Not for kittens

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I haven’t been terribly inspired writing-wise recently. My mind’s been occupied with a project I can’t really write about here, and I’ve been focusing on other things, like my Italian CD (io parlo molto bene l’italiano!)

We spent a few hours cleaning the house on the weekend and dealing with Horace’s latest habit of pissing in the corners of rooms rather in the litter trays. Dear god, cat piss has a particularly rank odour. I settled down with Google for a while, and after decided that he was pissing and not spraying (the distinction seems to be the amount, and squatting versus standing and cocking a leg) we concluded that he was upset about our new bookcases. Yes, I know that sounds odd. But we had three enormous bookcases delivered last week, and spent some time filling them up with all our books which was terribly exciting (the Prince keeps laughing at me for wandering into the lounge room and smiling delightedly at all my books). And because we’re not the most well-organised people, the living room spent a week or so looking like a bomb site, filled with books and the old bookcases which we had just shoved into the middle of the room. Apparently cats don’t take too kindly to new furniture arrangements, and I think Horace was venting his irritation on the floorboards. However, after spending some time cleaning with white vinegar, and cleaning up the living room, he seems to have gone back to utilising the litter trays, much to my relief.

I’m particularly pleased that we’ve got that sorted out now as my mother is coming to visit next weekend, and as she’s not particularly fond of cats I’d prefer not to usher her into a house soaked in cat urine. It’s just a little fancy of mine.

One thing I find rather hilarious about owning cats is their perfect expressions of disdain. Dogs don’t do disdain, but cats have the sneer down oh-so-well. Horace in particular has a look of freezing disgust that he bestows upon us when we try to prevent him from doing something he would like to be doing, like snacking on food that is NOT FOR KITTENS, as I seem to bellow at him several times a day. “Cherry cake is not for kittens! Liquid echinacea is not for kittens! Hair straighteners are not for kittens!” (He likes the bathroom cabinet). He glares at me, and I then completely spoil any discipline I might have instilled by picking him up and cooing, “Awwww, who’s a widdle woozy kitten? Is Horace a widdle woozy kitten?” and other such nonsense, while he purrs loudly and thinks, “One step closer to world domination.”

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Filed under books, homebody, kitties