Proof that your cat is eating too much:
Ever since last year when four little kittens started coming around, we've had a flurry of feline activity. Besides the one semi-evil-but-very-cute one that we ended up kidnapping and bringing inside (see photo above), there were three of his siblings that we continued to keep tabs on, and have been feeding since the weather turned bad. We have dubbed them The Yard Panthers, and have had an interesting time watching them grow up and develop as mostly feral additions to the family.
The two calicos (Einstein and Glitch), which I presume are females, tolerate our presence and will eat at our feet as long as we don't move around too much. And the black male (Bo) loves to be talked to, and is able to be handfed as long as you watch out for the long distance paw swipe that sometimes accompanies it. Sometimes he gets so excited and happy when we speak to him that he curls his neck and falls over with delight - which I would find weird if Merlin didn't do the exact same thing. Hereditary strangeness in action.
And then from a nearby fall litter, this little guy started showing up (Bo, Jr., otherwise known as simply 'the Baby'). He is turning my experience of taming stray cats to a new level, because unless I've captured them early on and isolated them to earn their trust with food, I've never been able to tame them before.
The Little One, on the other hand, threw a wrench into what I thought was possible with a feral cat. At first he would start purring loudly while he watched us, and then he started getting closer little by little. Then little meows as he pranced around our feet, but still darting off if our hands appeared too close.
Within the past few weeks, he is now letting us pick him up, rub and pat him all over, and practically rushes us when we open the door, all initiated by him. What surprises me is that he has always been fed regardless of this, so it's not a matter of manipulation. Self-domestication has to be a rare thing. But, cute and soft as he is, he is keeping his freedom. Merlin is jealous enough just watching us pet him through the window.
And this morning, he was gorging on a mole bigger than any I've seen before. That will come in handy this spring. I'm going to start showing him where the garden is as soon as the snow thaws.
And I had to throw in a shot of the position I found Brent sleeping in the other day. You can't tell from the angle, but his butt is about a foot higher than his head. No matter how I clean the room before bed, this is what it usually looks like when he is finally through rolling around all night - stuffed animals on top of and underneath him, blankets piled in strange places.
Other news! The trundle bed I ordered for the boys came in last week. That and a couple new mattresses finally replace the temporary beds they were using the last few weeks. Topped with new Spongebob sheets and a couple of five year olds that don't want to go to bed on time, the room is finally shaping up. Now if I could only get them to stop whispering and giggling for an hour after I leave the room...
We've begun reading before bed as well - their first big book. Each night we make our way through a few more pages of "White Fang", by Jack London - a favorite of mine when I was young. This is usually how it begins:
Me: Okay, so I'm going to start reading. Does anyone have anything they absolutely need to say before I begin?
Brent: Can you read the part where he poops himself again?!!!! (Loud laughter from both, as I glare at them and wait for them to settle down)
Me: No...anything else?
Alex: Can we play Super Mario Brothers in the morning?
Me: I already said no more talking about games. Anything else? (They have grown bored already, and play with anything within reach)
Me: So we're ready to start? Because I don't want any interruptions this time. Brent - I'm talking to you here.
Brent: No, I'm fine! Alex: I'm fine too!!!
Me - reading.
After 5 words, Brent raises his hand. I keep reading, my voice growing irritated since this same thing happens EVERY SINGLE TIME.
Me: Brent! We're not going through this again. What do you want?
Brent: Can I have cereal for breakfast in the morning?
Me: I'm not answering any questions that don't have to do with wolf cubs.
Brent: Pretty please?
Me - reading, with patience meter shrinking.
10 words later, Brent starts slinking toward me, trying to smile cutely. I avoid looking at him, but finally snap at him to lay back down.
Brent: But I really need to ask something!!
Me: This better be good...
Brent: Why do stars only come out at night? And why do grownups get to stay up later than kids? (Both questions have been answered a dozen times already)
Or some similar question. It never fails. And so it goes until I finally have enough and threaten to take away games for the next day, after which he will afford me maybe a couple pages of peace, and we drift off into a world of wolf litters and snowy landscapes. And harrowing as it is at times, it is my favorite time of the day.
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