Cat Tails are Flammable

Here's some handy advise to any of you who may have been gifted a lovely scented candle for Christmas:

Please be advised that it is not a good idea to light your new candle and set it on your bathroom counter while applying your make-up.  Especially if you happen to own a cat who likes to lounge on said counter and watch you with its back toward your lovely new burning candle and proceeds to swish its tail back and forth across the flame.  It is quite possible that while you are otherwise preoccupied at your mirror trying not to pinch you eyelids with your eyelash curler and ignoring the stupid cat, that the melodious smell of "Hawaiian Breeze" you anticipated wafting throughout your bathroom will unexpectedly smell more like "Seared Cat Tail".

...Which, in turn, will make your already estrogen-imbalanced cat get even moodier...and your bathroom stink.

Temptation

Tree Killer

Our Christmas Tree shriveled and dried up within three days of putting the thing up.  We watered and watered it but couldn't figure out why it was sucking up so much water and dying anyway.

Then we noticed the dang cat has actually taken a liking to something Christmasy...the tree.  Edward has discovered that it can be indoors yet feel outdoors by standing under the tree...

all day long. 

It's been sitting under the tree 24/7 since we put it up.  Unfortunately for the tree, it began balding and completely died up by the time we realized the cat was drinking all the water from the tree and giving its real water dish the snub.

Kid Scratcher, Lazy Lounger, Christmas Music Hater, and now we can add TREE KILLER to the long list of "Edward Scissorhands" evil misdeeds.

...and now, I'm off to take ornaments off a prematurely balding dead tree.

I Think My Cat is Jewish

The house has been marinating in Christmas music and our cat "Edward Scissorhands" has been acting mighty peculiar lately.  Normally it lounges around content to spend the entire day napping somewhere INSIDE the house.  I don't really know when grouchy Edward made the transition from outdoor mouser to indolent indoorsman but it rarely goes outside anymore.

However, I recently found something that will make him pine for the great outdoors...Christmas music.  Once I hit play, the thing will actually awake from a deep slumber and head strait for the door where it will sit, making holiday protestations with it's ears flared back, until someone lets it out.

It'll stay there for a good hour, and if nobody lets it out it will go to the nearest chair conveniently located by an exit and remain there like it's taking part in some sort of non-violent sit-in, keeping it's ears flattened until the music stops or it gets patrolled.

Oy Vey! I think my cat could be Jewish.
 

App Abuse

Connor downloaded an app the other day...

It drives the cat insane (yes that's Edward Scissorhands there in the background freaking out behind the couch).  Connor will sit and play all the different sounds for over an hour until the cat has gone berserk.   And quite frankly me too.

So when he starts driving ME and the cat crazy with the meowing, I start in with my "Connor!", "knock it off!", and "You're driving me crazy!"

So Connor simply downloaded another audible and annoying app to combat the complaints I've been making about his new cat app...

So now the torture goes something like this:

1. Ten minutes of App meowing
2. Cat freaking out
3. Me saying, "You're driving me crazy!"
4. Then Connor switches to his newest App and I hear "If you can't say anything nice don't say anything at all."

Serious App Abuse. 

Who's the Fat Cat Now?

This blog entry is for Cheyenne.

Ever since she went off to college, when she comes back home to visit she always contemptuously remarks about my negligence in cat rearing.  And when I say cat, I mean the cat I did not want in the first place.  Cheyenne's big beef is that we've let the thing get FAT.

I have several problems with her accusation, and therefore I am officially posting my defense.

First, I don't think the cat is fat.

Second, I never ever feed the cat.  If I am negligent in anything that falls under the broad category of "Cat Rearing" I would be guilty of the exact opposite: not feeding it  in hopes that it will wander to the neighbors house and prefer the food they serve over there and decide to move.  Word on the street is that they give out table scrapes.  But apparently our cat has not heard these rumors yet (too busy with its aggressive napping schedule I suppose).  And unfortunately, the rest of the kids around the house DO keep feeding it which sadly means the thing is here to stay.

Third, it seems to me that the cat doesn't do a dang thing but sleep all day.  So really how can anyone around her be contributing to its censured girth?  Occasionally the cat's extreme sedentary lifestyle gets momentarily interrupted by brief albeit hilarious moments of torture by the remaining kids at home... but really...how many calories can that burn?

Still, Cheyenne seems to insist on her claims of obesity by calling "Edward Scissorhands" "Fatty".

