and tiny basil:
It’s the first Monday in June, is why.
Jasper, who normally leaves me to eat my meals in peace, will grab my plate and try to stick his nose into my food whenever I eat one of my spicy homemade bean or mushroom burritos.
I know it’s the spice which draws him: when I spritzed my plants with a capsaicin spray to deter him from munching on the leaves, he responded by munching avidly.
Trickster, on the other hand, prefers dairy products: yogurt (both Greek and regular), and Parmesan—or, in a pinch, Asiago or Pecorino Romano—cheese. She’s also a water baby who likes to drink from the droplets dripping down her face.
Oh my god oh my god oh my god do I hate grading.
You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but no, I’m not. I mean, I am, but I still hate it.
The cats, the cats I don’t hate.
Apparently Jasper thinks the capsaicin spray with which I doused the houseplant he liked to graze upon is akin to sriracha: it spices the plant up nicely.
Because, yep, that’s what this post is about.
His preferred floor-space is actually the threshold of the bathroom:
Trickster, however, almost always prefer a higher plane:
Another high spot:
That shelf, alas, is no more. It was a great place for Trickster to escape Jasper, but one day I came home and the wall brace had been torn out.
I think Jasper probably tried to leap up to it and the combination of his weight and the jump was too much for the bracket.
I may try to rig an alternative up for Trickster—she really does need a place to get away from Jasper-in-fightin’-mode—but in the meantime, she and the kitty boy are sharing (alternately) this:
Yes, I constructed a dresser from wine boxes—perfect for my (de-jewel-cased) cds. It used to sit in my living room, topped off by my mini-stereo, but as I was trying to free up space in the main room, I thought I’d see if it would work to put it in my bedroom.
It works, and the cats dig it.
Anwyay, it’s been awhile, and I didn’t want you to forget how gorgeous my kitties are.
It happens about once a month.
Kitty boy changes where he sleeps at night: sometimes at the end of my bed, sometimes on the bedroom chair, sometimes on the small chest, and sometimes in the living room.
But with some regularity, in the middle of the night, Jasper will creep up on to my chest and purr and peep and squeak until I wake up enough to scritch him. And if the noises (or his weight or a misplaced paw) don’t do it, he’ll nudge around one of my hands until I bring it to his head, then he’ll settle in, a block of purring fur.
Okay, I don’t like being woken up, but he’s just so affectionate and. . . yeah, I’m a sucker, so yeah, he gets away with it.
Actually, the purring and blocking wouldn’t be so bad, but at some point he’ll get super affectionate and start to lick my chin or my neck, and I have to move my hand to deflect him—because I know that after the licks come the nips and then the chomps.
No, I can’t recall that Jasper—who I did once call the Vampire Kitty—ever has bitten my neck, but having had my toes be on the receiving end of the lick-nip-chomp routine, I ain’t taking any chances.
I don’t know what’s going on with him; it’s entirely possible he’s just being. . . cat.
Trickster, on the other hand, never bothers me in the middle of the night, but when the alarm goes off in the morning, or if she hears me stir, she’ll jump on to the bed or come up from the foot and sit, just sit, right next to me, waiting for me to wake enough to throw a pettin’ her way.
Of course, then she’s got this weird step-dance she goes through where she arches her back and circles around and smashes her head into my hand, to which I almost always respond, “weirdo”.