Tiny terrors

With the arrival of 2 kittens the adult feline denizens of the House of Chaos have experienced a rude awakening, it seems, from a sedate life of idleness. They certainly have started to become a bit more active again since the auspicious evening when two tiny furballs tentatively emerged from the travel-cage, but before that moment it seemed that having reached an adult age is the sign for any kitteh to slow down and heralds the beginning of an Age of Perpetual Drowsing, a fate that has befallen all adult feline denizens here. Loup-Garou is the only one who’s entitled to, in The Mistress’ opinion, as his accumulated 13 years must certainly be wearying on the old bones, but that the other kittehs had succumbed to a certain daily routine of sleeping, eating, grooming, begging for food, eating, begging for some cuddles, sleeping… and the oldest not even 6 years old – shameful !!!

But now, ah now… Finding a more or less unassailable spot (unassailable that is for two enterprising little climbers who have yet to master the art) where one can enjoy an unperturbed nap has become a daily chore for the adults. Except for Loup-Garou, who has ever been the undisputed Tyrant of Napping Spots and generally the tykes recognise him for what he is (an enraged meat-grinding machine when he’s suddenly roused from his slumber) and just cuddle up against him (for he does make for a great -though bony- pillow). The other adults however are fair game. The Mistress has discovered that Isegrim has taken up sleeping in the dirty laundry pile in the hind-kitchen because the kittens have not yet discovered the trick of passing through the cat-flap. Hrimnir and Freya have taken to sleeping high. Bean Sidhe has a hiding spot no-one else knows about.

Picture if you will, the blissfully snoring feline. Happily curled up on some prime napping real estate he had found not yet occupied. Then, enter the pitter-patter of tiny paws on the tiles. And the pitter-patter suddenly stops. Inquisitive little ears are pricked towards the hapless napper. Mischievous little eyes sparkle with sudden delight. A prey ! Two little furry behineys are simultaneously trust into the air, twitching with strain and happy anticipation, tensed muscles ready for the pounce… and Hrimnir finds himself adruptly awakened and beset by two tiny terrors. Can you fault him for lashing out in sudden panicked fury and making a dash for the safety of beyond-the-cat-flap territory ?

Not that it would deter the tykes from doing it again though. As the luckless victim of their latest prank leaves a small dust cloud behind his rapidly disappearing self the kittens sit back and proudly preen their ruffled pelts. Another job well done ! And then they start romping with each other again. Much to the relieve of Freya who has been watching the drama unfolding from the lofty safety of the top of a cupboard. She’s been a mum. She knows.

Interestingly it is Freya who had been the first to start entering the little ones’ play. One would have expected the youngest -Isegrim- or even Hrimnir The Peacemaker to have been the first adult playmates for Gorgor and Rikishi. But no, some deeply-buried motherly instinct must have been awakened and Freya has taken upon herself the dreadful burden of teaching the tykes to hunt, prowl, stalk, pounce and generally making a nuisance of themselves if you can believe the opinions of the local rodent and feathered populace who are already suffering from an overdose of very competent Isegrim (Freya’s son). These lessons would automatically draw the young ones to pounce on her of course, but she is cunning and manages to somehow sic them onto the big boys, cherished son included.

Yet it shouldn’t be said that Loup-Garou is an aloof and child-hating old grumpy one, no, he too has entered the children’s play from time to time. But mainly to take away their toys and hog those with a growl, a menacing look at the little ones, and a possessive paw around said toys. The tykes are subtly invited to come and try to take them back, and the one who does succeed gets… an affectionate nose-butt. Clearly it’s all bark and no bite, but don’t tell that to the old geezer. You see… he did intend to punish the stupid kitten who would try to take the toys back from him, but by the time either Gorgor or Rikishi has mustered the courage to do so Loup-Garou has forgotten that he took the toys in the first place and simply assumed the tyke came over for some affection. Mèh, the joys of encroaching dementia !

And then Isegrim proudly enters the House of Chaos with a freshly-caught and expertly-killed dove and the tykes’ attention swivels over to him. The poor dear has already discovered his mother doesn’t take kindly to her get clouting them kittens. He drops his prey before he’s attacked and looks on forlornly as the kittens tear into it, feather by feather, before proudly waltzing of with their prizes and expecting to be praised for being such good hunters. It just ain’t fair !!!

Picture below: Loup-Garou with the world under his paw… it’s Hiss.