The other day I happened to be visiting a friend.  When I took one look at their cat I decided our kitty looked like a poster cat for Jenny Craig when you compare the two.  And I decided Cheyenne must see the proof for herself:

EXHIBIT A:

This is skinny little "Edward"

[notice the menacing eyes--he's about to scratch me.]

EXHIBIT B:
And this Cheyenne

is a very very very FAT cat:

I rest my skinny case.

Shedding a Light on Animal Cruelty

Apparently someone in the house has 

found a new use for a book light.

Hmmmm.  I would have never thought of that.

More Animal Cruelty

First, it was the Paper Showdown which the poor cat lost.  And now it looks like the perpetrator is back, this time with a new tactic.

I came into the living room today to find this:

Today's torment à la mode appears to come in the form of a TV remote, legos, three pennies, an X-Box controller, and a stinky sock.

But it looks to me like the devious plan backfired.  Edward Scissorhands was totally unfazed and stayed curled up this way supremely content for hours.  (In my opinion the stinky sock should have been moved closer to the olfactory senses, but what do I know about cat torture?)

I haven't been able to figure out who in the house is doing this...yet.  All I have to say on the subject is; we're on to you, whomever you are... (we're not really in any rush to catch you, but we are on to you.)

Political Coup Part Deux

Yet another Political Coup has taken place here at the Skillman house.

In case you missed the first unethical saga, "Political Coup and a Dang Lucky Cat", it can be read by clicking here.   At the time of that particular post, I mistakenly thought the whole episode was just a small hiccup in the power struggle of Skillman hierarchy.  It was not.  Pet plots have once again reared their ugly head.

The latest pernicious plot finds me embattled in a rather surly case of election fraud.  Plain and simple.  And since this case also involves the unlawful adoption of more animals, it is a most devious and dastardly plot indeed.

Because of the "Cat Coup" voting regulations here at the house have undergone massive reforms.  Now that Cheyenne is off at college and she is no longer a registered voter at the Skillman house, this means only three votes are possible from the children small citizens who temporarily live here.  AND since the "Cat Coup" largely took place because Mark wrongfully used his two votes to give more "power to the people" and caused me to become the reluctant owner of a cat, I, as the queen consort, viciously superseded Mark's regent status and stripped him of all voting power.  This falsely lulled me into feeling safe once again in my realm, deceptively feeling that the masses could no longer overthrow my pet-free decrees. 

That was until yesterday.

I was upstairs and heard the slightest of commotion signaling the fact that people were coming home.  Strangely, all was quiet downstairs, not a peep.  I wondered why no one had ventured upstairs to say hello.  After a few minutes of dampened frolic from the downstairs, I ventured down to see who was home.

I was met with Mark, Mitchell, Connor, and Chloe, along with two familiar loiterers at the Skillman home: a cousin Tanner and Mitchell's friend Nick.  All of them were frozen in their poses and wide eyed as if they were in a still-life painting entitled "Dogs Playing Poker"  "Dogs Scamming Mother".

Somethings up.

As I hazarded farther into the room they continued their fixed poses.  No one breathed.  Rounding the kitchen table it was then I heard the distinct chirp of baby chicks.  Two steps further and a box came into view.  Another few steps and a hint of cedar shavings wafted in the air.

"Chickens?"

Then the masses caved.  They all pointed quickly at Mark.  To which I hastily pointed out that he's had his voting power revoked so there's no way THREE children can outvote my decision to be a pet-free zone--minus the dang cat.  (Remember, I've now got my 2 votes and Mark's confiscated 2 as well!)

"I didn't vote." Mark said coolly.  Then he shrewdly pointed at ALL the kids and said, "They did!"  He then informs me that Tanner is a cousin which makes him technically part of the family and gives him the right to one vote.  Then he points at Nick and says that because Nick spends so much time at the house that he should have a say in his surroundings and therefore be considered a member of the district and granted voting privileges too.  He officially declares the vote to be 6-4.

I looked at the box of chirping chicks and then at the boys.  I reminded them of all the snacks and sodas I had purchased for them for their gaming weekends.  The countless ordered pizzas and movie rentals.  The days before they had driver's licenses when I acted as the personal chauffeur and cabby.  I even reminded them of the gargantuan and custom made sandwiches that I so willingly construct to appease their monster appetites.  Then I asked them how on earth they could vote down my decree and bring more pets into the house.

Their answer?

