The Felons Have Their Mugshots Taken

The kittens had the photo-shoot for their website profile yesterday. They were shy of the new human who came to take their pictures, but consented to pose for several good images. Oleo and Bisto are now formally available for adoption, though they won’t be going anywhere before their first veterinary visit and vaccinations in the first week of December. Screening potential adopters will be tough but necessary: everyone loves kittens; someone who will also love the adults they grow into is not as common. You can see their ‘official’ pictures here: http://pawsociety.com/OleoandBisto.html.

I took some photographs myself while this was going on. Renn allowed the Felons to come close, though he didn’t seem to enjoy the experience. He whined and cried a bit and only once gave a real warning, which the little ones heeded. Yet, like Josie, my big boy did not move away or leave the room, which he could have done. (Josie was tolerant last evening as the kittens played and chased each other in the bedroom. When the two of them ran right over my Chubs as she lie in the heated cat-bed, though, she hissed, looked at me, and climbed to the top of the tallest cat-tree to continue her snooze. I could almost hear the sigh.)

You can tell from these pictures, I think, that Bisto is the more outgoing of the two brothers. Indeed, Oleo hid under the bed when my friend came in to take pictures. Bisto did as well but came out a minute later at my urging; his sibling took more coaxing (ie. I had to lift him bodily from his refuge.) With a second person present to hold squirming kittens, I was able to cut the Felons’ claws. Bisto’s was the sharper by a bit, but Oleo felt his loss more: he tried climbing up the bedspread subsequently; it was like watching Superman after he had been deprived of his powers.

After the visit, the Felons were tired, and slumbered on the bed. Sometimes, they plop down separately, and sleep where they fall.

Afterward, however, they went back into the bathroom for a spell, where they cuddled together in the shaggy bed, and lie and, eventually, fell asleep in these adorable positions. It was a full day for them.

Social Climbers

The Felons continue to learn, grow and change. Their eyes turned green this week, suggesting that they are probably about seven weeks old, one week older than we in the rescue-group thought. We’ve now re-set their birthday to September 25th.

Oleo and Bisto have also learned to climb the cat-trees in the bedroom. This is somewhat to the consternation of Josie, who liked to keep out of their way by lying on one of the platforms off the floor. She can still escape the kittens by resorting to the saddle at the top of the taller tree.

But, in fact, my old lady does not do that as often as I thought she might. Even with the energetic pair flying about the carpet, Josie will lie in the heated cat-bed on the floor. The Felons will sometimes cautiously approach her, sniffing. My Chubs will usually tolerate this, sometimes sniffing in return. If the youngsters come too close, Josie will give them a warning; if they ignore it, she will whap them, though even that blow rarely connects. The Felons get the idea: you don’t mess with a guard five times your size. Mostly, the Great White ignores them.

Of the others, Nevile dislikes the kittens, growling and huffing at them, if he finds himself close to them. Tucker will tell pretty much everyone that he is displeased with the little ones, grumbling and mumbling to himself. When the roly poly is annoyed at something, he is annoyed at everything. Renn, on the other hand, though he doesn’t care for the newcomers, shows some promise. I will work on him.

In the meantime, Oleo and Bisto continue to fight each other, in between snoozing cuddled up. They love their games together, and are a perfect lesson for anyone wondering if two kittens are preferable to one. Alone all day, they are company for one another; I’m sure they spend half their time wrestling and chasing each other. Neither bullies, and they take in turns being the attacker and defender in their fun. One will look for the other, if he can’t see him, and come to discover what the other finds so interesting. Together, they are learning how to be cats. Perhaps, maybe, possibly, one or two of mine will help show them.

The Truth About How They Lie

It may not be apparent when they are loose in the bedroom or library, but the Felons do sleep. Much of the time, they are running about, their speeds increasing as their legs lengthen – almost daily, it seems – and their agility now is beginning to match their confidence. They launch themselves at the stairs by the bed and rarely miss them, thumping down the steps and hitting the floor running. They charge after each other, leap off beds, climb quilts, jump on my legs and crash into objects without effect. But they do sleep, usually suddenly and deeply.

Sometimes they sleep in my arms. Oleo prefers my hand, which makes sense.

Bisto likes to sleep farther up, which causes him to subside off my wrist, so I have to keep a semi-somnolent kitten from plunging to his death. Well, to a bad bump, anyway.

Rarely, they will share their perch (ie. me).

But more often, the kittens may be found on more steady platforms, together. Once they had the run (literally) of the bedroom, they quickly discovered the heated cat-bed.

Strangely, they will also slumber on top of the carrier. (I keep it out as it is convenient to shut them inside when I need to clean the bathroom without interference.) I have since taken to putting a folded towel there, for their comfort.

But most frequently, they will spend their restful moments in the new shaggy bed, which pretty much swallows them. The brothers like cuddling – in between bouts of whapping, slapping, smacking, biting, kicking, stomping and crushing – and seem quite fond of each other, if you catch them at the right moment.

And lastly, there are those times when the little Felons are just too tired to care how they rest. And, I suspect, to them, that’s probably all the time.

When the Café Isn't Cosy

This weekend, November decided that anything January could do, it could do better. We had a blizzard. It started off innocently enough on Saturday, with huge snowflakes, the kind that decorate Christmas cards.

Soon, though, the precipitation came down faster and, if in smaller flakes, in greater amounts. The wind starting rising. The temperature at this point was not low. Indeed, while the snow accumulated, it was slushy.

By nightfall, which comes early now, it had turned cold, and the wind was enough to take one’s breath away. I didn’t expect any outsider-cat to come to visit. Sable came for a late supper every night of the cold period we had a couple of weeks ago, but she doesn’t venture out when the snow is falling heavy and hard, and I hadn’t seen any other visitor except a raccoon in that time.

The blizzard continued today. The little shelter in which I place the outsiders’ food-bowl was filled in with snow, and the heated water-bowl was frozen over, due to snow falling on the water and turning the surface too cold for the heat to keep it liquid. I ventured out in the evening and cleared away the snow, and freed the water.

I wasn’t going to bother replacing the food-bowl. I thought no one would come out on a night like this. But I also thought that, if someone did, they might walk a long way through icy winds and deep snow for their only meal that day, and would find nothing. So I turned the shelter to give it an advantage against the wintry blasts, and poured more water in the heated bowl, as depth gives some defence against freezing.

Less than an hour later, I saw this. It was easier for me to observe Café Cosy’s unexpected customer – the café not being so cosy just then – than to photograph him, especially with the lights on inside. But he was there.

I call him Arliss. He is white and orange, and a very infrequent patron of the café. He has come a few times simultaneously with Sable, though I don’t know if they are friends or if their arrivals are merely coincidental. He is extremely timid and, when he noticed me watching him, ran away from the food-bowl, where he had been eating.

He disappeared a moment later. But I have already re-charged the food- and water-bowls, and will make sure they are free of snow before I go to bed. Arliss may not have had his fill with my interruption, so I want him to find as much as he wants if he returns. I don’t know where he lives or how he survives, but if he came out on a night like this, he probably needed food. I want him to be confident of a meal at Café Cosy, even in the least cosiest of weather.