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Don’t forget to visit our other friends this weekend on the Friday Ark, the Carnival of the Cats and Weekend Cat Blogging. They all have fascinating stories to share !

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Audacious arrivals

Two small orange kittens were all set for a life amongst the feral population in a town near a busy road. One was a typical orange-white tabby, the other is orange too but must have had Maine Coon or Forest Cat in his ancestry for he had a luscious and plush fur like some other adults in the group. It is possible they are litter-mates, as they look alike well enough. They had the usual feral kitten’s fear for humans and ferocity for food. Their lives seemed already condemned, short, awful.

Enter some nice Simians from Kat Zoekt Thuis (Cat Seeks Home).

They caught the two kittens and the almost adult black lady who was taking care of them. The lady was called Merel (Blackbird, although the sweet Caretaker really wanted to call her Heksemieke or Witchygirl but that name was deemed too negative for adoption chances). The larger and more fluffy of the boys was called Rambo. The smallest (the orange tabby) was called Rösti (Potato Cookie). And while staying in the house of the Caretaker they were put up for adoption. Preferably all 3 of them together…

In the House of Chaos Grumpy Man had noticed that The Mistress was very much taken by the new kitten of The Cleaning Scourge. And so he decided that for Mistress’ birthday a new kitten should be sought. After some seeking, and some contacts, it was decided to go and take a look at the 3-some from Kat Zoekt Thuis. And off the Simians drove, more than an hour away, to seek out a sweet little kitty to join the 5 existing Feline Denizens of the House of Chaos.

The first contact was promising. The Mistress had brought that most fabulous of bribing instruments for furtive feral kittens: a feather wand. Blackbird was not interested in the ruckus, but the 2 boys launched themselves wholeheartedly into the game – albeit keeping a wary eye out for the Simians. After a while, and some talks with the Caregiver who secretly had hoped nobody would take Blackbird, it was decided to take both boys back to the House of Chaos. They were the most sweet, well-behaving and -most importantly- silent kitties we ever have transported by car !

New names were decided on, as Potato Cookie is just ridiculous-sounding and Rambo is a moniker more befitting a Bulldog. The fluffy one is therefore now known as Gorgor (fans of Lord Of The Rings might recognize it: Cirith Gorgor or the Haunted Tower, but there is a European Comic book -Chronicles of the Black Moon- with a main Character who is called Gorgor Bey and is a veritable fighting, feeding and feasting mountain of a … well… man… of sorts…) and the small tabby is learning to listen to the name of Rikishi (Strong Man in Japanese, the less-known designation of the Sumotori or Sumo-wrestlers).

As both boys are feral-born they still need to adapt to the presence of Simians. But their first introduction to the other Feline Denizens of the House of Chaos went more or less flawlessly… After cautiously exiting the Travel Cage both tykes made a straight beeline towards the feeding bowls and went exploring the -to them- most appealing feature of the house: food !! The Mistress had deducted -and rightfully so- that a Stinky Goodness feast would be the fastest way to cement a hearty friendship between the arrivals and the residents. And while they were munching happily away the contents of two tin cans a cat litter box was strategically placed under the couch, so as to keep the adult residents from availing themselves of it and having it overflow in the blink of an eye, and because the tykes have yet to master the cat-flap.

At first the adult feline residents felt resentment. Who are these interlopers ? Hissing and slaps were the order of the day. But the tykes have learned at very young age to cooperate so as to stand stronger and have developed this strategy to perfection. They bunch together, no matter what happens. That forced the adults to keep them in their sights from a safe and high vantage-point (the table, cupboards…). Even the youngest, Isegrim, is taken aback by the little ones’ energy and tries to avoid them. Alas, after having explored the House of Chaos thoroughly the little ones are now most interested in the inhabitants, starting with the smaller furry ones. And so they have set to stalking the adults.

Loup-Garou has made a point of establishing his authority with a few slaps and hisses, and will watch the tykes bemusedly when they push him away from the feeding bowls. Clearly he feels that terrorizing them would be beneath his dignity. But when they were playing with a toy world globe he took it away from them and played a bit with it – demonstratively. So, who’s your daddy then ?

Bean Sidhe is simply too big and lazy to be bothered much by the tykes. As long as they don’t pester him he won’t bat them. And a bat from his big paw is akin to a kick from a mule, as far as Gorgor and Rikishi are concerned. They leave him be.

