Life in the Fast Lane

Tiny round blanket, Too Many Kitties

All things kitty have been booming here at Casa Findingmoxie. But while we've been racking up the progress and celebrating our successes with cuddles, a sliver of sadness has wedged itself into my thoughts. In two weeks, I've got to give up my kittens to the CHAT shelter and that sadness is going to kick me in the pants. With a steel-toed boot. These little darlings have taken over my life (insert here, Mr Findingmoxie shaking his head in chagrin) and come that day there will be a seriously large kitten-pile-shaped hole in my life.

Atticus and Dill, getting Olympic fever.

 I've been imagining that in the moment I hand the kittens back, an alternative universe will open up in which I kept Atticus, Dill, Scout, Jem, Calpurnia and Boo Radley and we all lived happily ever after. Including Mr Findingmoxie. When times get hard, I'll go to that universe and wonder what that findingmoxie and her band (technically, a clowder) of wily kittens is getting up to. My official happy place. Maybe we'll have a cat plantation like Hemingway's in Key West. Maybe we'll be lying on marble tiles, cooling ourselves in that Greek taverna that we run. Maybe we'll be fighting crime and de-mousing cities.

On a side note, I now know what Papa Findingmoxie feels like when Mr Findingmoxie and I would visit and on the first day, he'd immediately fixate on our departure date and how sad he was going to be on that day. We'd tease him about it and he'd have to shake it off. I can see that I'm going to have to make an effort to savor kitten life and not angst before I need to--between this, my charm, and my sporadic compulsive cleaning urges, I don't think there's any chance that I'm not going to turn into Papa Findingmoxie. But that's an issue for another day. Obviously.

After many kamikaze missions to get my feather quill down, we have a tussle for it.

But back to the kittens and their shenanigans. This week, another friend-lleague, Shona, brought her little boys for a play-date. Frankly, I was a wee bit apprehensive given the shelter has marked the kittens for an adult only home. Let's face it, although the kittens and Shona's boys were roughly the same age, neither kittens nor kids play nice--never mind the twain meeting. I needn't have worried because Shona and her boys brought my lot a new set of toys: fish on a stick! And who doesn't love a new toy? Scout and Jem chased the fish, Boo Radley consented to watch for a bit before retiring under the sofa, Dill and Cal ran in and out of play, and Atticus gingerly sat on the other side of the room. Scout, cajoled with more playing, sat on laps and even vogued for a photo. Visit accomplished!

Scout, who likes to sleep face down.

How do you ask is Scout on laps? Well, given that Scout loves to play and chase, he would get so worked up in games that my legs were starting to look like I'd climbed my way out of a rocky ravine wearing hot pants, while menaced by tiny tigers. Mr Findingmoxie was not liking my new look and on a whim, I used a towel as protective kevlar. It worked a treat! For my legs and also for their confidence. Hiding my body under the towel gave the kittens license to ignore reality; no legs belonging to big people here! After all, it was just this fuzzy towel on which they liked chewing, playing and eventually, napping. While it began with playing, Scout, Cal, Dill and even Jem would pause on my lap sometimes, taking a breather and I would stroke them gently. I'd usually get a few minutes before they'd see something cooler to do and be off like the wind to destroy our lounge. But without even trying, things started to get adorable. I know, I've got six kittens, how much more adorable could it be?

Scout, my little puppy.

Well, here's the thing. Jem, the black male, LOVES mealtimes and oh, not in the way Dill loves mealtimes. Dill will shove any other kitten under a bus if that kitten stood between Dill and a bowl of deliciousness. Actually, doesn't even need to be a bowl. I've been feeding them chicken out of my hand and Dill will latch onto my finger with her claws, licking the chicken off while simultaneously, hissing a back off warning to the other kittens. If eating off the kitchen floor, in the case of an accidental chicken drop, she will hunch over it, stick her paw out on either sides as a 'You Shall Not Pass!' to the others. She's like the Godfather of food: sweet and charming for the most part, but will not hesitate to end you if  you cross her in food.

Jem, however, experiences pure bliss at mealtimes. Food makes him so happy that he purrs like a giant motor (yes, it is that loud). Now, I still sit with them while they eat, handling them and petting them so they remember the good times rather than the hands that shove them back into the pen or make them take medicine. Anyway, couple of days ago, Jem turns to me, squints up in pure bliss and steps onto my crossed ankles. I rub his face a bit and he inches up higher on my legs. I didn't want to spook him, but I couldn't let the opportunity slide, so I picked him up into my lap. And waited.

Besties, Me and Scout

He stayed. He turned around and tried to sit down, but have you ever noticed how human laps are so slippery and all the wrong angles if you're a tiny kitten? He just couldn't stay in place and risking it, I grabbed him and the towel and placed both over my lap.  Jem now had purchase on my legs and could have his face rubbed all at once. He purred himself to sleep: full on kitty sleep-coma. There I was, trapped under my first sleeping kitty and no one there to see it. And boy, was my camera a serious reach away. Just then, Scout jumped up to see what was going on. He settled in. I hardly dared to breathe! I couldn't take it anymore. I shifted softly, reached and reached, and just about got hold of the camera (thank you, yoga, great for sticky dress zippers and contorting without waking cats). I straightened and looked back to see if I'd disrupted the sleeping kittens. There's Atticus staring back at me.

