Day 90: Sharing a bed with cats

Between You, Me and the Lamp Post

Day 90: Sharing a bed with cats

I’m quite sure that cat lovers are familiar with cats sleeping on their bed. They curl up in the middle of it, at the foot end, or snuggle between the pillows. Seeing them fast asleep is cute and we don’t want to wake them.

It’s a different story when we want to go to sleep and there is no room for us to get into bed, or to get comfortable.

Take last night for instance. It was 1:00 a.m., I wanted to go to sleep, but … there were four cats on my bed. 

Halley got up when she saw me coming, but Charlotte, Holly and Greyson gave no sign of moving.

Somehow I managed to squeeze myself under the duvet and lay down. That is to say, I tried to get into a comfortable position, but I but couldn’t stretch out because Greyson and Charlotte were side by side at the foot end of the bed.

Holly, who was on the other side of the bed, lifted her head and glared at me as if to say … you woke me up. 'Sorry,' I whispered, and she went back to sleep.

When my legs cramped up, I ever so carefully stretched them out, my feet under Greyson and Charlotte. If you think those two moved, think again. I got absolutely no reaction.

Still not comfortable, I moved my feet from here to there, causing Charlotte and Greyson to bounce and roll around a bit. Charlotte didn’t care, she was obviously of the opinion … go with the flow, but Greyson eventually lifted his head. The message he sent me was clear … do you mind, we’re trying to sleep. Yeah well, so was I.

About ten minutes later Greyson got up and came to kiss me goodnight, as he does every night. A kiss on my right cheek, a kiss on my left cheek and another kiss on my right cheek. Next, he lay down on my chest. “Greyson you have to move,” I told him. “You’re too heavy.” I wasn’t kidding, Greyson weighs a good 20 lbs and is as such quite heavy. Fine, he moved.

As I turned on my side, he moved with me and curled up against my chest, right under my chin. Now I had a different problem … his whiskers were tickling my nose and cheek. When that brought on a sneeze attack, Greyson had the good sense to move.

Now it was Charlotte’s turn. She got up from the foot end of the bed and joined me under the duvet. She stretched out behind me and I prepared for sleep. Well, that didn’t work at all. Every time I moved, I got a kick in my back.

Meanwhile, Holly who slept on my other side had finally drifted off and produced all kinds of sound effects. Don’t imagine a gentle purring, she was snoring, sputtering and sighing.

Sleeping with cats, I tell ya, it’s no joke. It's a shame I don't fit into one of their cat baskets. Maybe I would find some peace and quiet there.

    

Day 79: My cats and cat grass

Between You, Me and the Lamp Post

Day 79: My cats and cat grass

I was queuing with my groceries at a deli yesterday when I noticed cat grass by till. I decided to add some to my purchases.

Once home I announced to Charlotte, Holly, Halley, and Greyson that I had something for them. They eyed the bag and I didn’t keep them in suspense. With a flourish, I pulled out the cat grass and said: “Ta-da, for you.” They looked at it, not quite understanding.

When I placed the tub of cat grass on the floor, they approached it with caution. What was it? What were they supposed to do with it? Was it friendly? “It’s cat grass,” I said, “you’re supposed to chew it.” None of them showed any inclination of doing that.

Curiosity got the better of them though and one by one they came to have a nibble. Greyson was the first one to risk it and when Charlotte, Holly, and Halley saw that he was fine they risked it too.

If I thought they would love the cat grass, I was sadly mistaken, they weren’t particularly crazy about it. When they did have a nibble it was with an attitude of ... okay, you bought it, we’ll eat it to make you happy. So much for that idea.

When the grass started to look a little ‘depressed’ I figured it needed fresh air and sunlight, so I put it out on the balcony. A short time later Greyson and Halley went to take a look.

Judging by the look on their faces, they seemed to have a conversation with me:

You want me to eat that?

 You're joking, right?

At that precise moment, a falcon flew overhead and got Halley's full attention ... I'd rather have that.

Moments later, a finch landed on a feeding tray and Halley seemed to think ... or that.

Yeah well, she couldn't have either. The falcon would have her for lunch and as for the finch ... that little thing was just skin and bones.

I don't know about other cat owners but I can't seem to win with mine. I buy them toys, they don't play with them; I buy them quality food, they don't eat it; now I buy them cat grass and they're not interested.

I give up.