Hrimnir is confused. They hissed and growled at him ? The Peacemaker Himself ? A bit more time is needed here, methinks…

Freya has her priorities straight: anyone who comes between her and food is ENEMY. The tykes, however, have learned at the earliest opportunity that her growls are all show and no substance. After 5 days she was seen cuddled up with Gorgor.

Isegrim has understood his days of the cute youngest one are over and he is looking for a new role. The first days he’s frantically brought in some very dead and very fat doves. But he’s still not decided as to what the tiny intruders could mean to him: playmates or boxing bags ?

After a few days of hiding and scurrying away at first movement Gorgor was the first to allow himself to be petted and cuddled on laps by the Simians. Rikishi, having the assurance from his “older brother” that there is no danger involved, is slowly following suit. But they must be daily cared for which doesn’t really help to reassure them: each has an inflamed eye which needs a medication to be put into it. They allow the ministrations though. As long as there is food to be had…

Picture: Gorgor and Rikishi… brofurs forevvur ! !

Gorgor and Rikishi

Don’t forget to visit our other friends on the Friday Ark, the Carnival of the Cats and Weekend Cat Blogging.

Extra Mews: The Mistress has had a motorbike accident on Friday October 14th 2011. Fortunately nothing serious, but enough to keep her home a few days. She’s cuddling up with the old ànd new kitties full-time. The bike has less damage than its driver though. Sturdy bike. The Mistress’ face is not so sturdy and required bandaging. The right side of her body is bruised and she’s walking -well, hobbling- on crutches.

The Feline Denizens wish to report that they are happy she is spending more time at home, and no, they didn’t bribe the car driver who so stupidly swerved his car to the left without using his signalling lights in order to see what had caused the traffic jam he was in when she was driving by. Causing a whole new traffic jam of his own. Blèh.

Anyways, The Mistress wishes to thank the driver who was kind enough to immediately call the ambulance, the nice person who put her motorbike safely out of the way and chained it to a sturdy fence for Grumpy Man to find later that night, the kind lady who warmed The Mistress with her own coat which has now blood splatters all over it… The Mistress also wishes to wholeheartedly curse the lorry driver who insisted on driving past, passing with his biiig wheels just two centimeters from The Mistress’ head. While everybody else was angrily yelling at him to at least wait for the ambulance to pick her up first. There are bloody insensitive and uncaring idiots everywhere. One of them is driving a white truck.

Felis Catus, the opportunistic hedonist

Cats are the ultimate hedonists’ hedonists. The word has been invented for them. They brought the hedo into hedonist. And what -pray tell- does “hedo” mean ?

It means: “heartily enjoying deliberate opulence”. Yes, that’s right. The cat’s very existence is devoted to the pursuit of extreme happiness, showing him off as a most natural American, and as such is wondering why a silly bird has been chosen as that nation’s national emblem instead of the far more worthy feline that he himself is such an august example of. Think of it ! Have you ever seen an American citizen content with not pursuing happiness and the subsequent manifestations thereof like money, luxury, the best food, a big house, an even bigger car, and the most garish status symbols humanity has ever been able to foist upon itself ? Not to mention the constant drive to groom oneself. Or the wounded pride when some foreigner finds his attire funny.

I have nothing against Americans (with which I mean the Homo USA-us), but some of their more weird quirks strongly remind me of my cats’. Indeed. If you leave it up to the feline residents of the House of Chaos “supersize me” is the Eleventh Commandment, not a funny advertisement meme and bane of dieticians. Their idea of bigger and better translates into a wish for large food bowls and larger couches with -of course- larger cushions. And of course they have a penchant for the wide prairies, one of such you’d preferably have as a backyard. Then, the mouse they have caught last night becomes a huge monstrous rodent by day when they try to convince you of their prowess as fearsome hunters and can I have a kibble now ?

But most of all it’s the pursuit of happiness that our feline companions devote so much of their daily activities to. Or rather the lack of activities. And in that I guess they deviate from the more energetic kind of pursuit of happiness our fellow simians of the USA are wont to exhibit. Because for Felis Catus nothing but the best will do, and certainly nothing but the most relaxing pose on the most comfy cushion in the most warm house.

