Catch Up, or Cats Up.

 It's been a bit, hasn't it. To say lots has happened would be an understatement. The lead of this update will be on the heels of the previous post about cats, my not-so-favorite critters.

The feline population count has changed for us. We'd been down to two, and now we're up to six. The feral cats we'd been attempting to catch for a TNR treatment outwitted us and bestowed upon our lives six kittens, five of which now live in our house.

Miss Bitte is...annoyed. Thor crossed the great rainbow bridge, thus escaping the ongoing chaos the rest of the household is attempting to survive.

Kittens, even those just over a year old, LOVE to race through the house, and they're not picky about when or where it happens, or who might or might not be in the way. Also, they sleep with us. All of them. I suppose, if you think about it, we sleep with them because we're super outnumbered.

For the most part, they're a pretty laid-back group. Unless you accidently wiggle your toes, then be prepared for mayhem. Toe mayhem, to be specific. Hank, the gentle giant, and his equally large, but more muscular brother, Beans, will join forces with tiny sister, Samantha and attempt to remove said toes from your feet. 

Also, they all have this strange tendency to "flop," preferably while they are walking in front of you, "leading" you to your destination. This can alter one's destination from, say, the dining room where your coffee awaits you, to the floor because you've tripped over a flopped cat. At least they give you a little early warning before the flop. There's a glance back, to make sure the human target is still following, then an odd butt sway/stagger, then flop! Alert humans recognize the signs and make alternate plans to detour the feline floppage.

One favorite human trick is to cut through the bathroom, leaving the flopper bewildered and un-tripped over. There is much cat chagrin to be had at that point. They then seek out the former target and will home in on the shins of that person and ram themselves headfirst into the tender, bony body part. Then the flop will happen and tummy appreciation will commence. Or else.

The design of our home has a fun roundie-run-around section, where you can start in the living room, run full speed through the dining room, then onto the kitchen where the linoleum begins, into the futility room (where you can crash into either the washer, dryer, or the furnace door), through the pass-through bathroom to the hallway, where you can either turn left and return to the living room, or go to the right and explore the craft room, back bathroom, or the bedroom at high speeds. It's exceptionally hilarious when they leave the carpet and have to adjust to linoleum, then back to carpet. Sometimes the adjustment comes too late, and the bookcase in the hallway right outside the bathroom door becomes savagely disarranged by a flailing feline who managed to gain traction going from smooth floor to carpet too quickly and failed the necessary turn. Critical fail, dude.

They're also into arts and crafts...supplies. Especially the sponge daubers we use for blending inks on paper. They are a favorite of the diminutive Miss Sam, who believes anything that soft and squishy must be absconded with and stashed under the dresser in our bedroom. Tammie discovered this one day when she walked into the bedroom and found three cats staring at the space under the dresser. Sam is the only one small enough to get under there and not get stuck halfway in or out. With the aid of a flashlight, Tammie discovered the mother lode of squishy craft supplies and cat toys, or if you ask Sam, they're ALL cat toys and you can just put them right back under the dresser where they belong, thank you very much.

The kitchen is another favorite place to flop, especially on hot days, or while we're trying to prepare a meal. The opening of cans with pop-tops is the clarion call to the gang to gather in the kitchen and begin tapping on the legs of the human with the can. There is much meowing, patting, and flopping. There is also swearing, but that's not from the cats.