Caturday: Titan knows best

You know that old grandpa or scary uncle kids like to sneak dangerously close to when he takes a nap, giggling at the hair growing wild out of his nose and ears? Running away when he wakes up mad?

That’s Titan.

The other day he seemed to nap, at least I thought he was, on Rudha-an’s lap. I pretended to pet him, bringing my hand to a couple inches from his back when “whap!!!” he slapped it lightning quick and hard. His expression didn’t even change and he barely moved. Giggling is tricky too: he doesn’t like when she has a fit of the giggles and makes him shake, and he lets it be known by letting out an almost asthmatic, silent hiss.

Life with the ole tyrant.

It’s not that he knows best, he just knows. And don’t you dare question him you damn kids…

Come little bit closer
Come a little bit closer
Closer! Closer!
Closer! Closer!
Don't even think about it
Даже не думайте об этом!


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Caturday: a world of pain…

Illuminated by the flash of white-ish fangs…

New item: the old coot, I mean the Marshal, has developed a fondness for sleeping in the crook of my arm. He’ll rest a paw on my forearm, lay his chin on top of it and go to sleep. That seems to be comfortable for him because his breathing quickly becomes deep and regular, his eyes are fully closed and he’ll twitch slightly from dreaming. As he either goes to sleep or slowly awakens I can even feel his very low purr in my arm.

I tried putting an ear against him, but can’t hear it, so low it is.

Hmmm. Looks like...
Hmmm. Looks like…
Caturday Sam Eagle
… Sam Eagle!

When you look at his eyes, they seem ‘set’, as if his brow were almost furrowed, in anticipation of something bad to happen. I joked that he looks like the eagle from the Muppet Show, but that’s a look I’ve seen on people as well. Rarely does he open them wider, and he only does that when looking at the other two cats.

He does a lot of watching, more than anything else, and I suspect it’s because pain limits what he can do. When he does romp it usually doesn’t last more than three minutes at most. Better than nothing, but hopefully Tito and Jenny will continue to draw him out further, because things won’t get easier as he gets older and lacks energy to exercise.

While his pain is physical, I’ve wondered about the psychological effects. He is safe to pet until about the shoulder blades. Below that, you’re dancing with the Devil. Thankfully there are some rays of hope now and then.

Wide eyed and nubby tailed
Wide eyed and nubby tailed

One positive thing I noticed was that he does not fear us at all: when he slaps or ‘fake’ bites our hand, he doesn’t recoil in fear of being hit or worse. He just sits there staring as if saying ” has the whole world gone CRAZY?”

Jenny has taken to chasing him up the tower and Tito chases him from room to room. It’s not much, but the Marshal likes it and benefits from the exercise: yesterday, he rolled on his back in the ‘dead bug’ position. I wasn’t sure he could even do it, and while we don’t have photo evidence I’m sure we will soon.

Well, three minutes of romping at a time is a start. He does have to save his strength. Just like the Boober moved with more and more economy the sicker he became. And still he continues to last.

Un pont too far
Un pont too far

Thinking about these older cats this week, and the Klingon (not Vulcan!) kind of love the furry brutes have, makes it easier to understand why pain is both universal and private. Marshal Titanescu has trained me to remain very still when he graces my lap with his presence…


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Midnight Movie Madness: “night of the lepus”

Night of the lepus” – (88 minutes, USA,1972 – PG)

They could have titled this one “follicle follies”. In the vein of eco-inspired horror flicks of the ’70s, the premise of “night of the lepus” makes your hare stand on end: in a single night and starting with a single wabbit injected with some experimental hormone shot, the rabbit population of southern Arizona ‘splodes into hordes of 150 pound ravenous long-hared mofos eatin’ and a-killin’ and a-screwin’ anything and anyone in their path.

Lepus? WTF is a lepus?!?
Lepus? WTF is a lepus?!?

Dilemma: coyotes have all been keeled by some dude who did his job too well and now the ranchers’ lands are ravaged by wild rabbits running even wilder…

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Springing reflections: from the Strybing arboretum

“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”

― Søren Kierkegaard

There’s a look on Titanescu’s face that sometimes brings to mind a tortured but not defeated soul. Perhaps a Russian writer after ten  winters in a gulag, lasting twelve months each.

The enigma of cats, who do not judge but reflect: a throw back without absorption, and a convoluted intro to three shots I took at the Strybing arboretum.  I really liked them, which is what I want to share…

Rippling leaves
Rippling leaves
Land and sky with water in between
Land and sky with water in between
Green, blue and black
Green, blue and black


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Caturday: the towering inferno

The cat tower is one place where the kittoons play with such abandon, things verge on disaster.
We’ve had to anchor the thing to the book case with tethers after they managed to topple it a few times, and since then they can race up and jump down the damn thing as hard as they please. And boy oh boy, do they play hard.
Which always begs the question, exactly what is going through their fevered brain..? Judging by the way they slam that thing against the wall, you’d think they’re re-enacting “Earthquake“. Or perhaps “the towering inferno“…

"It's out of control, and it's coming your way. You got about fifteen minutes."
“It’s out of control, and it’s coming your way. You got about fifteen minutes.”