Yet, fanatic individualists as they are, the feline denizens of the House of Chaos are wont to display their hedonism each in their own unique way. Let us go down the list by age:

– every evening Loup-Garou silently coerces us simians into retreating to the Nest as soon as possible after dinner. He cajoles and goads us until we crawl under the duvet and he can then haughtily take up his customary place between our pillows and our heads. From time to time we get a sharp reminder of our duties to pet him into purring submission. Too bad he wakes us up doing so. Too bad Grumpy Man’s customary behaviour when that happens is to hurl said kitty out of the Nest. Still, he never gives up. And he can be so happy….

– Bean Sidhe is usually found napping on our desk chairs, on the cupboard between our computers, on our feet in the Nest. Once in napping mode it’s impossible to dislodge him, save by copious application of brute force and hardening of our hearts. Bannekins tends to complain loudly and plaintively.

– Hrimnir has a spot at the window. He also has a spot anywhere on the Nest that’s not being occupied by anyone else. He also has a spot on my arm when I’m typing. He’s heavy.

– Frankette usually goes into hiding, and usually behind the painting I’m working on in the Kitchen of Chaos. That she tends to displace and crash my painting stuff is of no consequence. Very rarely does she venture upon a simian lap. Very rarely does she venture into the Nest. But when she does so her purring becomes thunderous. An alternative spot is the dirty or the clean laundry, whichever hasn’t been occupied by the others at the moment.

– Freya has this thing with boxes. Not only does she reduce them to bits, she also loves to sleep in them. Occasionally you can find her on the cupboard between the computers (when Banneman is not occupying it), on the dirty laundry (when Frankinneke isn’t residing on it) or on the windowsill (when Hrimnir isn’t there). When she sleeps she has this most endearing content look on her furry little face.

– Isegrim can be found anywhere napping. Usually though, he sleeps on the windowsill and on the clean clothes in our bedroom.

– Frankinneke is partial to the dirty laundry. Don’t ask me why. She also tends to sleep in one of the cupboards behind Grumpy Man’s drill collection. We are fortunate the drills are sorted by number. Occurrence of having to pick them up from the floor: twice a week. And the platform on the scratching pole too does hold some attraction to her because we have found her napping on it as well.

– Frankendrolleke is the most opportunistic of the meowing lot. You can find him in the couch, on the cupboard between the computers (and sometimes on top of the kitty that’s sleeping on that cupboard), on Freya, on Loup-Garou and on a simian’s shoulder or lap. He’s also the only feline resident to sleep in the lovely basket I have bought for that purpose. But so far he hasn’t dared to come up to the Nest. I wonder whether the menacing presence of 4 adult tom-cats has something to do with it.

In any case, at any given moment, you will find a peacefully reposing feline in the House of Chaos. And the only place where you won’t find them is in the bathroom (but not for lack of trying… Freya, Isegrim and Hrimnir tend to consider the sink as a most appealing bed) because that door is usually locked. Other than that, any reasonably stable spot in any reasonably peaceful area is fair game.

Picture below: yeah, he’s almost drowning in that space, but then, he’s got space to grow into hasn’t he ?

Frankendrolleke in his basket

Pfff… time flies… it’s almost weekend again, and that means visiting our furriends over at Carnival of the Cats (hosted by Mind of Mog), Weekend Cat Blogging (hosted by The Sour Dough), the Bad Cats Festival of Chaos (once a month, hosted by -oops- there’s still a host needed !), the Cat Blogosphere, and the Friday Ark.

Mistress The Nurse

A kitten in the house is a joy. Or so it should be. But when said kitten starts emitting all kinds of foul substances in the house one tends to wonder. Never ever would we ponder to do away with the obnoxious polluter, but we did have to stage one surprise visit to the Man In White and hear the verdict: “yup, worms”. Of course the tell-tale signs were there: bloated belly, rapidly fouling behind which even the kitten himself stopped cleaning because it just became too much work, a very listless and increasingly lethargic kitten… persistent worms and turbo-transit to match. Yech.

What is a Mistress to do ? You can’t really discipline a sad huge-eyed kitty who just can’t help it when his lunch squirts out without any control ? But what you can do is to apply the warm wet washcloth and give the tyke a thorough scrubbing. Then comes the anti-worm paste. Then come the anti-ear mite drops, then you start cooking lunch.

Yep. Cooking.

