Invincible

One of the things I’ve learned about kittens is that once they reach a certain age, they think themselves invincible. I believe most species’ youngsters think that; human children do. But kittens appear to be the worst offenders in this regard.

Oleo and Bisto have strength, agility, suppleness, light-weight and curiosity; these ingredients comprise a recipe for hair-raising stunts that I can barely look at. What’s more, when they fail, and fall, they are not only unhurt, but unfazed. They are back doing what they couldn’t do seconds before. I’ve seen the Felons throw themselves from great heights, hit wooden chair legs with their chests; fall from five feet up, striking half a dozen objects on the way down, and waste just enough time to change direction before starting up again; they’ve run under furniture to the accompaniment of the grisly bonking sounds of tiny skulls against metal.

Making matters worse is that the kittens are entering upon a gangly, gawky stage in which much of the coordination they think they have is an illusion. And yet it still doesn’t matter to them. It’s not so much that they know no fear as they don’t think they should fear anything they do.

I think they are leaving me at just the right time: I couldn’t stand watching them try to set the apartment on fire - and then play in it.

Prison Food

Watching the changes through which the growing Felons go is one of the delights of raising kittens, I have found. One change is in their eating habits. Not only are their preferences becoming marked - Oleo likes the hard kitten food, while Bisto will usually eat the soft first - but so are the amounts and times that they eat.

When they first came to me, the babies ate voraciously. If their dish was empty, it meant they were hungry. There was no set schedule for feeding them: I just set the food down and that was meal-time.

Now, they are a little more selective. The pair still eat a great deal. This is reflected in their weights, which are approaching thrice as great as the first time I weighed them. But there are numerous instances of food being left on their dishes. They eat it eventually, just not always right away. And I suspect that they are tiring of the same diet of kitten food. I do have two varieties to feed them, but I may start supplementing it with scraps left over from the permacats’ meals; nothing substantial, just a little flavouring.

They are curious about other foods, as well, as they are curious about everything. Bisto sampled the contents of my tea-cup yesterday. There was nothing in it but semi-dried dregs, and I think it was probably the remnants of sugar that attracted him. Nonetheless, he must have thought it was tasty.

I won’t get to see them change much more, as they will be leaving on Thursday, and I hope not to see them again in person, as that would mean their return. But that is the fate of foster-cats. I was fortunate to experience what I have, to be a part of their swiftly moving growth and learning. And because of that, I too have learned. That is the fate of foster-guardians.

Early Release

After several applications, the Felons will obtain early release from their incarceration: on Thursday, they will go for a trial adoption.

A very promising situation has been found for Oleo and Bisto, a family comprising a married couple with a nine year old son. Though they have no pets at the moment, they are well-versed in cat-care. They’ve never had kittens before, but then, neither had I. The rescue-group sponsoring the brothers is very good at judging the quality of a home for its cats, and we think this one will do nicely.

The boys will of course go together – that was a condition of any adoption – and I will write a list of things that may be helpful for the new warders in dealing with their charges. The latter will hardly seem like prisoners, though, as the house in which they will live is about five times the size of the Cosy Apartment. The family have watched the videos of Oleo and Bisto at play, and have ordered two nylon tunnels for them.

I will miss the little guys, especially when they hurry to greet me every time I come into the library where they are sequestered. But this is an excellent opportunity for them to grow up - and old - in a wonderful home. I am, like all foster-guardians, anxious that the new people will come to know the cats they are adopting, know how they like to be petted and held, what they enjoy doing, how they eat. I will be concerned about that more than I will miss them, I think. Their happiness is more important than mine.

But for now, the Felons remain with me. Last night, we watched another movie, and, during the opening scene, Oleo got behind the dvd-player and somehow disconnected the power cords. This is why I won’t be sorry to see them go. And why I will be.

The Dynamic Duo (Feline Version)

I was reminded yesterday that I have not published anything on my blog in a few days. With the Felons living with me, it seems unlikely that they have not done something worth reporting, so clearly I have been amiss in keeping everyone apprised of their doings.

They continue to be active, except more so. As they grow, they are able to explore further. Kittens must have a sense of something new (ie. something new to investigate) because whenever there is anything changed in the apartment, and the children are on the loose, they find it, even if they can’t see it. I left a bucket out of its usual storage spot, and the next thing I knew, Bisto was curled up in it, scratching the insides.

And with their growth comes greater strength, farther leaps, higher altitudes. Oleo has found his way on to the top of the bookcases of the library. I periodically have placed food-bowls there, temporarily out of the way, while I clean or move things about. I can no longer do this.

The kittens are like characters from a 1970s action/cop show, Starsky and Hutch, perhaps: they never go around when they can go over, never wait when they can barge through. The direct route is always the best, even if there are a dozen obstacles. I wonder at what stage of their aging the maturing cat deems it either undignified or too much a waste of effort to engage in such shenanigans. I know my perma-cats would rather lie on the floor and wait for an obstacle to erode over the course of time rather than confront it. Mannix eventually becomes Nero Wolfe.