From L-R, Me, Scout, Jem and Atticus

Okay, I geeked out a little. On the inside. Quietly. There were three kittens on me. It was official: kitten pile had begun. It was AH-MAZING. So, that's how we conclude our morning and afternoon meals everyday now and it's really lovely. Although, I do need to start putting camera, reading material, phone, beverage and remote control all within easy reaching distance of the sofa. Otherwise, I am trapped for an hour of nap-time for kittens, but wool-gathering for findingmoxie.

We've been living in our flat for nearly three years now and it's taken the kittens to show us how absolutely impeccable we've kept this place. Seriously, it's like a show flat. Or as Mr Findingmoxie says, it was. Three years of hard wear by us and the sofa looked brand new. Four weeks of kitty hijinks and the sofa is looking a wee bit tired. But, as I reckon, it'll look like people actually lived here when we leave. The kittens in their exploration of the kitchen and all its heights and nooks (see photo of kitten tower) have also discovered that the skirting under our kitchen cupboards isn't so much solidly attached, but basically propped up. Really. Can you believe it? It takes one kitten eye for spatial dimensions (or maybe six on committee), one judicious placement of the paw and the skirting opens sesame, flat onto the floor--silently no less. I walk into the kitchen for a drink and nearly lost it, thinking, how on EARTH will I explain this one to Mr Findingmoxie?! After wrastling six kittens out from underneath the cupboards, I took a closer look at the mechanisms and guess what? There are none. It just stands up. Huh. That's what I'd call cutting corners, landlord.

Conclusion: 

These kittens will be lap-cats yet if I have anything to say about it. In fashion news, kittens do not understand long skirts and are inclined to view them with great suspicion. Fringe boots, however, are a different kettle of fish. All feline eyes were on my feet watching the fringe swish. Not to be worn for extended kitten play, unless you don’t mind an ambush. Or being watched with barbecue eyes.

Boo Radley, the Big Buddha

Next up: nicknames and power plays!

Teach a Cat to Fish and He'll Cuddle

It is my birthday today and funnily enough, I forgot this. Yes, in birthday month, a month of rolling celebrations and treats to celebrate Me, I woke up this morning, having forgotten it was my birthday. I dragged myself out of bed (though knackered from yesterday's excess as a Pirate and too much sun and cider at the seaside) and began the morning feeding and playtime. Mr Findingmoxie came in from his shower and wished me a happy birthday and only then, did the penny drop. I was elbow deep in litter tray maneuvers. On my birthday. I had to laugh, because honestly, in all birthday month celebrations, I would not have included looking after six kittens with digestive issues. Fair enough, six adorable kittens who adorably adored me, yes, I had imagined that.

Scout, with his new love.

I actually had imagined they'd be so far along  by now that I could fit tiny little birthday hats to their heads. Because that worked so well with my last set of kittens (just imagine wrestling one hat onto a kitten, turning  to the other, wrestling the second into a hat, only to see that the first kitty had chewed his off. Don't ask me how many repetitions they and I endured before we gave up. Sorry, Roomie Scraps, guess you'll never know how much Oregon, Dakota and I loved you on your birthday).

What I have gotten instead, are six kittens with the squirts. I know, TMI. I'll keep it brief. What you should know is that kittens can make the most hilariously appalling fart noises (which, I'd NEVER heard before and couldn't help but laugh helplessly, even while I was freaking out). Seriously, tiny kitten, loud farting. And they looked so embarrassed, the little darlings. But this required a trip to the vets--me, not them, thank God--for medicine and special sensitivity food. If you're a pet owner, there is nothing that probably terrifies you more than hearing 'tablets,' especially if it involves being shoved down six little throats with sharp little sets of teeth.

The equivalent of tossing the old pigskin around.

Mr Findingmoxie was not prepared to dread this as much as I was. After all, to him, they're just kittens. I, however, dreaded from the benefit of past experience. I occasionally had to give tablets to cats at the shelter and it was always a trial--even with Martin, the toothless old cat. Girding my loins, I set about starting with the easiest kitten, Scout. After much wriggling, I had yet to even find Scout's mouth. Oy. This was going to be a mission impossible. Mr Findingmoxie and I put our heads together, plotting and glancing furtively at the kittens. They were none the wiser, the little sillies. We tag-teamed them. That's right. I picked them up, Mr Findingmoxie held them immobile, I wedged their tiny teeth open a crack and shoved the tablet in, stroking their throat for the final swallow.