The Mistress was forced to head to the market and score a bag of chickens’ stomachs and some carrots. Said stomachs and carrots were then chopped up into tiny bits, cooked, and sprinkled with an anti-diarrhea medication. The result was given to the ravenous kitten who had to be locked up when the other cats were given their food. Food which had to be locked up lest the little one tried to sample it. In order to get the problem under control we had to turn our hearts into stone and endure the pitiful sight of 7 adult cats staring forlornly at their empty bowls. And the pathetic shrieks of one tiny kitten who had to be locked up in the travel cage when the adults were fed. Poor Frankendrolleke !

He’s doing better now, after 5 days of relentless medicating and grooming. Back to his old rambunctious energize-bunny-esque lively self. Right now he’s lying on my shoulder purring his little head off. The simian shoulder is his favourite spot, which does not exactly endear him to the simians when his behiney is filthy. But it’s nice to have this little furry ball of heat purring away on your shoulder and against your neck when it’s a cold rainy November day. He still weighs next to nothing, which is an added bonus.

And just when you think you have everything under control, another patient turns up.

Bouncing Psycho nearly stumbled over a listless Freya, lying just outside the inner cat-flap. (We have 2 cat-flaps: one giving entrance from the Garden of Chaos to the Verandah of Chaos, the second one giving access from the Verandah of Chaos to the Kitchen of Chaos.) When I picked her up she just went limp. She also felt rather chilly and gritty, nose cold and dry, fur full with sand and staying upright when you pinch part of it, the inside of the mouth pale and dry. NOT GOOD.

When I deposited her next to the water bowl she drank a bit, then scurried under the couch and hid there. Shivering. NOT GOOD AT ALL.

But what can you do ? Wait until the Man In White is receiving, that’s all. And so I positioned myself at my computer to while the time away. Until I noticed a grey shape mounting the cupboard on the left of my desk and beheld Freya installing herself into a lethargic yet shivering puddle of misery in search of some love and cuddles. I grabbed two towels to wrap her in, then offered a small bowl of warm water – which she started to inhale. She needed heat ! And went looking for it, because the cupboard slides under the large desk on which two computers and a printer reside, plus the large rack filled with tons of books. But behind the cupboard is a radiator. The heat it emits can only go three ways… from under my desk, from under Grumpy Man’s desk, and past the cupboard. It’s practically the warmest spot in the House of Chaos ! And Freya, following her instinct to battle the hypothermia, knew what to do.

Fortunately I had some pocket-warmers, little bags with a kind of jelly that hardens and heats when you crease a metal disk that’s in it (chemical reaction). I swiftly slid one of those under Freya’s belly, tucked her a bit more snugly into the towels, and waited. After a while she accepted some stinky goodness and more warm water. She started to purr. The visit to the Man In White was cancelled. And then, crowning achievement, I put little Frankendrolleke next to her and -oh joy oh wonder- instead of growling the tyke into a fleeing panic Freya accepted the extra warmth and let him be.
A situation of which he immediately took the most outrageous advantage by spreading his purring little body all over the adult she-kitty. Kittens….

But what had caused this hypothermia and dehydration ? Judging from the dirt in her pelt and under her chin she must have gotten stuck somewhere, and that for a long time, until she could free herself. She hadn’t been home for a day, that we know. Fortunately it had been unseasonably warm for November, but it had also been dry outside so she couldn’t get any liquids. And now Freya is back to being her old head-butting self… and the CPU gets a head-butt, and my glass of water gets a head-butt, and the new book of Jeremy Clarkson gets a head-butt (and subsequently slides off the cupboard… sigh…)… even Frankendrolleke got a head-butt. See the pile of envelops, booklets and disk cases she’s lying on ? All that got a head-butt and crashed to the floor…

Ach… All is well that ends well.

Picture below:

purrrrrr… what a comfy bed this she-cat makes….. *snuggle*

Frankendrolleke and Freya

Yay, weekend again… so it’s time to stop by at the Carnival of the Cats (hosted by Catsynth), Weekend Cat Blogging (hosted by Tabbylicious), the Bad Cats Festival of Chaos (once a month, hosted by Kashim, Othello and Salome), the Cat Blogosphere, and the Friday Ark.

Itty Bitty Kitty

A few weeks ago The Cleaning Scourge, whilst doing her weekly best to bring the House of Chaos to a cleaner state, was having a smoke break when she found something in the Garden of Chaos and ran inside, cradling said something and yelling: “You can’t let this die ! Tell me you will take this in !! Save it !!!”
Oh dear. Another stray.

