The Glowing Edge

Tag: cat

  • Olive Shows Some Cat Smarts

    Olive Shows Some Cat Smarts

    Polly recently visited us for a week while Meme and Papa were out of town.

    Henry packed up and stated we would never see him again unless we “disposed of” the dog. I said, “Henry, we are not going to dispose of the dog. And her name is Polly.”

    He said, “Whatever,” and left.

    Olive, however, happily rubbed herself against Polly’s legs (making the dog horribly nervous) and proceeded to show her how things operate around our house.

    Polly was alternately fascinated and terrified by Olive. Sometimes Polly would stand stock still, her gaze riveted on Olive’s current activity, drool running down the side of her jaw. Other times she followed slavishly nose-to-tail wherever Olive wandered, shying immediately away if Olive should switch directions toward her.

    Olive was particularly pleased with Polly’s bed, which the dog brought with her since it was an extended sleep-over. Olive immediately claimed it for a nap, saying, “What a nice present for Olive!”

    Which caused really the only argument they had the entire week.

    Polly mumbled, without looking Olive in the eye, “It’s not your present.”

    To which Olive brightly and earnestly replied, “Oh! It is, though!” She smiled. “Everything is Olive’s present.”

    Polly blanched at the sight of Olive’s pointy fangs and said in a teeny, tiny doggie voice, “That’s my bed.”

    Olive got a small wrinkle on her forehead, remembering the times her humans had told her the very same thing. And I have to say, she got just a wee bit ferocious. I hadn’t known Olive actually had any of the normal cat genetic material, but clearly she does.

    But there were no more disputes about the bed.

  • Olive Cheating Natural Selection

    Olive Cheating Natural Selection

    It’s okay with me that Olive isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Really.

    But I DO wish our newest kitteh would show at least a little sense around cars.

    However, if she’s outside and I get in my car to leave, she tends to choose and do one of the following.

    1. Wander out from her spot under the bushes and flop down just behind the rear wheel of the car (her favorite).
    2. Scamper from one side of the driveway to the other by going underneath the car. This is while I’m backing down the driveway by slow inches. This actually happened. She’s not even a year old, and I’m not sure how many of her nine lives she has left.
    3. Stroll out to sit smack in the middle of the driveway (where she watches me gesticulate madly inside the car). She doesn’t appear to be offended when I honk.
    4. Come skipping up — as I open the car door to holler at her — to leap into the car.

    This, ladies and gentlemen, is natural selection being thwarted. In the age of the dinosaurs Olive would simply be paste on the bottom of a slow-moving dino’s foot. Instead, our clan works night and day to keep her alive and on the planet.

    The Maker created this helpful sign  (he didn’t know “Olive” had an “e” at the end) and taped it up in our garage to remind us all to check thoroughly around the garage and driveway area before putting the key in the ignition. She’s so troublesome about this that we’ve taken to putting her in the house every time before we leave, or else someone stands Olive-guard while the other person backs down the driveway.

    I’ve told our next door neighbor about our wretched cat, and I only hope they check before they move their car, or else natural selection may win.

  • Olive & Henry

    Olive & Henry

    Henry, from the day we brought him home from the shelter, was 17 pounds of orange-striped irritable. He’s not cuddly, playful, or even nonchalant. He bites. And he prefers that you just leave him alone, permanently.

    Henry grew on us like a mild but contagious virus. We actually like him, for reasons that only therapy would help us fully grasp.

    And Olive, from the day we brought her home from the shelter, has absolutely adored Henry.

    Olive eats from Henry’s plate (we finally quit putting one out for her because she utterly refused to eat unless he was eating, and she had to eat with her little nose touching his), she pounces on Henry’s head, and as you can see from the photo above, she lounges on Henry’s perch.

    Henry swears like a sailor whenever Olive’s around. He refuses to use her name, and only refers to her scathingly as “Junior.” He bats at her, chases her, and lets her jump on his head. He spouts invective and scowls at her.

    I’ve decided Olive is Italian, because she’s utterly oblivious to Henry’s frequent rants.

    She only speaks the language of amore.

  • Olive and the Baby Jesus

    Olive and the Baby Jesus

    This is our family nativity set, dutifully brought out every year, repeatedly organized by miscellaneous boys, periodically misplaced, wholly enjoyed. Joseph is always the most dishevelled looking; once his hair came partially unglued he was never the same. Several animals have disappeared over the years (I personally miss the chicken), and once in a while people mistake the llama/goat/donkey boy for Jesus, but typically the baby Jesus — whom we keep tied to Mary so he doesn’t wander off — is the star of the show.

    Until Olive came to live with us, that is.

    Nativity plus OliveShe loves the nativity barn! She hasn’t actually met the Baby Jesus yet ’cause she keeps sitting on him (hate it when that happens), but I think he’s probably used to this sort of thing. Olive sits on us all the time too. It’s what kittehs do.

    You can see more of Olive and the Baby Jesus on my Flickr; be sure to turn on the titles, cause they’re lol-y.

  • Introducing Olive

    Introducing Olive

    This is Olive.

    She’s deeply interested in the dangle-y wrist strap on my camera. She would like to inspect it more carefully, with her tiny sharp teeth.

    Olive came home with me a couple of days ago, much to the irritation of Henry, our giant orange tabby. Henry weighs 17 pounds, is not fat, and he is emphatically not a lap kitty. He owns Garner, and dispenses cranky remarks from his overburdened cat perch in the windowsill. Olive is 4 months old, weighs as much as a cheezburger, and thinks Henry loves her.

    Don’t worry; we’re watching out for Olive.

    Olive Editing my Photos

    Olive is entirely a lap kitty, in addition to being a laptop kitty, as you see demonstrated above. Helpful is a word she applies to herself, although that isn’t precisely the word I used when I returned from the kitchen to find she had deleted my last photo import with her butt.

    We think she’s going to fit in just fine.

    Top photo credit: The Maker (edited by me)

  • The Ice’s Cat Gene

    The Ice’s Cat Gene from Lisa Creech Bledsoe on Vimeo.

    This is one of our family’s favorite stories about The Ice. We’ve told it so many times that now he tells it. I added a little bit here, and also let Henry the cat have his say. Oh, and it’s actually true that he said the words “kit-tee” and “me-ow” and darn it, even “Dad-dee” before he ever said Mama. Sigh.

  • Sleep Fort

    Seth in the fort Isaac slept in last night

    Sunday night the Maker had a friend over to spend the night. The Ice decided to strike out on his own, and built this fort in his Dad’s office in order to have his own space. In the forground you can see a DVD player (he watched “Enchanted” and the husband and I listened to him laughing and giggling late into the night as he replayed his favorite parts), and an empty Smarties wrapper. The Ice was SET, man. The cat liked it, and so did the Maker, who asked to pose for the camera.