The three teen-aged boys, each towering over six feet tall, looked at me and replied, "They're cute."

At this point I had a hankering to scream "Off with their heads!" (the boys', not the chickens'--okay maybe the chickens too.) but instead, I decide to show a sudden (if not misleading) fondness for the stupid cat.  I went to the door and called for my 'precious' Edward Scissorhands.  On cue, he wandered into the house, but to my extreme distress, he largely ignored the box of yummy chicks.  I picked him up and showed him the chicks hoping for an attack of some sort but Edward could care less.

Great.  What good is a cat that doesn't want to eat baby chicks?  Now I am the proud owner of a stupid cat and a clutch of baby chickens.  Chickens that will still need to be cared for long after the excitement wanes.

Couldn't the people at least bring their leader some chocolate to sooth the aches and pains of another coup?  To Tanner's credit, he admits that he did suggest this, though it fell on deaf and marauding ears. 

I am now revoking all voting rights and privileges of the all the people in my realm and adopting a communist rule.  This voting business is...well...highly overrated. 

Seriously. I'm now thinking summer BBQ.

The Lone Olympian

Thanks to his G-Ma (a.k.a Gramma Joyce) Connor caught the spirit of the Olympics when she came out to visit a few weeks ago.  In his fury of excitement, and to our dismay, he completely filled up our DVR with hours and hours of winter games.

Most late afternoons, there Connor sat like an Olympic junkie, avoiding homework, teeth brushing, eating, and even his usual circle of friends (true warning signs).  He took his place on the couch as the lone spectator watching everything from snowboarding to even ice dancing!  He was into EVERY SINGLE SPORT.

Here he is with Edward Scissorhands (the cat) taking in a hockey play-off game...

 Which team USA happened to win...
before we eventually lost.

 

Disappointed at his family's lack of interest, Connor tried to kindle a little enthusiasm amongst the ranks by sharing a few of his favorite things about the Olympics.  He did this by making a little speech during dinnertime and then forced us to watch youtube clips which he had marked "favorite".  Among the highlights of Connor's pep-rally speech were:

The Mascots

 

-which only peaked Chloe's interest mildly.

The "Bum Shove" in the Speed Skating Relay

-which got my attention, 

since I've got a freakish preoccupation towards

gragarious shoving and good humored socks to the arm.

and lastly,  he attempted to sway us by showing us

The Epic Spills...

-which excited the remaining family members who were still holding out.

After the Olympics came to an official close, Connor seemed to suffer from massive withdrawals.  The thought of having to wait another FOUR years for the next winter games seemed overwhelming to a young boy who has only been on the planet a mere eleven years.  Though perhaps the calamity was due mostly to the fact that now he had no legitimate excuse to avoid his homework, teeth brushing, and room cleaning.   He began to look so melancholy we took pity on the boy.  Something had to be done to suppress his post-Olympic-separation anxieties.

There was only one thing to do.  Hold an Olympics of our own.

[commence Olympic theme song.]

It was the poor Hassells who ended up being our guinea pigs for a family-style Olympics.  The third family we tried to beguile was out due to a broken arm.  This meant we had to start dividing ourselves into teams by grouping everyone into their birth season; spring, summer, fall, winter.  Then each group picked a country to represent.  Then, we let the games begin!

First up, the Two-Man Table Sled:

Then, on to Skiing:

Next, Curling (This was Mitchell's invention- a paper bowl with a tennis ball underneath):

(please note Brett's "Agony of Defeat" pose, above.)

And finally, Broom/Mop/Swiffer/Vacuum Hockey:

All of course while serious score keeping took place:

And no Olympic meet could be complete without a metal ceremony where Gold, Silver, and Bronze gets awarded (or should I say Twinkie, Ding Dong, and Reese's Peanut Butter Cup?):

Winning the Gold definitely took the edge off Connor's withdrawal symptoms.

...and, let's just say I'm glad I was the official photographer for the events so that I didn't have to stand with my team on the loser lowest podium.  However, the Bronze Reeses Peanut Butter Cup "Metal" was by far the most delectable award presented.  The chocolaty peanut butter goodness more than made up for coming in last.

Oh, and yes, please note the humility at which Mark (in the blue t-shirt) accepts the Gold.  You can see for yourself one of the many reasons why this humble man is the love of my life.

Let's just hope this quenched Connor's Olympic thirst for another four years.  I haven't the courage or self-esteem to lose that bad again for a few more years.