Her pleas were shrill as she shrieked on top of her voice, distress clear in her huge moist eyes. And in her hands trembled a white ball of fur, all fuzzy and cute. When she dropped it, it made an immediate beeline towards the food bowls. Oh yeah, this one certainly has his priorities in order. With both front paws positioned solidly inside the bowl, it started munching and crunching for all that it was maybe a few hundred grams big. But it was a few hundred grams of pretty determined kitty, a feral-born without any fear of simians at all, a hungry walking mewling stomach-on-paws. A belly with tiny claws. And tonnes of attitude.

Because of his diminutive size, and obvious membership of the Frankenclan since he is white with dark markings, we decided to name it Frankendrolleke (little frank t*rd) and let it loose again in the Garden of Chaos, thinking his mommy would be nearby and frantic with worry. We persuaded The Cleaning Scourge that it was better this way, that kittens need their mammies and that -because of his lack of fear for simians- surely he must belong to another household ?
And we already have 6 feline denizens thank you very much !

But to no avail. Other powers decided differently. In the following days it became clear that not only is Frankendrolleke a very determined and stubborn kitty, he is also remarkably intelligent and inquisitive. Where it took his (probable) auntie Frankinneke more than a year to figure out the cat-flaps, this one had it down pat in one day. Grumpy Man found himself tapping happily away at his computer one morning, and suddenly felt something tiny and light clawing its way up his pants, shirt and finally his shoulder, where it would sit down and proceed to purr tinily yet thunderously in his ear. Frankendrolleke had arrived and made it clear that he was in the state of being itty-bitty happy.

What can one do against such an onslaught of cuteness ? One pats it, purring gets notched up to warp-speed. One puts it down, it goes straight for the feeding bowls and yes, cats can purr and eat at the same time ! One ignores it, but it climbs back up again where it can get your attention easily – your shoulder. And finally it falls asleep, sure and secure in the knowledge that it won’t fall of. Because tiny claws have hooked on in your shirt and besides, he’s so light he’ll float were he to fall off.

And so I am typing this with a purring itty-bitty kitty on my shoulder. He just came in from the outside and his tiny paws are cold, boy, cold. But he is so cute about it. And when he curls up on your arm you can’t help but notice the tiny pink nosey, the tiny white clawseys, the short stubby excuse for a tail (another reason why we are convinced he is a Frankenkitten !) and the protruding belly that speaks clearly of a worm infestation. Which was quickly dealt with and he took his medicine like a big boy indeed.

But then he discovered nom. Simian nom.

At first he didn’t realize that my activity in the Kitchen of Chaos had something to do with nom, yet he couldn’t help but find his nose buried in the dishes we would empty at our computers. The first time we ate with Frankendrolleke present we had to fish him out of our dishes all the time. We would throw him into the Couch of Chaos, but he would come back time and time again until we grew tired of throwing, and started growling at him. That had him confused long enough for us to finish our dinners. But alas, he all too soon found out growling simians won’t bite and so we now have the added amusement during our mealtimes of having to fish a clawing kitty out of the bread or meat. He doesn’t care what it is, when simians are nomming it it  is nom ! And too, he found out that kitchen means nom, and The Mistress at the kitchen counter means imminent nom. After his first efforts to claw his way up my body in order to get at the goodies on the counter were repelled with flashing cutlery (not the sharp side though, I hate to clean up blood – it gets so sticky) he now will sit behind me on the floor and open his tiny mouth from time to time in order to omit a piteous mew so high-pitched I can’t hear it. The other felines hear it though, and will sit with paws over their ears throughout the ordeal.

The big cats have been watching his entrée and antics with a certain detached amusement. At first they would try to inspect the tyke, but found hisses and claws and growls and decided to let it be. Even so tiny as it is, it has a formidable temper. Then they discovered that it preferred to sleep warm. And what is warmer than -say- a sleeping Loup-Garou ? Or a Hrimnir quietly enjoying the sun in the windowsill ? And best of all, he is not disgruntled when woken up, he would simply stare at you with accusing tiny eyes piercing your heart with little daggers of silent reproof.

