Photo Friday: 10 years ago today ...

It was ten years ago (29 September 1995) we moved into the Summerhill Puppy Farm. It was the following day (1 October) that we became rather naive puppy owners.



I believe the photo was taken the very day Winnie the Paws arrived. Unfortunately, we only lasted three weeks with her schedule, at which point my brother adopted her. He has looked after her all these happy years.

Kitten Furnances

The night time kitten furnances are working into mid-season (winter) form already.

Billy stretched out next my leg overnight, just close enough he got booted when I lost my preferred range of motion. (I hate doing that because I don't feel Billy did anything wrong, but I hate being tense and therefore awake more).

Whitey got more slack from Katherine, and he used all of it, curling up behind her legs. Then he took more space by rolling on his back and stretching out, turning her into a pretzel. He got booted too.

Emily, who curls up more like a teddy kitten next to Katherine just out of reach, survived the night in place.

The Haunted Kitten Farm

The farm is not haunted. But don't tell that to Billy.

The oil fired steam boiler which keeps the farm house warm and cozy in the winter is rather old, a conversion from coal fired which in turn was a conversion from dried dinosaur gauno fired (from back when live dinosaurs were plentiful). So we're replacing it with a new natural gas fired boiler.

Being a steam system, this work means our plumbing has been opened up, and a few air bubbles have gotten in the system. This leads to water hammers and related vibration in the pipes.

One flush of the toilet and the resulting screech as the tank filled and shuts off left Billy shaken for minutes. He looked so troubled that I did an exorcism on the house, running the bathtub to flush the remaining air out.

We hope Billy won't need counseling.

Things that go chomp in the night

Oh-dark-hundred. I'm not awake, so I don't know what time it is. I roll over, stretch ... and feel little kitten teeth clamping down on my big toe. It doesn't hurt, thanks to the intervening blanket and sheet, but it definitely pushes me toward "awake," rather than "asleep." I freeze, he relaxes, and I move again. Again, chomp on big toe.

I think it was Whitey, since he's more of a toe pouncer than his brother. The Mist of Doom reminded him that toe pouncing is not allowed.

The Good, The Bad, and the Purring

Billy did his 5 AM "alone and unloved" meow yesterday morning. I ignored him. He solved his problem by coming up to the bedroom. The Good.

He parks his considerable bulk at my feet, clearly ignorant of the fact that I move around a lot, and that it bothers me to get weighed down by heavy blankets, much less 15+ pounds of cat. The Bad.

At the same time, I don't want to tell him to avoid the bedroom, so I go the bathroom (hoping he'll follow me). He doesn't. I came back in the bedroom, and sit down at the foot of the bed to stroke him. This yields 15+ pounds of happy relaxed cat with a friendly rich tenor rumble from deep inside him. The Purring.

The kid knows I'm a sucker for good purr.

(I cheated and used the bed room emergency kitty treat supply to get him to move.)

Photo Weekend Extra: Self-storing Emily

We've shown Emily in her bed prior to its move up to Katherine's office. Now the great storage reorganization has offered her too a better place to hang out as well. We have no idea why she switched from the bed, but we went with the flow and added the blue & white towel so she would be more comfortable.



Unlike the boys flirting with new places to explore, this move may be permanent. What ever our goddess wants ...

QOTD

Overheard ...

Whitey, if you're going to meow for attention, don't do it on the dining room table!

-- Katherine