This week has been amazing. Proposition 8 was wiped out by the Supreme Court and the 9th Circuit Court surprised everyone by dropping the stay on marriages early. Now Pride week in San Francisco has taken on a new meaning. Marriages have resumed and the City Hall will remain open this weekend.
San Francisco is expecting record crowds for the Pride Parade tomorrow and I’m sure it’s going to be a fabulous party.
Love? We haz it and now everyone can haz it AND marriage too!
Congratulations to ALL the newlyweds and to those will soon be married!
Because it’s a usually fleeting thing, catching a glimpse of a cat about to go on its mad-hour romp can be difficult. One second they may be licking themselves, then the very next they dash off to explode out of corners at a dead run and jump on and off furniture.
This took a while to document, not just for one of the kittoons, but all three. The head rears back a bit, the eyes bug out, and there may even be a bit of a Marty Feldman look there.
The body goes from limp sack of cooked noodles to taut piano wire and boom, it’s on like Donkey Kong, claws out and losing traction as if in a ’70s car chase.
Naturally, Titanescu will do about three minutes before losing steam and plopping somewhere, while the others keep going and going.
This is the moment. On the cusp of lunacy. And it’s just goofy.
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?
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…
What is it with cats and nip? They go nuts on the stuff. In the case of Titanescu and Miss Jenny it resulted in some awful singing. It also caused us to make a rather interesting discovery about Titanescu.
Miss Jenny has found her theme song. Never mind that she was named after Pirate Jenny from the Three Penny Opera. THIS is her song.
As for Tito, no singing for him. He’s too mellow.
Here’s another cat getting the goofiness going.
In case you wanted to know what Titanescu and Jenny were singing, here they are.
Miss Jenny’s strange obsession with potatoes began here.
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.
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.
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.
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…
Lastech had to go to work at 0300. It left us all discombooberlated and sinkerdoodled. We will recover. Tito, Miss Jenny, and Titan know that the cure is sleep. They have that down to a fine art. In spite of that, we did manage to get some pics when they were awake.
Titanescu? He’s our resident ole fart. He’s still grumpy, but we love him more every day. 🙂
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“…
Titan: “Ain’t nobody got time for that!”
Tito: “Sigh… That’s not the line…”
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…
Tito: “Oh they’ll find some dumb son of a bitch to bring it up.”
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…
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?
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.
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…