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Day39: Did I do that?

Between You, Me and the Lamp Post

Day39: Did I do that?

I have a little magnet calendar on my fridge. Every day it shows a cute cat or kitten, or a quote. 

Yesterday it was this ...

Today it’s this ...

And yesterday it was a quote by Chris Evans:

“Cats are an example of peace and tranquility”

Hm, no offense to Chris Evans but she obviously has never met Halley and Greyson. Oh the both of them are peaceful and tranquil when they’re asleep, but when they’re awake ... hold on to your hat.

Take this morning for instance. The both of them were racing around the place at full tilt. They sprinted from the bedroom through the living room onto the balcony, only to return from the balcony via the kitchen, into the living room and back to the bedroom.

Charlotte and Holly stayed out of their way, as did I, because – not having breaks on their paws – they are an accident waiting for a place to happen.

Charlotte

Holly

Usually, nothing happens, Halley and Greyson eventually get tired and go to sleep. Today was different.

The balcony door had been open all morning. When I went to shower, I closed the door because I don’t like to leave them unsupervised. The balcony is perfectly safe, protected by double netting, but still, you never know what could happen.

Having finished my shower and morning routine, I came into the kitchen, Greyson saw me and got such a fright that he took off like an arrow from a bow and ran straight into the screen door. It’s a good thing I hadn’t closed the glass door, or he could have been hurt.

As it was, when he saw what he did he sped to by bedroom, dived under the bed and stayed there for a good ten minutes. When I went to check on him, the poor thing sat there with eyes as big as tea saucers.

I tried to coax him to come out but ah ah, he was having none of it. Eventually, he left his hiding place, slowly, carefully, placing one dainty paw in front of another. It’s never taken him that long to get from the bedroom to the living room.

When he went to take a look at the balcony screen door, or rather where the balcony screen door used to be, it was with a lot of sniffing and head bobbing. He gave a good impression of Steve Urkel’s ... Did I do that?

Day 4: Can cats talk

Between You, Me and the Lamp Post

Day 4: Can cats talk

Oh dear, it’s only day four and I’ve already hit a bit of a snag … I can’t think of anything to write about.

At times like these, I turn to my cats: Charlotte, Holly, Halley, and Greyson. Cat lovers will agree, our fur kids are a constant source of inspiration.

Take Greyson for instance. He recently celebrated his first birthday and with it, he developed an appetite for wallpaper.

Don’t for a moment think that the poor thing might be hungry because I can assure you that he’s not. Greyson, along with the others get wet food for breakfast and dinner and they have a constant supply of dry food to snack on during the day.

So why does Greyson go for the wallpaper? Just to be clear, he doesn’t eat it, he merely tears off pieces and then spits them out on the floor. First, he attacked one of the walls in the bathroom, then he moved on to the kitchen and finally had a nibble in the living room.

See for yourself …

Shortly before his first birthday, Greyson also found his voice and he’s been using it ever since. For the longest time, he was a quiet cat, his Toronto Cat Rescue foster mother described him as a Zen kitten. When there’s nothing Zen about him anymore.

He starts in the morning, practicing his vocal cords with a series of meows. Once warmed up he goes quiet.

Then he starts again in the evening. He talks to us, he talks to the other cats, he even talks to the walls. Now that creeps me out. He will sit by a wall, look up and start a flood of ‘words’.

Sometimes it gets so bad that we have to shut him up with a firm ‘Greyson, enough!’ He will go quiet for a while and then start again, talking to another wall.

When Greyson isn’t talking to walls, he tries to climb them. He will sit, calculate his move, and then jump as high as he can, front paws outstretched. Of course, he’s not going anywhere as he slides right back down. That doesn’t discourage him though, he’s a firm believer in … if at first you don’t succeed, try and try again. Which he does. Over and over again until he gets tired.

And when he gets tired, he curls up, or rather drapes himself in his favorite spot. This has been his favorite spot ever since he was a kitten. Once again, see for yourself.

When he’s awake, Greyson is a rather curious cat. Lately, he’s taking an interest in potato peeling, dishwashing, and laundry. When he sees me taking the potato bag out of the cabinet, he wants to see what I’m doing. 

When I fill the sink with water he will come and stand by me and let out a loud cry. That’s my cue to pick him up and put him near the sink. He’s afraid of the water and the soap bubbles, I can see that, but he will sit there and keep an eye on me.