Titan: “Ain’t nobody got time for that!
Tito: “Sigh… That’s not the line…”

The fire claims its first elderly victim
Gasp! It’s so hot in here!

The fire claims its first elderly victim…

Titan: “пожилых людей? Я раздавить тебя!

Okay, break everyone… The director of photography needs to point out that in order to get the “performers” in position, a laser pointer had to be used for their mark, and that even then, they would get distracted by the caw of a bird or the ludic possibilities of a speck of dust, because they have the attention span of a herd of gnats

I’m just saying, it’s frustrating…

"The sprinkler valve's stuck!"
“The sprinkler valve’s stuck!”
How are they gonna get explosives up there?
How are they gonna get explosives up there?

Tito: “Oh they’ll find some dumb son of a bitch to bring it up.”
Jenny: “Hey..!
Titan: “гогот! гогот! гогот!

That, unfortunately, is about as much thespian dedication the director could muster from all three, so let’s cut to the obligatory love scene at the end…

"Well, I always wanted to die in bed..."
“Well, I always wanted to die in bed…Purr… Purr…”

….Annnnd, CUT.


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Caturday: who are the pets around here?!?

It’s 5:43 a.m., Los Bastardos have been fed their gushy food and Thundercats are go!

They’re ‘go’ all over the place so fast, Scotty’s not sure if she’ll hold, Captain…. Roll back the clock a few hours, sometime after midnight. Titanescu was on the bed as usual, but this time on my side. That makes me toss and turn and generally screws up my sleep, but hey, what we wouldn’t do for our furballs, eh?

It must have bothered him at one point because he slapped a paw firmly on my leg and held it there for half a minute as if to say “Достаточно двигались!” (something like ‘enough moving about’ I think)

I figure he had the same look as the other day. You have to wonder, even as they do their little feed-me dance on the kitchen floor, exactly who’s the pet around here?

Belly rub?
Tito: Belly rub?
Here birdie birdie birdie
Miss Jenny: Here birdie birdie birdie
да, поскольку на самом деле я собственными совместного
Titanescu: да, поскольку на самом деле я собственными совместного


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Clash of the Titan

The Marshal has been annoyed with the neighbors lately. You see, Titanescu spends most of his evenings on the bed with us, and glares towards our front door whenever their baby can be heard or nails are hammered, like the other day.

Titanescu has paws of Russian bear
Titanescu has paws of Russian bear

He is generally cranky, and can go from 0 to Pissy in less than two seconds but he kept staring at the window with a look that said: “Твою мать!

And I made the mistake to reach out to pet him on the head.

It was like a scene from a bar fight: he spun round to stare at my outstretched hand with a pissed off look and smacked it with an audible “whap!”

Sounded like a handful of putty thrown hard against a wall, no sh*t. It echoed through the room.

Unfortunately for Rhuda-an, he was sitting on her chest as she started laughing.

When Titanescu gets mad, everyone needs to be real quiet for a while. Those guffaws pissed him off all the more and he snapped his jaws at her hand before rearing his head back, mouth wide open in the longest hiss I’ve heard since 1979, exhaling a cloud of fetid fish breath at her.
His lips curled, some spittle blew forth, some just dribbled out and it lasted so long he almost coughed at the end… Right in her face.

Because we couldn’t stop laughing uncontrollably, he jumped off and ambled into the kitchen with his weird walk, ankles together, feet kicking outward.

We followed him in there, but there’s one more thing about the old coot: when you piss him off, he shuns you. He turns his back to you and will ignore you completely. A little bit like this:

It took him maybe another 20 minutes to cool down enough that he could come back and be with us…

…and we love him.

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… And speaking of play…

I know we’re maybe supposed to talk to the cats about catnip… But it’s too much fun and they’re all having a good time. Jenny in particular, likes to chew on her toys. Especially after I place them in the catnip jar and shake it…

Chew, hug and toss ’em. This last time, of course, she farted when I reached down to pet her…

Gimme some...
Gimme some…
Mousy! I LOVE Mousy!
Mousy! I LOVE Mousy!
Om-nom-nom-nom
Om-nom-nom-nom
INTENSE NOM
INTENSE NOM
Annnd... Mellowing out....
Annnd… Mellowing out….

 

Everything is illuminated
Everything is illuminated


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Caturday: the fartistes

Socially, having a dog on whom to blame your “accidents” is a boon, but even if your cat is a flatuliste,  things become a bit of a stretch.

Jenny makes a good effort of it, especially when I pet her. Hers linger like fog in an old horror flick. Me, I like to wait until an unsuspecting victim forces me to let them under the covers…

Wasn't me..!
Wasn’t me..!

Tito usually jumps a few inches in surprise, then blinks it away…

My eyes are watering!
My eyes are watering!

And Titanescu holds his nose best he can, plotting revenge by not burying his turds next time… “Băși!

Ma, oh man!
Man, oh man!


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