Let me tell you something, kittens are sly. They will submit eventually, hold still and make like they've swallowed it, and only when you release your hold the tiniest bit, they will spit it out. Some were easy and gave up after a few seconds; some, like Atticus, played the long game and held the tablet on his tongue for five minutes. Believing we'd won, we loosened our hold and he spat it out. Five minutes! Boo Radley, who we had to swaddle in a towel to keep still, however, was simply hilarious. At this stage, I could tell by the look on his face that he was playing us like Atticus. So, I decided to call his bluff. I offered him a crunchy treat that he loves so much. You all should have seen his face then. He opened his mouth eagerly, took the treat, remembered the tablet and just froze with the treat half out of his mouth--while he tried to decide how he was going to get out of this one. His thoughts were plain on his face. Do I swallow the hated tablet for the pleasure of the treat or do I drop the treat and spit the tablet out? But then they'll KNOW I haven't swallowed the tablet. Wait. Be cool. Be cool. He finally gave up, grudgingly, and swallowed both.

I cannot even explain the immense sense of accomplishment both Mr Findingmoxie and I felt. We were never on team sports, so maybe this is what all the fuss is about. But we had to high-five. Really. It was that good. About as good as finishing a Faulkner novel (Absalom, Absalom, I'm looking at you). We were both truly excited that they hadn't bitten us or scratched us. They are definitely not mean or aggressive kitties--just taking it slow with big people love. On that win, we went out to dine on steak and gin for my birthday.


And this morning, to honour my birthday, my lovely little kittens have finally relaxed enough to nap outside of the pen. As you know, for the last week, every time they've been let out, they have run amok. Even when they're woozily weaving on their feet from exhaustion, they would still amok. They would then become toddlers who missed nap-time, chasing each other, knocking everything over, biting and fighting in tired rage--general tantrum throwing. I'd finally have to put them back in the pen for some needed rest and they would all drop off immediately. It was frustrating and funny to see. I knew that if they realised being out of the pen could be relaxed without crazy running around for all they're worth, they would socialise faster. And frankly, we'd get cute cuddly kitties, which is precisely what all my little angels chipped in to get me this year for my birthday. I had a magical half hour on the sofa with six dozing kittens--not more than 2 feet away from me! Poor Mr Findingmoxie, because he's going to have to pull something out of a hat to trump that gift.

Are We Dogs or Are We Cats?

Scout, mad for the new feather toy and frankly, it's not Love as you or I would see it. Scout doesn't love the feather toy so much that he wants to set it free and see if it'll come back to him. Oh, no. It's pure obsession. Scout can only be happy if he's got the feather toy in his mouth, under the sofa, hidden away from all the kittens enjoying his precious.

Ballerinas and Escape Artists

Boo Radley with the grace of a dancer

Like any family, we all have our own individual talents. Mr Findingmoxie has skill with numbers and likes being called a mathematician. I can read 100 pages in an hour and have a photographic memory, more or less (English 45C Final at Berkeley, I couldn't remember the name of the W.B. Yeats poem and referenced it by the page number in the anthology. Yes, that's how geeky I can be).

Boo Radley, as you've seen, is a ballerina. Scout is an indefatigable sportsman. Dill is the fastest draw in the west when it comes to leaping out of the pen--escape artist or ninja, I don't even know. What I do know is that she takes a stunning photo. Kid's a natural.

Dill, born to pose

Calpurnia is a devotee of the string. Wherever there is a string, she will give up everything for worship of it. Even conkers (yeah, they love conkers. Why do we have conkers? God, I so wanted to type 'honkers' all because I am twelve years old. Because spiders fear them and we fear spiders). Anywho. The kittens adore knocking around our conkers.

Sensei Atticus

Atticus surely must have the sharpest claws as he sharpens them all day long, but he is also wise, because he knows that with great power, comes great responsibility and has never scratched me. It's like he's a Sensei in training: our own Mr Miagi. Jem, well, Jem is the beauty queen. Jem has cheekbones to die for and lovely slanted eyes--and he knows it. He languishes about (when he's not tearing it up at playtime) and regally tilts his head, to hold his chiseled cheek up for a genteel rub. Not much of a cuddler otherwise, but preens when you make a fuss about his bone structure.

Atticus and Dill facing off

To catch you all up, we've been experimenting with all lot more playtime outside of the pen. I know, we were advised that they might not be ready. But I don't think they got the memo. Every single time, I open their pen for feeding or cleaning, one of them is out like a shot--usually Dill. What's most galling is that they seem to be sharper than me in the morning. I stumble out of the bedroom, thinking they're just helpless and hungry, and they're like little meerkats, all upright and eyeing me up for their moment of escape. Yesterday morning, I must have been especially tired because three, count 'em, three got past me. I'm not a morning person and the little darlings have already scented this weakness. So, rather than fight a losing battle, I'm going with it. Besides, it gives the OCD in me opportunity to hoover out their pen while they run themselves ragged.

Boo Radley giving me the finger

I'll be honest; on the occasions they surprised me, I had neglected to shut the bedroom door and being super cunning, they made a beeline for the bedroom. Now, I had promised Mr Findingmoxie that we would keep the little allergen-shedding rascals from the bedroom and this caused me some serious panic. The first time, I chased Atticus around the bed a few times, muttering, 'oh no, oh no, oh no, ' which quickly turned to tiny shrieks when he jumped and ran across BOTH OF OUR PILLOWS. Not anywhere else on the bed. Not across the foot, but right across both pillows where we like to rest our faces. Our clean, freshly washed faces. Now, sadly, I had to confess this to Mr Findingmoxie and measures were taken.

