Recently in My Kitten Children Category

Ever-discerning Terry sent me the PERFECT greetings for this day:

Thank you, Terry, and thanks to I Can Has Cheez Burger. I think it's SUCH a lovely chapeau, perfect for any and every occasion.

Oh - and I'm sure all y'all thought I was going to talk about breasts today. Yup, I said it: BREASTS, BREASTS, BREASTS! (Go Google, GO!) I decided to wait until tomorrow. I wanted to make the point that we needn't limit discussion of breast cancer awareness and breast health JUST to Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

When I called to make Lark's appointment (R.I.P. Little Fluffy One) at the veterinarian I also made an appointment to get my Kitten Children their long overdue vaccinations. For one, brief, completely unhinged moment I considered taking them all in together. But realizing that Lark's prognosis would probably not be good, and also taking into the account the ridiculous logistics of taking one really sick lil' dog who deserved my full attention and two Kitten Children who HATE riding in the car, I made an appointment for them today.

I think I've reached my medical office saturation point for the time being. Not all of these visits have been bad - and only one completely heartbreaking - but between appointments of my own, the appointment with Lark yesterday, taking Shirleen to a pain clinic yesterday (for a procedure with REALLY LONG NEEDLES - I still thought it was fascinating to watch - no offense Shirleen - I know HAVING it was not fun), then I took Shirleen BACK to the pain clinic today (after which, I thought I might strangle or bitch-slap someone, grab them by the collar and scream, "GIVE HER SOME MEDICATION PLEASE!!!! THIS WOMAN HAS A PAIN THRESHOLD UNLIKE ANYTHING I'VE EVER SEEN AND YET SHE'S HARDLY SLEPT IN MONTHS AND MONTHS." She's frustrated and angry, but much more patient than I am). Perhaps this is because during special nerve injection procedure, which I watched from the doorway of the "operating" room, I unexpectedly saw the visage of the Virgin Mary in one of the myriad x-rays of her scar tissue and back hardware. Seriously. I've certainly never been a disciple of any religious icon, but I almost loudly exclaimed, "A face, a FACE!!!" It's THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY! LIGHT CANDLES!! GENUFLECT!!! I showed great restraint, however, and did not say ANYTHING until she and I were alone at which point she responded that perhaps we should all now worship her butt, though technically the scar tissue is a smidgen higher than that. Since she's in wretched pain and horrifically sleep deprived we can give her the benefit of the doubt. So perhaps the Virgin Mary apparition in her scar tissue gives her miraculously high pain tolerance. Why not.

OHHH - speaking of keisters, back to the five zillionth medical appointment, which was this morning with the Kitten Children. The first adventure was putting them together into the soft-sided animal carrier.

I don't think I've mentioned this before, but since she's not watching me type this, I am going to tell you a little secret (perhaps I should say a LARGE secret): Fiona Maura MacArthur, the younger of my babies, has a really substantial heinie. What's more, as she grew she developed this hanging, baggy-skin, belly thing (they say it's a calico proclivity). To top it all off, she has a wee little head. The amalgamation of these particular characteristics, to tell the truth, causes her to look like an optical illusion from some vantage points. The fact that she's slightly bow-legged only enhances the effect.

I'm not being cruel; even my MOTHER calls her "fat-butt" (but in a very sweet tone so that ostensibly Fiona does not catch on). Besides, I relate.

For those of you who do not know me personally, no matter what my actual "size," I have ALWAYS been "pear-shaped." Oh, YES. As a matter of fact, more than once the jaunty tune, "I like Big Butts," has lovingly been dedicated to me at a karaoke bar (one must admire the exquisite musical stylings of Sir Mix-A-Lot). It's one of my life theme songs (everyone has theme songs for their lives whether they know it or not). Another of my life theme songs is "Mahbootay" by Laura Love. It's an an insightful, astute commentary on the sizable derriÚre. I had the privilege of seeing her live at a folk and bluegrass festival a number of years ago. I had her autograph Shum Ticky with a fond inscription to my "big ol' bootay." In case you don't believe me:

That day Janet asked me to grab a Lucy Kaplansky CD for her and get it autographed (since I was getting one, too). I had it signed, "To Janet, who was to lazy to come down the hill and get this signed herself." I'm funny like that.

Anyhooooo, I suspected that Fiona had gained a couple of pounds this year (which - to me, anyway - feels substantial in a cat). I felt like BeBe (that's Beatrice Alessandra Gatto, remember) was maintaining her lithe figure. I put them both in the carrier with GREAT DIFFICULTY, partly because they knew something was up (and were thus thwarting my well-intentioned efforts) and also because it was rather a tight squeeze. Nevertheless, I think that BeBe (who abhors car rides the most) was still more calm with Fiona in close proximity.