The disadvantage of this new arrival is that some of the feline residents of the House of Chaos are upset, and are demonstrating their unhappiness with pungent results. We don’t know who has been depositing his or her brown goo in the Hallway, but we have found out that Frankendrolleke took this as a sign that said Hallway is the local litterbox. Thank the Gods for cleaning products and Feliway ! I showed him the error of his ways and he now goes out like a big boy. Now if he only would learn to clean up his tiny bottom too before he deposits it on our shoulders…

But brown goo is not the only mark of unhappiness, and yellow liquids have had to be mopped up as well. We don’t know who the unhappy felines are, but they are very very  unhappy indeed.

Can’t they just accept the tyke and let it be ?

Picture below:

Frankendrolleke and Grumpy Man – a match made in Heaven ?

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Another weekend, another visit to our friends of Carnival of the Cats (hosted by Artsy Catsy), Weekend Cat Blogging (hosted by the Sour Dough), the Bad Cats Festival of Chaos (once a month, hosted by Kashim, Othello and Salome), the Cat Blogosphere, and the Friday Ark.

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Frolicky friends

Oh my. Oh dear. The whole year the river runs empty and suddenly there’s a deluge. Scarcely had Freya and Isegrim wormed themselves into the House and Hearts of Chaos, then there are more feline kitties coming a’knocking. A whole tribe no less.

It seems that Not-Franky and Almost-Franky (or maybe Frankemie) have been breeding, and their brood consists of at least 2 lovely more-white-than-black kittens. And somehow Rataplan Frankenstein The Mobile Disaster Area must have left his mark upon the local feline population as well before his sudden, unfortunate and ultimately fatal confrontation with Mr. Electricity several years ago, because a young tomcat -looking very much like him- is roaming the neighbourhood now. And for some unfathomable reason the youngsters all converged in the Garden of Chaos, and played and frolicked here.

Which makes Hrimnir ecstatic with joy: so many playmates, so many interesting games. And none of the new kitties bigger than he is so that easy victory is ever ensured. He lost no time at all and started to caper around with the young ones. Clearly the Peacemaker has not lost his magic touch !
But it leaves The Mistress with a hopeless task, for she is wont to name each and every kitty in the neighbourhood, and the sudden influx of no less than 3 new kittens doth sorely stress her creative abilities. Oh well. And thus the naming begins…

We don’t know the gender yet of the two siblings, so neutral names are called for. I’d settle for Dash and Flash, because these kitties are rather swift when spooked. But the brown tabby tomcat… hmmm… Conkers should do. After all, he clearly has two of them, and the name sounds like “conquers”, which he surely attempts.

So suddenly the Garden of Chaos resembled a big flea-circus (and I’m -alas- not speaking metaphorically here) with all them kitties a-dashing and a-smashing. There was lots of incredible pounces to be admired, and many a cunning plan being executed. Fur flying everywhere. Not to mention bits and pieces of kitty. But none of it in anger, to be sure. Only when Bean Sidhe tried to join the fun did the little ones hiss and cringe, for in their eyes he resembles a giant and they don’t yet know he’s gentle.

How gentle ? Freya found out the same day. She’s ever anxious when that huge cat approaches her only-begotten son, but on that day she only had to sit back and enjoy the scenery because Bean Sidhe has discovered a kitten-safe method of play: Obsidian’s armour.
Obsidian is a Fighting Robot that we’re repairing and rebuilding. We took the armour off, which looks like a big black shell, put it on the ground in the Garden of Chaos, and the feline friends have noticed that this can play an excellent role in their games. Bean Sidhe hides within the shell, and in front of it little Isegrim will sit ready. Then Bannikins will reach with a paw underneath the shell and Isegrim will cheerfully attack it. No harm possible, and the concerned dam really did have the leisure to sit back and enjoy the view.

The keen observer of feline activity surely knows this: kittens can play without so much as a sound. They don’t screech, they don’t yap at each other like woofies do. They stalk and creep and pounce in a hunter’s silence and the only part of them that shouts “AHA !” when they do spring an attack is the body. And after that they jump and bounce and roll. They disperse again, go lie in hiding, and the game begins anew.

It’s restful to observe kittens at play. They spend so much energy..

Picture below: Conkers joins the fun but Isegrim has his doubts.

Conkers and Isegrim

Isegrim discovers The Hidden Paw, you can see it too… slightly to the left above his left ear !

The Hidden Paw

Weekend again ? My… time does fly doesn’t it ? We’re happy to see our furriends again over at the Friday Ark, the Carnival of the Cats hosted by Life From A Cat’s Perspective, Weekend Cat Blogging at Cat’s In Maryland, and the Bad Kitty Cats Festival of Chaos done by Diamond’s Lair.

