we whip out the spraying cans with deodorant and douse ourselves in the acrid smells that ensue from them. Their tiny pink noses are offended by the stench. They simply don’t get it why we would want to get rid of a perfectly good message. Not for the first time has Grumpy Man suddenly woken up at night because a tiny wet and ice-cold nose was in the process of being deeply buried into his arm-pit, the owner of said nose clearly enjoying the sensation to the hilt but Grumpy Man not being so amused. It’s one thing to discover that a furry creature relishes the aural onslaught your body is wont to unleash, but not at 3 am in the morning please !
Loup-Garou, ever since he was a kitten (and that is now 10 years ago), likes to burrow underneath the down cover in the Nest when the night is cold. He also knows the dangers of doing so: being crushed by a sleeping simian rolling over your tiny frame is one thing, and he usually remains alert enough to avoid a grisly fate, but there are moments when a cat’s sensitive aural organ is just too sensitive and you just have to evacuate the premises. Fast.
Now, by no means should you think that Loup-Garou is an innocent bystander when such things happen. Oh no, most of the time he is the cause himself of the obnoxious fumes emanating from under the down cover ! But when Grumpy Man came into The Mistress’ life and subsequently into the House of Chaos and the Nest, poor Loup-Garou had to admit defeat and recognize his master. I will never forget that night when a disgusted black kitty literally fled from under the down cover, out of our room, down the stairs, through the living room, library, kitchen and veranda, and into the garden where we heard him retching.
Amazingly I didn’t. To the eternal delight and wonder of Grumpy Man. He loves me.
But, we are digressing. Loup-Garou is not the only feline resident of the House of Chaos who is wont to stoop to some bio-chemical warfare from time to time, as both Hrimnir and Frankette already have proved to my immense satisfaction and Grumpy Man’s equally immense disgust. Both kittens are literally bottomless holes when it comes to emanating the odd odour. And for some reason I have yet to discern they also have an extensive repertoire of smells. Since I feed my kitties only one brand of cat-food I do wonder where they get it from. I know they are hunters, sad remnants have been found in the past to tell a tale of horror and appetite sated, but don’t tell me a tiny shrew can provoke such an onslaught of Eau de Sewer ?
Yes, I admit, I admire the stinking tykes.
But such activity is normally frowned upon by simians, isn’t it ? We are not supposed to advertise to the rest of the world the contents of our menu of yesterday. We certainly are not supposed to admire a particular violent outburst or über-obnoxious whiff from our fellow men. That’s disgusting. And maybe that’s why the feline residents of the House of Chaos do love us so much. Because the simian residents of the House of Chaos are not afraid to applaud an odorous masterpiece.
On the other hand, they still don’t understand why we insist upon brushing our teeth. With toothpaste.
Don’t we realise that our kisses are horrible when given with a mint-fresh breath ? Urgh.
Picture below: Da Nose. The cat’s sensitive aural organ.
Wipe it Frankette. You’re a disgrace.
Rest in peace Mr Dungeons & Dragons, and may you roll good stats in your next life.
You taught me to play a good game, to read lots of good books, to have tonnes of fun with friends without booze and drugs and ear-shattering music but just plain old-fashioned getting-together and telling stories and playing good versus bad guys. In a way you even were responsible for Grumpy Man and Me to meet. If we hadn’t had role playing games we never would have met.