Then, when we got to the vet and went into the examination room, extracting the Kitten Children from the bag naturally proved to be rather a battle. But one by one they were weighed, had their temperatures taken (anally - BOY THEY LOVE THAT - I've tried that procedure on BeBe myself and am happy to leave it to the professionals whenever possible). They had their injections and nose spray vaccinations - I love that most of these now last for three years. They only need the FIP (Feline Infectious Peritonitis) vaccine every year by nasal spray. They really were very good Kitten Children. A little selective hissing and twitching, but that was it.

Then, after we'd conversed about various medical issues such as the acronyms and placement of the assorted vaccinations, we discussed Fiona's weight. Yes, indeed, she's gained two or so pounds and is borderline overweight. Just like me, she will always have a posterior of significant proportions no matter what her size, but I need to keep an eye on the weight issue. OR I could let her get corpulent, repeat the jojoba oil debacle and start calling her "Shorty Greasy Spot Spot."

But the very best moment was when, after our intelligent medical discourse, I mentioned something about how Fiona had always had a large rump. To this the vet responded - OH YES SHE DID - "Ah - she has a Badonkadonk Butt." That's by far the best diagnosis I've heard in a long time (PERHAPS ever). Well, if I hear that someone has actually been diagnosed with "Hot-Dog Fingers" that might run a close second.

I imagine if I were a tad more "Honkey Tonk" I might have to add that Trace Adkins ditty to my list of life anthems.

Hmm. My wind seems to be back, and it's LONG.

Oh - P.S. Please imagine that every time in the above post when it says "today" it actually means yesterday and when I've written "yesterday" it's really "the day before yesterday." "Last week" is still "last week," and a number of years ago... I think you get the picture.

Ah, how I've missed most of you, too.

Hmmm. Let me clarify: I'd have missed you all, but I've managed to see a few of you and therefore cannot "miss" what I've seen or have been seeing.

Just a few important things:

• Dearest Amy, who I've never met, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU GOTTEN YOURSELF INTO?


• I prefer "Accompaniroooo." I feel that it's the appropriately deferential title.


• Let me just say it ONE LAST TIME: My posterior is OFF LIMITS. That is rehearsal rule numero uno.

Thank you, that is all

All My Love,
Crazy Heathen Aunt Cake Kate

Yesterday I received this email from one of the original Monkey Cats:

Subject: solo and ensemble and ze new monkey cats

Hello crazy heathen aunt cake, sorry, Kate. If you have not been informed by your forget ful neice [sic], saria we need you to accompany us, maybe. Respond as quickly as possible or call Nessa at: [number omitted OF COURSE]

I called Sarah, and, yes, indeedy, she'd neglected to mention it, "because all of our lives are different and crazy" and that they needed someone to play for them on "the thirty-somethingth." Or was it "the thirtieth or thirty-somethingth" - and they were rehearsing "for the last time (?) tomorrow." She also said that it was an "easy song so they just needed someone to play" (as opposed to coaching). We'll see. I've witnessed their rehearsal techniques.

I asked who was singing, and it seems that with this slightly different array of Monkey Cats I shall even meet a NEW one. I also inquired as to WHAT they were singing. Evidently, this "easy" piece is entitled "False Prophet". "False Prophet?" Oh yes, "False Prophet."

"Who wrote it?" I asked. Sarah did not know. She did, however, explain that "False Prophet" is "about a daisy who tells a lie." Yes, daisy. As in the flower.

Terry, can I PLEASE say that I'm waiting with "bated breath?" It's a song about A FLOWER THAT TELLS A LIE!

I will say this: NO ONE - let me repeat - NO ONE is going to poke at my substantial tookus this time. My butt is OFF LIMITS. That will be rehearsal rule numero uno.

BeBe now has a large bald spot on the nape of her neck. Wait - cats don't have neck napes, technically, right? Wait - SCRUFF! She has a large bald spot on her scruff (correct me if I'm wrong, my vet people). And it's my fault. Well, it's ALL my fault, but I believe this is especially my fault.

I realize that's the area I was holding down desperately, particularly during the SECOND bath, so that she would not catapult (no pun intended, but HA HA HA HA) into the air and securely attach herself to the ceiling. Or my face. Consequently, that spot was probably still oily. I gather she's taken care of that very thoroughly - SINCE YESTERDAY.

It will grow back; I know this from experience. I obtained this knowledge because of an incident having to do with one of Janet and Erik's cats and a shedding implement and a water pistol. It was very surprising, but Shirleen, as usual, as Doctor Doolittle incarnate, was able to explain it to me.