Leaky eyes

Isegrim seemed a bit under the weather. He was too calm, too much sleeping in his cushion-basket. Not playing enough with his huge playmate Hrimnir, or for that matter, with his dam Freya. He even stopped suckling when she pushed him away, giving up without protest or persevering. And when in the past days there have been crusts around his eyes, now it seemed that a liquid was slowly seeping through his closed lids. It did not go away. And that meant trouble.

A couple of days ago The Mistress noticed that it had become thick oozing liquid, green of colour, clearly coming from the eyes who had gone red to boot. There was no other alternative, and thus a visit to the Man In White was put into effect. Little Isegrim had never travelled in the travel-cage before, and he didn’t like it one bit. In the waiting room he kept meowing his little head off. The charming effect it had on the other visitors was devastating to say the least. No simian can sit undisturbed when a tiny kitty is in distress ! Fortunately we didn’t have to wait long.

The Man In White was instantly charmed too. It was love at first sight, but unilateral to say the least. Isegrim was scared, terrified, and very alone-feeling, the poor tyke. But one glance from the MIW was enough, he pronounced the verdict immediately: “That looks like a herpes-infection, conjunctivitis, not a doubt about it.” It appears to be quite common amongst kitty-cats, they get infected mostly at birth, by their dams. And if not, they will acquire the virus later, through contact with other cats. It is not unlike the herpes-virus many simians suffer from, but different enough that it cannot jump species.

The virus, as is also the case with simians, is wont to manifest its nefarious presence whenever the carrier is weakened by something. Feral kittens and older felines are affected the most, but adult cats can succumb to it too – especially in times of stress. In many cases it manifests itself as conjunctivitis, an inflammation in the eyes. If you do not treat it then secondary bacterial infections may join the party and wreak terrible havoc on your kitty, ending with blinding him or her permanently.

So, swift and good treatment is paramount. In the case of Isegrim this meant eye-drops – which he allowed the MIW to apply without a fuss – and anti-biotics. The latter to make sure any secondary infections are dealt with, trampled, and kept down real hard. The jab in his buttocks didn’t distress him too much either, although he did make a dash for the travel-cage immediately afterwards. But what really, really, REALLY upset him was the thermometer.

You see, whereas simians might have their temperature taken by putting that pesky thing in the mouth or in an armpit, for kitties there is only one possible orifice and that is where the sun don’t shine. The MIW was so kind as to apply a generous dose of lubricant before inserting the offending item but little Isegrim was offended nevertheless. Not to say enraged, furious, and utterly mad. His howls were impressive. His squirming only made matters worse, prolonging the ordeal because a temp had to be taken at any cost. But eventually the device beeped and we discovered that the tyke did have a slight fever. Which happens to be common for his type of infection.

But all the way back to home did he complain on top of his tiny lungs. And he didn’t stop complaining either when we arrived at the House of Chaos and I set him free from the travel-cage. He immediately made a bee-line towards his dam, howling all the way, turned around, and offered the violated orifice up to her for inspection and subsequent tender motherly care whilst continuing to give voice to his complaints, scare and pain. Yet, to his utter disappointment Freya was not inclined to apply her raspy tongue to the invaded site. The lubricant was Vaseline, and Vaseline is definitely not yummy ! She only checked whether he was all-right and then turned away, leaving her thoroughly dejected offspring to tend to himself. There are just things that even Mom won’t do…

The eye-drops the Man In White had applied worked miracles: in just a few hours the yucky ooze was gone and his tiny little orbs were shiny as if brand-new. I did have to administer some kind of eye-gel and oral anti-biotics to him for a week afterwards though, but Isegrim has recovered really fast and is again his old boisterous and hungry self. Much to Freya’s chagrin, because that meant he started suckling again. And he won’t take a no for an answer that little one. Not this time.

Picture below: Isegrim, with the onset of his conjunctivitis. Note the stuff leaking from his eyes.

Isegrim with the onset of conjunctivitis

Aaahh… a glorious weekend. When friends join with friends and have a great old time. Like, at the Friday Ark, or the Carnival of the Cats over at My Big Fat Orange Cat’s, or Weekend Cat Blogging done by Paulchens Foodblog, or the Bad Kitty Festival Cats of Chaos hosted by Meezer Tails.