But commercial breaks are included in the on-going tv series that is my life with kittens, and periodically they collapse and need rest. Stimulation ceases, curiosity is closeted, eyes are shut, and toe-beans displayed.

The Power of a Trusted Friend

At the beginning of the week something happened to Oleo to frighten him. I was in the kitchen washing the dishes while the kittens ran about; the other beasts were locked away in the bedroom. I heard some pounding, as if tiny fists were beating against nylon. This was followed by a cry or wail. I hurried into the sitting room but both kittens looked physically well, though Oleo seemed startled. I think he may have caught a claw in the fabric of the tunnel and had panicked when he couldn’t immediately free himself.

For the next couple of days, when the Felons were on the loose, Oleo avoided the nylon tunnel. Even when I tried to urge him inside, he refused. He was scared of it.

Then, last night, I witnessed an example of why two kittens are better than one. Oleo had been observing his brother during the week while the pair were out playing. Bisto was untroubled by the tunnel, and continually ran through and over it. Oleo started to attack the tunnel when his sibling was inside, as the two have been doing since I first released them into the apartment. Then, he went inside the tunnel again. By the end of their exercise-period, both kittens were playing in and around the terrible tunnel.

I had seen Oleo watching Bisto about the tunnel. I had seen him gradually overcome his fear and join in the games again. It was because Bisto had no anxiety about the tunnel that Oleo, within days of an unnerving experience, had put it behind him and regained his confidence. This was an excellent example of how kittens learn and grow, whether because of other kittens, or an older mentor. This was the power of a trusted friend.

Their First Veterinary Visit

Yesterday, the Felons went to the veterinary for the first time. All was good news. The kittens received their first vaccinations, were examined, and pronounced healthy. The doctor determined that they needed no more de-worming - and they are indeed both boys.

The visit to the hospital was over quickly, and the little ones were on their way back to the apartment without delay. I spent some time with them upon returning home, and it’s interesting that their reactions reflected the divergence in their characters, as they have been developing.

Oleo stepped onto my lap and settled down, purring; Bisto trotted about the library, sometimes carrying a fuzzy mouse, as if to make sure all was as he had left it. Later, however, Bisto curled up on my lap and his brother lie down on the towel under which is a pet heating-pad. There he closed his eyes and purred loudly for about a quarter-hour. Afterward, Bisto joined him and groomed him. Though they have always been conscientious about their own cleaning, washing each other has been almost unintended, an extension of washing themselves. This time, one deliberately took the time and effort to attend to the other, who evidently liked the grooming very much.

We have had some people interested in adopting the Felons, and more than one party looks promising. More conversation will be needed, but I suspect Oleo and Bisto will have a new and permanent home soon, probably before Christmas.

(Another video showing the Felons in action is on my Facebook page now: https://www.facebook.com/betcha.hugh/)

Chapter 1317, in Which the Felons Try to Kill Me

Readers may remember the excitement generated in the Cosy Apartment when, in late September, I purchased a new heated mattress pad. They may also recall that the pad has ten settings, the lowest of which is adequate for my comfort on cold nights, though when I had the chills a couple of weeks ago, setting number two was required, though not for long.

Keep this in mind, then, when I relate how, while sleeping peacefully during the weekend, I woke with a start in the darkest of hours. I was suffocating. It was as if I had been rolled in a great swath of hot, damp cotton, and locked in a trunk. I struggled to consciousness, and found myself awash in exuded perspiration.

Breathing like a man newly breaching the surface of a drowning sea, I pulled myself into a sitting position and turned on the nightstand lamp. The mattress felt as if it were being swallowed in a spate of lava. I looked at the mattress-pad controller and saw that it had been set to ‘five’. Earlier in the night, I had turned the pad on and, not having adjusted the setting priorly, assumed it was at ‘one’, at which I habitually leave it.

Recovering my breath, I had to dry myself with a towel, as though I had stepped seconds before from the shower. The sheets were soaked, and had to be changed. How could the mattress-pad have reached such dangerous temperatures?

Then, I remembered Oleo and Bisto - in particular, the former - had jumped from the bed onto the nightstand, and had rummaged about like a bargain-hunter at a flea market. He had clearly disarranged my mattress-pad controller - to be generous, I will write that it was inadvertent - knocking the dial up to setting ‘five’, which is labelled ‘Pompeii’. It could have been worse: the highest setting is labelled ‘The crematorium called; they’re upset at the competition’.

If there was a consolation to this episode, it was that I was so exhausted by my efforts to revive myself that I slept deeply afterward. After making sure the Felons were locked away in the library.