Our fancy box

Dill on his obstacle course

Last night, however, had to be the most comical and simply ridiculous position in which I have EVER found myself--which if you know me, is saying something! It was late and I was finishing up feeding the kittens. Mr Findingmoxie had already retired to his rest. Reaching into the pen to put their clean litter tray in, three kittens jumped out simultaneously. Cue 'Ack.' Naturally, it was a kitty beeline for the bedroom, where Mr Findingmoxie laid his pretty little head. I dashed after them into the bedroom, to see Mr Findingmoxie, deep asleep (phew) with his eye-mask on and oblivious to it all. By all, I refer to the 2 kittens gamboling around our bedroom. I had to tread carefully--literally. Picture me chasing kittens around the bedroom on tiptoe, all the while keeping an eye on the door to avoid any more kittens coming in and trying to refrain from cursing. It was the quietest chase scene in the entire world. Needless to say, I was fully cognizant of the absolute hilarity of the whole scene and on top of it all, had to keep from laughing. Wish you were all there. Although, not sure if Mr Findingmoxie would have found it all that amusing.

It's Conker TIME!

Conclusion: the kittens are definitely developing personalities and are getting more and more comfortable. Boo Radley will still not play with me, but will allow me to pet and pick him up. Briefly. He's definitely my troubleshoot. The others are coming along in leaps and bounds. And I'm in love with them all. Curses. Oh and they LOVE foam fingers. Seriously.

My Little Ballerina, Monsieur Boo Radley.

Boo Radley, proving that practice and yet more practice does make perfect. Pirouettes, pirouettes, pirouettes--until we all fall down.

A Week of Firsts

It's been a busy week and I bet, for those of you without kitten shenanigans, it's probably been a long week. And for those of you who work, it's actually the start of another week, but in my defense, I was away this weekend. Where was I? I was up in Chesterfield, visiting the in-laws for our annual summer birthdays celebrations. It was grown-up fun without any kitty babies, so yes, we had Pimms, amber ales and a sometime-sunshine barbecue. It was not all sometime-sunshine and lollipops, though. As I was leaving the kittens, I had heaps of anxiety. Who could handle them? Would I be condemning someone to a weekend of kitten drudgery? Would the kittens act out? Would any of them hurt themselves or escape? And could I put into a manual all that I'd learned and all that needed to be done?

But before I launch into that first, I should mention another first. When CATS (my former team) disbanded, we founded the ExCATS Social Club and meet up every Tuesday evening. This Tuesday, I had the CATS come round to meet my little angels. I was seriously excited and I could tell the kittens were too. I knew my former team were from all the exclamation points in the text and email exchanges. I hadn't determined if I'd allow the kittens out of their pen and was going to play it by ear. After a few glasses of Prosecco, it seemed harmless and out the kitties came. They were a bit startled to find 6 regular-size humans lounging about in various stations of our living room, but the allure of running amok was too strong. They fell into their usual circuit, under the sofa, over the bottom shelf of the coffee table, round the kitchen and back. After a few loops, they began to take notice of the legs planted here and there along their way. With notice, came tiny, razor-sharp claws and a fascination with patterned tights.

It was a delightful hour of rambunctious kittens, adult gossip and wine. Dill submitted to being stroked behind the ears briefly as he halted play for a breather. Scout let everyone rub his head as I carried him around, introducing him to our guests. He also used my leg as a trench behind which to hide and from which to pounce on others. Boo Radley tried to smuggle himself out in a handbag. And all kittens enjoyed climbing our ginormous orange bean bag that was out for the occasion. All was going well, until I noticed a sticky surprise in the washing machine. It was bad news for our Royal Wedding tea towel and as any good hostess would do, I quickly and quietly stuffed it into the rubbish bin--and carried on refilling glasses (after a splash of sanitizing gel, of course). A tiny indiscretion wasn't going to put a stop to our evening.

Well, it didn't stop there. In mid-sentence, one of the guests broke off and stared behind me. I turn round to see Atticus, his face in an expression of intense concentration. He was squatting. He was also doing a poo on the towel covering the floor OUTSIDE his pen. Oy. My face must have been pretty pink. As you can imagine, everyone reached for their things, politely excusing themselves. Only to discover that any jackets left on the orange bean bag were, hmmm, how to put it, well-hydrated throughout the evening. Plastic bags for jackets handed out, goodbyes hugged out, I turned to the task of getting all 6 kittens back home. Most were hungry, so food did the trick. Mr Boo Radley, being a total rebel, resisted until we cornered him in the loo and stroked him until he relaxed enough to be picked up. Well. Well. Guess we did have that one lovely hour.

So, onto this weekend away. Suddenly, my nerves at leaving them to someone else for the weekend don't seem so unfounded. But as life's not going to live itself, I had to plunge into it sooner or later. I took a deep breath and asked my good friend and former CAT, GreTay, to come stay at ours for the weekend. It was kitten-sitting time! I woke up ridiculously early on the Saturday to sort out the flat and prepare for departure--partly to tidy, partly to de-embarrass the flat. What? Don't care what anyone says, EVERYONE has slightly awkward stuff lying around, be it photos from high school, trashy lit, or nerdy box sets. Of course, I probably gave the game away by leaving my to-do list with '3. De-embarrass flat' out on the dining table. Will have to ask GreTay if she was fooled at all by the slick awesomeness of our joint.

