Connected By Kittehs and Toilets

One of the nicest things about being a blogger is making blogging friends. Kate of High Altitude Gardening instigated my blogging. We'd been friends for several years before the rise of the blogs.

Then I met Cicada, who now goes by her real name Jess, the Bioephemera art and science blogger. I love her artwork and her sense of humor. Her blog can really make me think. She is one smart lady.

Now Kate and I have made e-friends with Iron Needles, who gardens and knits -- and spins and hikes and reads some of my favorite books and has similar views about politics. Today I visited her blog and saw a picture of her cat drinking from the dog's favorite water supply. It's always a shock when one catches the cat in such a position. Cats are supposed to be much too fastidious to drink from toilets. That's the dog's job.

The picture did, however, bring brightly to my mind memories of Brianna and her training of the Engineer.

Brianna came home with me from the pound as an orphan feral kitten. She was frightened of almost everything, especially shoes, but accepted me as her Mommy almost immediately. Perhaps the fact that I was barefoot most of the time helped. The Engineer is also a barefoot person when in the house, so he soon gained her trust and love as well.
Brianna quickly decided upon our sleeping arrangements; she demanded her own pillow laid longwise at the head of the bed between her two humans. If the bed was not made properly, she would pester me until I fixed it to her satisfaction.

She was a kitty who was fascinated by water from the get-go, She loved any flowing faucet, she supervised me in the shower and would hop on in after the water was turned off and the glass doors opened. She had a water fountain drinking dish. When she grew a little bigger and developed into a better jumper, she discovered toilets. They were such lovely large reservoirs of water. I didn't appreciate how much she liked toilets until the day I walked into my bathroom and her little head popped up over the rim. Yes, she was perched inside of the bowl, playing in the water.

That was the day my toilet lid closed forever (unless, of course, the toilet was being put to its intended use.)

The Engineer is a male who, like most males, has a Y-chromosomal aversion to shutting a toilet lid.

Often, during the night, when Bri decided she needed a little exercise, she would play in the Engineer's toilet. When she was done, she would come running back into the bedroom. leap up on the bed on the Engineer's side, and lovingly pat his face on her way back to her own pillow.

This tended to wake him up. So he would wake me up, "The cat got my face wet!"

I would laugh at him and tell him I was glad she'd wiped her paws on him before she got to me.

The Engineer would tell me to make her stop getting him wet.

I told him many, many times that if he shut the lid, he would no longer get his face painted with toilet water in the night.

It took about three months before he internalized that, but his toilet lid remains shut when not in use to this day.

I guess even PhD's can eventually learn new things.

Domestic Adventures With the Engineer

The Engineer got back from China at 4:00 Saturday afternoon. I picked him up at the airport, brought him home and fed him, then tucked him into bed. I had asked him to bring me back a silk scarf from Beijing in a floral or dragon motif, thinking it was a simple, inexpensive thing to request... He came back with three huge, amazingly ugly silk scarves. I thanked him profusely and gave him lots of hugs and kisses, but, geeze, those scarves are ugly. I think his taste is all in his mouth. He brought Toblerone bars too. He always brings Toblerone bars. We have at least 20 of them stored in the gifts stash. Neither of us eats them.

After the long flight, he snored extra loudly, so I got very little sleep during the night. As dawn was breaking, I gave up entirely and went to sit in the bathroom (remember, we're living in one room) until he awoke and silence came creeping on little cat feet like the fog. At that point, about 7:10 a.m., I staggered back into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed.

At 7:26, I heard him shout, "What are you doing with that rabbit?"

There was the sound of a brief scuffle, then he began calling, "The cat brought in a rabbit, what should I do with it?"

I wobbled from my bed and into the hallway where I found him with a large bundle of towel. He thrust the towel at me.

"It's a baby rabbit. What do I do with it?"

He carried it outside and laid it on the picnic table. I gently folded back the towel to reveal the head of a cottontail bunny young enough to still have the white star on its forehead.

I love my cats, but if there was one thing I could change about them it would be the hunting. I know cottontails are the fast food of the wild, but I really like bunnies and absolutely hate it when the cats catch one. I hate it when they catch anything except rats -- and those had darn well better be thoroughly dead before they bring them into the house.

The Engineer took the bunny down a couple of yards, past the yard with two dogs, and let it go. He was very pleased with himself. It was the first rabbit he'd ever caught.

Actually, it was the first brought into the house cat prey he'd ever caught. He usually bellows for me when he discovers the cats at something he doesn't approve of. I've been catching birds, mice, chipmunks, rabbits, snakes, etc. for years, I'm good at it. One time he set up a ruckus over a "live bird" that the cats had. You would have thought the house was on fire he was so excited. So I excused myself to our company and went and caught the "live bird." It was a leopard spotted cat toy with feathers poking out one end. I displayed my catch with pride as the Engineer kept telling everyone that it really had looked just like a live bird.

The Engineer also does not do litter boxes. Nor does he touch canned cat food. He will pour crunchies into their dish and fill their water fountain, though. Should he find a hairball or mess on the floor -- I find out about it when I spot the can of carpet cleaner sitting, ready and waiting for me, next to the untouched cat sin. He's a subtle sort of a fellow, isn't he?

This evening he really made me nuts. We were going to have barbequed seafood shish kabobs, so he hauled out the Webber Kettle grill and fired it up -- right next to the beautiful yellow rose bush. As he strolled back into the kitchen, I looked up from my shrimp shelling and saw the side of the rose bush thrashing in the heat from the fire.

"Sweetie," I said, "you're going to set the rose on fire, you need to move the grill!"

He laughed and said he thought the lighter fluid flames would die down before it actually ignited.

I pointed out that the leaves and flowers were blackening and shriveling.

He laughed some more. He finally realized I was serious as I charged out the door, so he came out and moved the grill. Then he laughed about the rose having gotten "sunburned from below."
Men! Why do we let them live? It's a darn good thing (as I frequently tell him) that he's cute.