Looking on the bright side, the skin on BeBe's bald patch doesn't have even a hint of dandruff.

Shirleen, of course, former Dog and Animal Groomer Extraordinaire (still pretty extraordinaire at it, when her fused back and her busy schedule allow her to occasionally coif the wee doggies), knew just what to do with the Greasy Kitten Children. I asked her yesterday, in a falteringly hopeful voice, "Won't the oil just eventually soak in?" She rolled her eyes (subtly - YES MY MOTHER TAUGHT US TO ROLL OUR EYES AND SHE CAN ONLY TRY AND DENY IT) and in a patient voice explained that they'd have to be bathed again because the oil would just stick in the undercoats. I don't think it had even absorbed that far.

Shirleen also suggested a particular method to use. So the Kitten Children are now luxuriously clean by everyone's standards (if you've ever bathed a cat you'll know that they lick themselves NON-STOP for two or three days afterwards). I only have a few panicked feline Velcro claw marks. And they EVEN have forgiven me (or they're lulling me into a sense of complacency to plot my untimely demise).

Here is my only complaint: Shirleen HELPED you bathe Truman, Jennette. She conveniently "ran an errand" yesterday as I was bathing the cats. And no one else was qualified (or could be bothered) to answer my cries for help when BeBe was ATTACHED FIRMLY TO MY SHOULDER AND WAS WORKING HER WAY DOWN MY BACK. Wait - Sarah came and asked if she could help, but by then I had BeBe pinned down in the Kitchen Sink WITH MY ENTIRE BODY so I couldn't really think of something for her to do. Shirleen DID turn Lark (my Parents' wee geriatric dog) into a clean and lovely semblance of a poodle which is only a little odd because she is a Maltese.

Though I have a longer entry in mind touching on recent interesting events in the household and holiday reminiscences and all that jazz, I'm not ready for it yet. Please don't cry; I know you wait with bated breathe for my next entry novel. I do have these noteworthy tidbits:

• The GURU reigns true and mightily as always forevermore and tomorrow! Thank you so much for finding the requisite secret places. And curses on the wretched hackers who try to plague your existence. I spit on them; phhhht.


• The Cativity is ON SALE! Hurry now before the limited supply of "sweetly sculpted polyresin" has been depleted!


• This item has taken away any vestige of what scant innocent memories remain from my childhood.
  
  
  "Candy" Bra
  Moreover, it does NOT look very supportive. And I feel bad for the person who had to Photoshop® her nipples from between the rows of candy beads that make up this "sexy candy lingerie."

• Less is more when it comes to hair products for one's Kitten Children.

  Today I bathed them - after cutting their claws and shedding them - they still are keeping their distance from me.

  I still find the incongruity of the fact that my Kitten Children are completely fascinated by the bathtub and/or shower yet you'd think that giving THEM a bath was medieval torture at its best (worst?). They want to watch ME bathe. They'll even drink soapy bathwater (yuck). They want to chase water from three ounce bathroom cups down the drain (I should explain this game some time). But God forbid I get THEM completely wet.

  So suffice it to say, despite my Father's firm belief that any respiratory distress is caused by the Kitten Children (as opposed to POORLY TREATED ASTHMA - and PETTING THE KITTEN CHILDREN AND THEN RUBBING ONE'S EYES AND NOSE AND SUCH - WHICH IS JUST STUPID), I gave in to his badgering and attempted Operation Feline Bath (and if you don't think it's a major to do you've never bathed a cat).

  I got all five thousand towels at the ready, as well as their shampoo and Kevlar body armor for me (I wish). Then I got the BRILLIANT idea that since they get dandruff, especially when it's so cold and dry, I should use the same treatment I use when I think my scalp is dry. My strategy is so use copious amounts of jojoba oil (theoretically the most like the natural oils in one's skin). So I dumped jojoba oil on each FURIOUS Kitten Child and tried to really work it in. Oh how they loved that. Then I did the regular shampoo and rinse (and desperate wrestling while attempting to keep my voice soothing and evenly-modulated). I snuggled them in towels and tried to get them to sit by their favourite heating vents. But - OH - they were having none of it. They wanted to go far, far, far away from me and then "re-bathe" themselves (which somewhat defeats the whole purpose of the "allergy" wash since saliva is usually the most severe feline allergen anyway).

  Later, when I did catch a glimpse of each Kitten Child's wee, resentful face, I realized that the simple shampoo would have been best (not to mention it would have made Operation Feline Bath SHORTER). They look like greasy porcupines. And you can tell that they detect a residue on their fur that they cannot seem to lick off (and I tell you - they are being persistent). I'm hoping the oil soaks in and they feel so luxuriously moisturized that they love me all the more. Or ever again.