In all this kerfuffle, I ran out of time to write this manual-cum-opus of kitten rearing and resigned myself to writing an epic email to GreTay on the train. What would have been helpful was bringing along my mobile phone. Yes, that would have helped. Might even have kept my anxiety levels down. Alas. Luckily, I was able to activate an emergency phone tree of CATS using Mr Findingmoxie's phone. Crisis averted, I settled down to typing away furiously with my thumbs. On a tiny keypad. It took me over an hour to write GreTay the instructions and advice that she'd need to get through 30 hours with the kittens.

At last, I was determined to enjoy my weekend and the first of my birthday celebrations. Surely, the promise of home-made birthday cake would sluice out any niggling worry about how my little angels were getting on. After the 4th time I asked Mr Findingmoxie if he'd had any texts or emails from GreTay, he gave me full custody of his phone, suggesting that I might settle any worries with a quick text home. He was right--although, let's keep that between ourselves, eh?--and GreTay reported that she wasn't locked out of our flat and the kittens had eaten their lunch. PHEW.

Conclusion: I missed the kittens something fierce, y'all. And I struggled not to talk about them incessantly all weekend long. On the plus side, GreTay is seriously an amazing kitten-sitter and shamed me by leaving our flat cleaner than I left it for her. Also, I spoke to the Animal Care Supervisor at the CHAT about their little short-stops and she reckons the excitement was too much for them and that we're rushing them by letting them out so early. They need more routine apparently. Noted. Definitely noted.

Gang of Adorable Misfits Looking for Forever Home

Well, it's official. We're on the web, on Celia Hammond's adoption page to be exact. Scroll down to the bottom and you'll see us! However, we've come along much farther than the update suggests. After all, Cal loves being stroked now and even Boo Radley holds still (grudgingly) for a stroke. They're a bit behind on their emails, hence the blog is actually the most up to date! Anyway, nice to see them finally getting some page time. Hopefully, several someones out there will just fall absolutely in love with them (so I don't have to, SOB) and want to give them a forever home.

Day 9--Weekend Hijinks

I'm finding it difficult to believe we've only had the kittens for essentially one week. I'm sure Mr Findingmoxie would stress that it feels like FOREVER and I have to say, it does feel like it's been longer than 7 days. Especially when you take into account how much they've changed. When I first leaned into the bars of their pen at the CHAT shelter, 6 pairs of terrified eyes glared wildly back at me, 4 kittens scurried into their cardboard house and 2 stayed to hiss at me. Those kittens wouldn't even come close to a human hand out of choice.

After only a week, my kittens think nothing of a human hand nudging them here or there, scratching behind their ears and for a couple of them, picking up to cuddle briefly. Yes, we're there. But let me backtrack.

So, this weekend began with the usual shyness. Calpurnia and Jem still shied from my hands, Boo Radley wouldn't even hold still for a stroke. Somehow,  he's got this ability to make every sort of stroke seem uncomfortable for him. It doesn't matter what I try--under the chin, on the cheek, back of neck, sides, spine, etc. It reminds me of toddlers when they don't want to be man-handled, they flop into full-on dead weight and go noodley to hamper their parents at every turn. Well, Boo Radley has mastered that, but in kitten form, where every turn of his head makes every potential stroke I might make awkward. Even Atticus would panic if my hand came from above and not from his level. Only Scout was beyond any timidity, although most of that was down to him attempting to Houdini himself out of the pen. Basically, we had our work cut out for ourselves.

I spent a quiet morning, feeding and petting, topped up with the usual string games. It was a really lovely morning actually. Mr Findingmoxie coded for his computer science course, I was all kittens--seriously rapt and gave him peace. What's more, I felt peace myself. I didn't need to chatter or was restless, even though our hardwood floors are NOT comfortable and pins/needles is part and parcel of the foster project. I've always said it, but I'll say it again, cats are good for my soul.

The morning must have also charmed Mr Findingmoxie, because out of the deep dark blue he suggests letting them out of the pen for lounge playtime. Frankly, that's why I love the man. Gruff and not squee-ed by the tiny perfect cuteness of kittens, but inside, he's a giant kitten lover. He just doesn't know it yet. But to be honest, I wasn't sure they were ready. OR that I was ready. What if they hid under the sofa and wouldn't go back into their pen? What if I buckled under the task of getting them back into their pen? Luckily though, Mr Findingmoxie always pushes me to take risks and excel, where I would hold back for fear of failure. To paraphrase Eminem, 'success is my only BLEEP-BLEEPING option, failure's not.' What? There are 6 little ears in this house and we got to keep it clean.