The same with laundry. When I fill the machine with clothes, water, and soap, he wants to see what’s going on. When I pick him up he’s not just scared, he’s terrified, but cranes his neck to see. In the meantime, I’ve learned that a safe distance is of great importance to Greyson.

When I first pick him up he lets me know … a little closer, please. A step closer and he cranes his neck to see better. Closer still and he starts to squirm. One more step closer to the machine and the message is clear … that’s far enough.

Can cats talk … you bet they can, you just have to know how to listen.

Day 163: Be careful what you wish for

My Project: 365 Creative Writing Prompts

Day 163: Be careful what you wish for

Many years ago, I asked a Ragdoll forum member if this breed of cats can ‘talk’. “Can they talk,” she replied, “The question is, do they ever shut up!”

Once I had a Ragdoll myself, a rescue we named Gabriel, I was somewhat disappointed that he was a rather quiet cat. Occasionally he would utter a meow, but on the whole Gabriel was too laid back to make a fuss about anything.

A few months after Gabriel passed away, we adopted two more rescues, Halley and Greyson. I hoped and wished that one or both would be ‘talkers’, but for months they remained tight lipped.

Overnight that changed when Greyson found his voice. For the longest time he was a quiet little kitty cat, but no more. Ever since he found out that he can produce a sound, he's been talking non-stop. He cries for food, he cries for attention, he cries when he can't find one of his toys, he cries for everything.

And he's got different kinds of cries. Food has one cry, for attention has another cry, and when he can’t find his spring or toy mouse that’s another cry still. If you were to hear his cry for attention you would agree … it can melt a stone heart. Yes, it’s that pitiful.

In case you’re wondering why he cries for food … I have no idea. Greyson, along with the others get breakfast, for during the day they have dry nibbles, and around 7:00 p.m. they get their dinner. So they never go hungry and there’s really no need to cry.

Neither is there reason to cry for attention, as Charlotte, Holly, Halley and Greyson get plenty of pets and kisses. 

The thing is, when I’m peeling potatoes, Greyson wants to see what I’m doing. If Dieter is doing dishes, he wants to inspect the works, and when the beds are being made, Greyson makes sure the wrinkles are smoothed out (every cat lover will know what I mean by that). If Greyson is kept out of the loop, he cries.

As for crying if he can’t find one of his toys … well , that’s a different story altogether. Greyson’s favorite toy is a spring. When we first adopted him, Jackie (his foster mother) send him off with a packet of 10 springs, we bought an additional packet and later on another packet. That’s 30 springs altogether and he systematically lost them all. He knocks them under chairs, under the washing machine, the fridge, a cabinet … you name it. Every now and then when we clean under the sofa we find a few of those springs, but things are a little more difficult when retrieving them from under the fridge or the washing machine, those things are heavy.

Greyson knows this, where he put his springs I mean, not that the machines are heavy, and wants us to lend him a hand in getting them back. When we tell him no, or that we can’t do it, that’s when the crying starts. So what do I do … no, I don’t move the fridge or washing machine, I’m not Wonder Woman, I go on Amazon and order new springs.

Just goes to show, I wanted a talkative cat and now that I have one ...

Day 161: Why, oh why couldn’t I have gone for a white one?

My Project: 365 Creative Writing Prompts

Day 161: Why, oh why couldn’t I have gone for a white one?

By now you are well acquainted with Greyson, a kitten we adopted from a foster mother from the Toronto Cat Rescue. As soon as I saw his picture, I knew I wanted this kitten and a few weeks later (he was too young to adopt at the time) he was mine.

Plenty of people don’t like black cats, they think that black cat brings bad luck. Oh well, they do say that an idiot is born every minute, so we have to forgive their ignorance and stupidity. Me, I love black cats, but then … I love all cats.

Today, some seven months later, the tiny kitten has grown into a medium-sized cat. The other cats are much bigger than him, but maybe he’s not done growing yet. 

We love Greyson dearly, but yesterday I was far from impressed with him. Let me put you in the picture …

Last night, around 1:00 a.m. I was ready to go to bed and before turning the lights out I did what I do every night … I check if all the cats are okay.

Charlotte was sleeping on top of the wall unit. 

Holly was snoring in the loveseat. 

Halley was at my feet, eager to join me in bed. 

And Greyson … where was Greyson?