I've said it before, I'll say it again: My Mother receives almost every catalog available in the known Universe. As some of you know, last holiday season I had grand aspirations of using her vast library as fodder for clever and thoughtful gift ideas. I look back on what I compiled, and I find it rather VERBOSE and consisting mostly of English foods with names that I find amusing. This notion was corroborated by the fact that last year Grettir AND The Blobby Farm both trumped me with cleverness and brevity. And what's more, each accomplished this in a single entry (well, two for Grettir if you want to count this golden oldie).

Nonetheless, if you want to browse through last years "prime" gift picks (there's a link in the sidebar as well), please do so. NO - I will not guarantee that any of the links are current. If they are broken, please just look at the pretty pictures.

Despite what I've just said, I can guarantee two things:

1. Blobbies STILL and forevermore make people happy. I promise. Cross my heart and all that jazz.
2. I think perhaps the "Twelve Dickies of Christmas" was mildly amusing. Well - at least the fact that I FOUND twelve separate assorted dickies is a little funny in and of itself.

That said, notwithstanding the fact that I bagged the idea of "Kate's Holiday Gift Ideas du Jour 2006" several months ago, I still browsed through stacks and piles and heaps of catalogs. This is, more often than not, an amusing pastime. Occasionally, though, one finds reason to be quite terrified.

This holiday season I was genuinely alarmed by the profusion of Nativities (CrÚches - call them what you prefer) featuring - hmmm, let's say "non-human" characters. Yes, indeed - I found teddy bears (fuzzy), snowmen, teddy bears (poly-resin), frogs and a few others that must have scared me so much that I've blocked them out completely. I would always show them to my Mother and tell her that I'd found the PERFECT Christmas gift just for her.

I should probably put this in context: In case you do not know, I am very hard to offend. And kitschy, tacky catalog items ordinarily amuse me. Moreover, to put this an even clearer perspective: I LOVE Life of Brian. I think it's uproariously funny and don't consider it the least bit blasphemous. In short, I am about as far from a right-wing religious conservative as you can get.

Yet I find the representations of the "Holy Family" as reptile or canine or ursine creatures to be CREEPY. This, apparently, brought out my Mother's devious side.

One day there was a notice about a package that they wouldn't deliver without someone home to accept it. Says she, "Oh no - they wouldn't leave your 'Get ready for Christmas' present!" My Mother is the Queen of All Holidays, so it's not strange that there were "Get ready for Christmas" gifts this year.

I did not have to wait very long to find out what festive surprise lay in store for me. The next evening I came home to found the following collection artfully arrayed on the dining room table:

It's scary, yes, but I must admit that it's hysterically amusing, too. I was going to try and take a picture of my ACTUAL Cat Nativity (my "Cativity"), but Fiona wanted to lounge voluptuously on the box behind it, which I'd wanted to artistically drape with black fabric (okay, with a jacket - it's not like I'm Annie Freakin' Leibovitz). So I stole the image from the merchant.

I cannot say I'm sorry, though, because when I searched for the picture I also found this description of the Cativity:

Sweetly sculpted of polyresin, each of these 9 figures is beautifully hand painted and delightfully detailed. Set includes Mary, Joseph, the 3 wise cats, shepherd cat, little drummer cat, angel cat and, of course, the baby kitten curled up in his makeshift crib. Largest figurine measures 4 3/4"H x 2 1/2"W x 2 1/2"D. Stable not included.

That's right, no stable (and if you don't know already, cats LOVE containers). I'm considering a surreptitious removal of my Mother's LLadro Crèche figures from its satin underpinning and dazzling backdrop and replacing them with my Feline "Holy Family" and ensemble.

Last but not least, a disclaimer: If you like or worse, hold dear, any of these things I've just ridiculed, bear in mind I adore many things that others would find worthy of ridicule. I do not scoff at YOU - I'm mocking your STUFF. Everyone to their own tastes. Right?

*Hah! You thought I meant "cavity." Coincidentally, I did have a cavity filled last week, but this was a very deliberate "CATIVITY."

There were felines abiding in the field, keeping watch over their treats by night. And, lo! The eerie Cat Angel came upon them, and it scarily hissed round about them, and they were sore afraid.

Yes, I sent Monkey Cat #2 to the Prom with a "wrist" corsage I'd concocted that weighed approximately as much as a healthy newborn baby. I'm very sorry about that...

She looked absolutely beautiful, anyway. Sarah looked gorgeous, too. I will post pictures later (with their permission).