Scout in mid-gambol

We went for it. I opened the pen door, Scout was out in seconds--the little rascal. The others trickled out over 10 minutes, the black kitties being dead last. And oh, how they loved it. There was running at full pelt, jumping tackles and sliding with skittering kitty nails all over our lounge. Under the sofa, round the coffee table, round and round they chased each other. It was hilarious and just exhilarating. Mr Findingmoxie was perched in our giant beanbag, blocking access to the kitchen and I took the time to properly clean out their pen. I made formal introductions between the hoover and the kittens. The kittens did not like it. But hey, NO cat does.

Scout, the only kitten to pose

Attacking the strap on my yoga mat 

Hubris

Now, you're probably thinking a moment of reckoning came and you're absolutely right. You cannot fly close to the sun without expecting your wings to melt off. The first 3 kittens were easy to get back into the pen--after all, they were pretty hungry from all the running around and it had been a few hours from the trough for them all. As you probably guessed, it was the little tabbies that went in easy peasy. We had to get creative and then just reckless in getting Calpurnia, Jem and Boo Radley back in for their tea. And it was messy.  I got my wrist shredded and some palm scratches. I felt pretty philosophical about it; I mean, I've always subscribed to the school of no pain, no gain. Besides, I knew it would make for good cocktail stories: someone would ask how the kittens were doing and I'd simply reveal my arm. Cue general laughter. It's all about the silver lining. In the end, I had to corner Boo in the laundry machine and rubbed his head until he got a bit drowsy before I made my move.

What I wish we hadn't done, however, was let them out twice in one day. I think they got overwrought with the excitement and one kitty left us a stinky surprise behind their pen. To be fair to him, it looked like a serious emergency, rather than the kitten version of sticking two fingers up. Mr Findingmoxie was not amused and was deeply traumatized. And we may have lost our tempers with each other. Hmmm. This project is not just teaching us about cats. I get this tingly feeling like the tiny hairs rising on the back of my neck that we're going to have similar breakdowns when it's time for the tiny pitter-patter of other little feet. Sigh. Any practice is good practice though, so I retain my optimism.

Come Monday night, Mr Findingmoxie had forgiven the kittens and we had some proper gambols with them. Scout and Jem were clambering up over his legs and my back (I was lying on my stomach) in their games. I admit, it's a bit harder keeping them contained now, especially as I'm feeding or cleaning their pen, or just trying to get some petting time in, but I've got this new system.  I am the gatekeeper and there is a toll to get past the gatekeeper. Every kitten that climbs onto the door gets picked up, held in my lap and cuddled. And once a day, they get their fondest wish: to RUN AMOK.

Conclusion: Food and Outside Playtime have become their key incentives and even little Cal curls up in my lap now when she wants to get out of the pen. Fist pump! And tonight, they'll have a little party of guests come to play and I couldn't be prouder of how far they've come.

Day 5--It's All About KTL

Well, it's been a busy few days, what with the 4th of July, my social obligations (relax, I'm not quite chairing any charity committees or lunching--that always gets a laugh out of Mr Findingmoxie too, like it's too grand a title for my sort of hanging out. Pfft, I say) and my kitten fostering. 

The kittens are coming along swimmingly. I won't lie; we had moments of despair, when it felt like they'd always cower and I'd always be this giant ogre terrorizing their pen. But once I started Kitty Tough Love, it sort of all fell into place. I'll probably always be a giant ogre, but we're making inroads on cowering. What, you ask, is KTL? It's very simple. Encourage them to see me as the FOOD. Remember when we started and I wanted them to see me as more than a food dispenser? Well, I think that's where I went wrong the first few days. I was fixating on cuddles, before I'd trained them behaviorally. Food is the incentive and while it seems like a cheap gimmick, it is the ground level to that ivory tower of love and cuddles that I want so badly.

So every time I feed them, I sit there and watch them eat, stroke them while they eat and once they walk away from the bowls, I remove the food and walk away. Even if they haven't finished their allotted portion. That's the plan. And boy, is it HARD. I don't like the idea of them being hungry and sometimes I cheat and leave dry food. But, KTL has results. Good, solid results. 

The first morning was a revelation. I woke up ridiculously early and came to feed them out of guilt. I was prepared for upturned noses and cold shoulders. There was the usual reserve as I sat before their pen. However, when they saw their bowls, they began to inch forward and when I was scooping food, they just sat in front of me, shifting their weight nervously--eyes only for FOOD. So far, so good, I thought. I placed the bowls before them and then, it was simply magical. All six kittens began purring. It was like a chorus of warm deep purring. Apparently, I'm a sap, but I nearly cried, kids. It was that beautiful. Ahem. Anyway, and what's more, they allowed me to stroke them while they ate. Even the tragically shy black kitties. Even Boo Radley, who never takes his eyes off me, the suspicious cutie, dipped his head and ate unconcernedly. 

Hell's bells, we're getting somewhere! And from there, it's gotten easier to handle them. I've stroked them all and they're actually coming to like it. I have caught Scout, Dill and Atticus leaning into it actually, the little softies. Calpurnia and Jem did not like it at first and only would allow it on their backs, but today, I've managed some cheek scratching and their eyes closed. I won't say in pleasure, but certainly in a tiny sliver of trust. 