Animal Cruelty

Found this picture on my camera.  Not sure which kid was behind the paper showdown but it looks like the cat lost. 

A Political Coup and a Dang Lucky Cat

A few years back my family staged a political coup. I played the part of the usurped leader, while the others in the house were the unruly radicals who had become increasingly displeased with a certain parental decree. A  meeting was held by the dissatisfied members of the household and in turn they decided not only to gain the confidence, but more importantly, the voting power of the weakest member our home's bureaucratic elite---their father. They held a secret meeting with him where they confessed their grievances, gained his loyalties, and devised a plan.

The whole coup took place before I even had a chance to prepare for combat.  Mark surprised ambushed  me one afternoon by coming home early and announcing it would be fun to go and pick up all the kids from school. Once all the children little militants were in the car and tucked safely in their seat belts and beyond my reach, the following conversation ensued:

Mark: Hey Honey, the kids and I took a vote and there is nothing you can do with what is about to happen. It's beyond your power to veto.

Me: Huh?    
(isn't that just like an outgoing dictator? Always the last to know his her people are dissatisfied with current regime policies!)

Mark:  Seriously, you're not gonna like it and I'm just reminding you now that your vote is only worth two and the kids and I together make a total of six votes.  (In a household with four kids, each of the parent's votes are always worth two, it's a built in safety net, though sadly, only when both parents vote ALIKE.)

Me: Huh?

Kids snickering in the back.

Mark:  The kids and I decided it's about time we get a pet.  We know how you feel about having to take care of pets so we decided we'd start with something low maintenance...

Me:  Huh?

Kids beaming with wide smiles.

Mark: We decided on a cat and we're headed to the Humane Society right now.  The kid's promise to help take care of it and...
(blah blah blah blah blah-I sort of stopped listening at this point-just like a REAL dictator would have done, only I forgot about adding a shout such as, "down with the people!", which I think would have been perfectly appropriate.)

Things took a drastic turn for the worse when we arrived.  The kids decided to throw me a bone, so to speak, and tried to ease my pain by giving me the "privilege" of choosing our new cat.  I think they were in cahoots with the lady who worked there because when I chose two different cats that I thought I could tolerate and told my little band of marauders that they could have the final say and pick between the two, the lady then exclaimed with a bit of suspicious glee that both cats had been brought in from the very same owner.  It was destiny she said.  So, instead of riding home with ONE yowling box of cat, I rode home with TWO!

And that was it.  A successful coup resulting in one overthrown mother, two new cats, four happy children, and a disloyal husband who slept on the couch for a few days!  (I still had a little power left!  Tee hee! ) 

It took me a year to not despise the cats.  I almost bonded with the one cat that would come hang out with me on summer mornings in my garden while I weeded.  But the other cat is a scratcher!  Totally mean.  You pet it and it'll give off a decoy purr, and then suddenly it will gouge a limb right off!  Sadly, the one I came really close to liking, it met with a tragic accident on the road.  Now we're left with "Edward Scissorhands" who claws at everybody. Just my luck.  The kids all love him despite all the scars he's branded them with.  I have learned to tolerate him and to buy lots of Neosporin and band-aids for the kids.

They say dogs have masters and cats have staff.  Totally true in this case.

Today, during a blustery winter afternoon,  I was watching ol' "Scissorhands" (with much contempt) lounging about INSIDE the house, completely oblivious to the wicked weather outside and flamboyantly flaunting  the ease at which he yields ALL the power inside our house.  If it wasn't for the revolt, he'd of never made it out of the pound, yet he consistently ignores all forms of house rules and pet etiquette!  Where's the gratitude?   The following violations all happened just today...

Here he is making himself at home on the coffee table right in the middle of a serious Lego construction project, Rude!:

Here he is making it hard for people in the house to read (with or without glasses).  This cat's specialty is kid's homework, he loves to sprawl on homework when they're busy writing on it.  And if you should try to reclaim your papers, he'll claw you!  Just look at those beady little eyes daring you to touch the magazine:

And here, the darn cat is sprawled out in a rather indiscreet position, and mind you,  taking up as much room on the couch as possible, very selfish, lazy, and uncouth indeed:

I may have lost the "Cat Coup" but I am taking steps to safeguard myself from further household rebellions.  I just bought a copy of Sun Tzu's  "The Art of War"!  

In the meantime, this is one dang lucky cat. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!