Meow Fest

I know I haven't blogged much about the kitties lately, what with the excessive Alaska posting and all.  They are, in a word, (still) amazing.  Still the best wee companions any unemployed gal could ask for.  Natasha, my little princess, is at times absolutely adorable, snuggly and sweet with the most precious little faint purr, and at times she is a total bitch.  The bitchiness is, unfortunately, a result of Naski's, uh, attention.  I'd love to be able to say that bringing him into our house gave her a playmate, but the reality is, she's been in kitty Gitmo for the last year and a half.  Her emotional scars extend far enough beyond the immediate Naski-mediated torture that her attitude is a bit unpredictable.  So the times when she's a cuddlebug and purr-monkey are that much more precious.

Shortly after Nick's pelvis injury, he spent most of his evenings on the chaise lounge which we had moved into the main living space.  I had gotten him a portable studying/computer lap desk that came in awfully handy during that time, and the cats kept him company pretty much 24/7.  It's amazing how animals can sense when you're not quite right and will stick by your side until you're back up to speed.

Naski, our little capricious rascal, still likes to "play" with Natasha.  (If "play" and "molest" are near synonyms, that is.)  How is it that all brothers, regardless of species, somehow figure out that supreme form of torture involving pinning their siblings to the ground and drooling on them?!  I'd like to say it's not his fault ... and that he just wants to play ... and that it's all innocent ... but it's not.  He knows he's being a stinker.  Which is why he runs from us and hides just out of reach under the bed when we try to intervene.  But.  It's like he KNOWS that he has to be extra cute and awesome to make up for all of those casshole moments.  Like, for instance, how he plays fetch.  Yes, you heard right - he's a cat.  Who plays FETCH.  And not with toys that you'd get from the pet store, oh no.  Aside from the occasional stuffed mousie, he has no interest in anything purchased.  Now, those plastic rings you peel off the top of a milk jug?  KITTY CRACK to this little guy.  He runs, leaps, chases ... and fetches.  And he'll saunter back over to you with the ring in his mouth, dropping it somewhere just outside of the accessible-from-your-current-position reach, cause, you know, he's still a CAT.  And he will play fetch over and over and over.  It's amazing.

Surprisingly, however, we've never really been able to capture any of the little guy's antics on (digital) film or video.  From the time we brought him home, he's been totally skittish of the camera - it's like he thinks he's being caught in the act of something he's not supposed to be doing and he bolts.  Runs for the hills.  Now that Nick and I have entered the 21st century with smart phones that actually take decent photos and videos, I've tried tricking him by pretending to be noodling around on the phone when I am, instead, trying to video the crap out of him ... but he figures me out in two seconds flat and is outta there.  And just before he darts around the corner to the bedroom, he usually shoots me a look that says "Nice try, MOM.  Your lens of death will have to wait til later."  So we have to settle for lots of pictures of him sleeping or otherwise caught unaware, or doing absolutely nothing incriminating.  Boooooring.  Good thing he's CUTE!


Playing with my lens cap ...

Quick! Before he bolts!

A very pink and adorable tongue:

Being Daddy's shoulder cat:

Exercising his "chicken wings":

Sitting like a human:

Rawring like his big brother the lion:

And curling his big rabbit feet around his abnormally huge head:

SQUISH!!!