Scout is a crazy little bundle of energy, who will play with string or feathers UNTO DEATH. There is no nap-time if there are toys that need battering. I reckon if I left the toys in, he'd NEVER sleep. See? He is always the last to give in to sleepies.

Nap-time, except of course, for Scout the Curious

Scout, in a stringed frenzy.

This morning I put on some Bob Dylan (mostly because they're watching a lot of violent crime shows on telly and they could probably use some soft folk influence in their music) and Scout just went nutballs. I mean, he was tearing at his string one second, the next second he was tearing across the pen to rugby tackle Atticus, then he'd drop Atticus, turn, grab their pillow and kick it angrily, and REPEAT. So, I don't think Bob Dylan is going to calm them. I managed to get some video of his antics set to 'Mr Tamborine Man,' which I'll post shortly. It's like I was playing some death metal or something. That's a firm NO to Bob Dylan, then.

Dill, however, is just a tiny ball of sweetness. He's the smallest and when I stroke down his back, his little backside just rises into the air and he's on tiptoes. Très adorable. And he just loves a neck scratch, but does tend to come out of it confused and slightly startled that it was a human hand! I think they are surprised that we, humans, can be good for affection. 

Oh, but the fighting. It's WWF wrestling most of the time, with kicking, scratching, tackling (from heights!). Besides being a sap, I'm a bit squeamish about fighting, especially when Atticus and Dill give this tiny whine when they've had enough. I know I should leave them be, but I end up nagging them like they're a bunch of toddlers. 'Don't kick your brother in the face' or 'brothers who love each other don't make each other cry!' Eh, it's exhausting and cutting into my evening TV viewing. I try to think of the afternoons when they're all smushed together taking a siesta. Those are some good times. 

Let's all pile into the tiny tray.

And cue, flopping over into sleep.

Conclusions: the kittens behave well in front of company (they get that from me and my people, Ayroms are renowned for hospitality) and seem to enjoy playing with strangers. Also, they find celery disturbing. Too crunchy, their little startled faces say. Yoga antics, they're used to now. Don't even care when I master the headstand. Where's my applause, kitties?

Today, We Celebrate Our Independence!

Before Obama and Clinton, Bill Pullman was my favorite President of all time. Who didn't want to jump up and defend the skies against the alien menace after that speech in Independence Day?

"Perhaps it's fate that today is the Fourth of July, and you will once again be fighting for our freedom... Not from tyranny, oppression, or persecution... but from annihilation. We are fighting for our right to live. To exist. And should we win the day, the Fourth of July will no longer be known as an American holiday, but as the day the world declared in one voice: "We will not go quietly into the night!" We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive! Today we celebrate our Independence Day!"

It is the tiny patriot in me. And let's face it, damn good speeches are damn good speeches.  For once, I'm not at work, wishing I'd thought to book the date off so that I could be American in full colors. Today I rocked it in red, white and blue from head to toe and went from shop to shop, sourcing an amazing BBQ steak dinner. You might be thinking: that's an alarming turn of events. And you might not be wrong. I am working with an entire bottle of Jack Daniels and naked flame. And yes, while I reduced the Jack Daniels, I thought I'd pass out from the fumes. In good faith, I'll also admit that I did get distracted by kitten gazing and nearly missed my reduction wnidow. But suddenly, with molasses and all the other bits, my BBQ sauce is smelling SMOKIN'.

While I do celebrate my Independence today, this is the last Independence Day in London for some time. Normally, I'd sadface, but after the usual hunt for American ales (no Anchor Steam, ALAS) and fireworks (sparklers just aren't the same), I'm actually excited to be back in the motherland for next year's 4th of July. Somebody better throw me a Pool Party BBQ and take me to a fireworks show.

Anyway, Happy Independence Day to all my countrymen and those married to them!

Lady of Leisure Log, Day 2 of Kitty Krusade.

I've been a kitten foster-mom for 2 nights now and already, I'm experiencing parent anxiety. Last night, one of the kittens scaled his prison and got his tiny head stuck in a gap of his folding pen. BECAUSE I DIDN'T TIE DOWN ALL SIDES OF THE PEN. Which, by the way, did not take away from my stress levels while watching Walking Dead--I mean, I would love for one single episode where no one dies, but not holding my breath. I digress.

Sure, the little guy was none the worse and in fact, showed no indication of learning his lesson as he immediately scaled the other side, looking for another chink in his pen, once I released his tiny head. But the guilt, oh the guilt stays with you. I got into bed last night and lay there for what seemed like hours (and was probably a single hour), wondering if the kittens were okay and if I should sleep in the lounge in case something else went awry. It was only imagining Mr Findingmoxie's ridicule that kept me from launching myself  into the other room, pillow in hand. It's a terrible and a beautiful thing when you're responsible for tiny lives. That much is clear to me.