I looked around the lounge, checked the chairs in the dining room, and inspected the kitchen ... Greyson wasn’t there. Next, I checked my bedroom, the bathroom, and the laundry cabinet … nothing. The only place left was Dieter’s bedroom.

Since Dieter was in bed already, his room was shrouded in darkness and finding Greyson there would be next to impossible. So I stepped into Dieter’s room and in hushed tones called “Greyson! Greyson, are you here?” No response of course and he didn’t make an appearance either.

So I went back to the lounge to have another look. I looked under the coffee table, behind the chairs, checked the dining room chairs again, checked the windowsill behind the curtain, and looked in the kitchen, bathroom and laundry room again. When I went to my bedroom I checked under the bed, behind the cabinets … nothing.

I was slowly but surely beginning to lose it and when I returned to the living room I hissed “Greyson, where the hell are you? Show yourself!”

The only place left was Dieter’s bedroom, but I couldn’t exactly go in there and switch the light on. So I stumbled around in the dark, checking the bed if I could feel his soft fur and in the process stubbed my toe against the bed. Lord above, have you ever hurt yourself without being allowed to scream or swear?

I stood there in near silence, groaning with pain, my foot in my hand, doing a close imitation of an Irish jig. 

By the time I returned to the living room I was royally ticked off and thought … Why, oh why couldn’t I have gone for a white kitten?!

The only thing left to do was grab my cellphone, switch on the build in torch and shine it under Dieter’s bed, that was the only place I hadn’t looked. But where was my cellphone? Now had to go look for that. I checked the coffee table, the dining room table, looked under books and other stuff … my phone was AWOL too.

And then suddenly I felt familiar soft fur brushing up against my leg … Greyson. “And where did you come from?” I asked him. “I looked for you everywhere!” He didn’t answer, of course, if he had I would probably have keeled over. Instead, he sat there staring at me with his big amber eyes looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

So in the event that you’re planning on adopting a black kitten/cat, for the sake of your nerves and your toes … get the cat a fluorescent neckband or better yet, a bell.

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Day 158: Greyson's Accident

My Project: 365 Creative Writing Prompts

Day 158: Greyson's Accident

It is generally accepted that the parents of a kitten are a male and female cat. Yet in Greyson’s case, I have serious doubts. Judging by his look and behavior, I’ve come to think that his father might be a squirrel.

Not only does Greyson have the coloring of a black squirrel, but he has a really big bushy tail, and he acts like a squirrel. He runs like one, he jumps on walls and door frames, and hides things. Now wouldn’t you say those are all the characteristics of a squirrel?

In addition, Greyson is a rather naughty kitten. This morning he pulled a stunt that we won’t forget in a hurry.

For the longest time, we had dark colored carpets. They were either red with flowers or dark green with flowers or something similar. Nothing ever happened to those carpets, no spills of any kind. Now that we have a new cream-colored lounge suite, I wanted a cream colored carpet under the coffee table and would you believe it … the carpet is not even a week old and … you guessed it, something happened.

I recently changed the coffee table decoration from a silk flower arrangement to a Val St. Lambert crystal tray. I inherited this tray from my folks, but for the longest time didn’t dare to put the tray on the table. It’s an expensive piece and should it break … well, anyone who knows crystal knows that crystal doesn’t just break, it shatters in a million pieces.

With the arrival of the new lounge and carpet though, the orange flowers clashed with the pink flowers in the carpet, and so I brought out the crystal tray, washed it and placed it on the coffee table. Charlotte, Holly, and Halley ignored the tray, but Greyson was fascinated by it. Every chance he got he jumped on the table, walked up to the tray and stared at his reflection.

And so it happened. This morning he was once again admiring himself in the tray, for some reason got spooked, one of his claws got stuck in the lace runner under the tray, and the next moment a coffee cup that was standing on the table now lay on the beige carpet … leaving a big coffee stain.

Fortunately, I’ve read enough about stain removal that I knew what to do. I blotted up the coffee and followed up with soda water. From what I can see most of the stain is gone. Someone suggested hairspray or peroxide to remove any last traces of the stain, but I have neither hairspray nor peroxide. But thank you Vicat F. and Bunny A.

As for Greyson … he knew he’d done something wrong and fled to my bedroom. It took hours before he ventured back into the living room and was rather careful about it. Not that he had anything to worry about, it was, after all, an accident and he was quickly forgiven.

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