However, this morning began quietly. I started the day with a much anticipated feeding, both for myself and the little darlings. Seeing the kitties settled into a post-brekkie snooze, I risked a peaceful hour of yoga. I'd been looking forward to this, not just because of the much needed zen, but because I was desperately curious to see how the Wild Bunch would enjoy my yoga accompaniment. That's right, I wondered how their tiny ears would react to some serious opera, Maria Callas to be exact. Opera helps me dis-spell the white noise and if I'm doing it right, I feel like I'm soaring with the high notes. Turns out, the kittens were more interested in my contortions than in the tunes. Don't know if I did myself any favors--they already think I'm not entirely to be trusted.

Despite that, afternoon cuddles went really well and I even got two kittens purring! Definite result. And besides that, I came up with the exact literary source for their names. The same kitten that caught his head in the pen is my little rascal, an explorer, the first to venture forward either in eating or in play. While watching him try to single-pawedly annihilate the three pronged feather and ball toy while all his kitten sibs gave up to nap-time, I knew. He was Scout. And so a theme was born. I have myself a Scout, a Jem,  a Dill, an Atticus, a Calpurnia and a Boo Radley. Just call me Harper Lee, kids, because I've got me To Kill a Mockingbird.

Let me introduce to you:

Atticus, sitting court. [Bah-da-dum.] Look at his majestic chops and wise eyes. 

Jem and Scout scrabbling away. Scout, biggest tomboy, picking fights with all and sundry. Jem not too far behind.

White-chested Boo Radley, easily spooked and keeping to the shadows. Calpurnia, sleeping soundly--unless that is, you stick your hand in the pen too quickly, and then it's a HISS, because she protects her home. 

And finally, sweet, adorable Dill, who seems to cry uncle more than any of the others. 

We're so on our way, dear readers.

I Do a Far Far Better Thing...

Yes, I am being absolutely selfless by fostering an orphaned litter of six tiny kittens for Celia Hammond Animal Trust. I mean, it gives me no pleasure to dangle a feathery toy and watch 6 adorable kittens gambol around me. Nor does watching that one kitten, who prefers live prey over the feathers, attack his brothers' tails instead make me feel soft and gushy on the inside. No sir, not me. I do this for charity.

And here's what charity does for me: gives me a sense of purpose to my days and yes, gives me so much cuteness that I think the universe might explode with it. Of course, these are not just cute kittens. They are, in fact, new to this cuddling humans thing and frankly, they are not sure if it's worth all the fuss. But that's where I'm meant to come in. I have been given these kittens to socialize them and train them to love me, I mean, us--the human race. Starting with me, naturally. Anyway, I was instructed to play the radio, sing along to music and keep the television on as much as possible. I know, right? This assignment was MADE for me. Except for using the hoover and laundry machine, those are all my favorite things! If only having ice cream would make the kittens grow to respond to cuddles, then this would be the summer that I was given a little slice of heaven.

Today was Day 1 of the foster experiment. I woke early and suddenly, having had my first anxiety dream about the kittens. Mr Findingmoxie and I were back in Thailand and having Thai massages and I was relishing being back in my swimsuit, when BAM, I remembered the kittens. I had not arranged for anyone to come look after them. And I didn't have a spare key with anyone. How could I not have forgotten to look after the kittens?! Cue freakout and new for me, bursting into dream sobs. Enough to bring me awake, dry-eyed, thank god, but blessedly awake in a world where I haven't just sentenced six kittens to die of starvation in my own flat. Even though it's barely light, I have to nip out into the lounge and make sure they all survived the night. Plus, Mr Findingmoxie is new to this cats thing and I wanted to tidy things a bit before he had his breakfast right next to Kitty HQ. Good thing too, as they'd been busy kitties.

Getting them used to human noise, I set up a playlist--a veritable variety of genres, from Evita to Daft Punk. Interestingly, they handled everything calmly--including Biggie Smalls--but for the Daft Punk. 'One More Time' sent their tiny ears skittering and made one of the black kitties pace a bit. I like to think it's his jam.

Mid-morning playtime came round and it was a big hit.  The first step to trust and sweet, sweet cuddles is playtime. It's obvious that there are more confident and frisky kitties among the litter. Those same kittens are the first ones who come forward to eat once I place their food bowls into their pen. I will have to work harder to get the shyer ones to play. Challenge accepted.




Music, check. On to the TV training for my new cadets. I opted for some Glee (as I'm a bit behind on the season and I thought music and TV, two birds, eh?!), which to be honest, acted as a lullaby for the kittens. They dropped off immediately, only occasionally squinting up at me; I like to think they were making sure I was still there. Yes, they're already that attached to my awesomeness. What they did not enjoy was Maria Sharapova's match today--and I'm pretty sure, given the outcome, neither did Ms Sharapova. The emphatic shrieks of the tennis star did not endear Ms Sharapova to my napping brood, sadly.

Having noticed that they scurry back whenever I approach the pen, I wanted to get them acclimatized to me and so, after lunch, I arranged my yoga mat alongside their pen. I stretched out with my current reading (Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo. I know, not kitten friendly. If I dropped the tome, a kitten could be squashed. But, I always have read dangerously.) and we spent a lovely hour napping and reading.

Tomorrow, I will focus on stroking each kitten, hoping that once I scratch beneath their ears they'll see less of a purely functional use for humans--a.k.a food dispenser.