Journal of Kittenhood

Excerpts from the Strange-But-True
Adventures of Lola and Tilly

Current Tales:

 

Laundry Day - June, 2001

Lola recently learned how to open doors. If my bedroom closet door isn't clicked tightly shut, she will hook her claws under the door and pull it open. (Just for fun, she sometimes stretches up and tries the handle.) Inside the closet is a structure made of lightweight PVC pipe, and suspended in the frame are two mesh laundry bags. I don't particularly like the cats playing with my laundry, so I keep the door closed.

Well, one day I did not click the door shut. While working in my office, I heard clawing noises followed by a susisciously long silence. I walked into the bedroom to find the closet door wide open. I had just finished all my laundry the day before, so the tall mesh bags were empty. Only now, one bag was occupied by a wide eyed Lola who didn't know how to jump out. Tilly was gleefuly batting at Lola from the outside. I pulled Lola out, but not until after I took photos of her predicament.

I thought this would end her interest in the closet, but it did not. In fact, now she tries to reach under the door and grab the bottom of the mesh bags, then pull them back through the door (which drags the PVC frame forward, banging that against the door). She has even pulled part of the frame out. And she only does this between four and six a.m., of course. I expect that one morning I will wake up to some sort of Tim Burton scene, where the entire contents of my closet sit in a pile in front of the closed door, all sucked out from underneath by a very smug Lola.

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Call of the Wild - June, 2001

I read a news story about how Australian Lyre Birds, the incredible mimics, have now added the sounds of ringing cell phones to their repetoire. Curious to hear their other calls, which include imitations of chain saws and camera shutters, I searched the web for sound files. I hit paydirt at a PBS site that included many long sound clips of bird calls. While sitting on my bed with the laptop appropriately positioned on my lap, I started a clip.

Suddenly, Lola and Tilly materialized on the bed, pupils dilated, ears perked up and slight back. Tilly led the search for the birds, crawling over me and looking under the covers. Finally, she leaned over the laptop, resting her chin on the speakers, and shoving her paws under the laptop to grab the birds. Her fur, stuck up in all directions, broadcast her agitation. She kept pawing under the laptop until the calls stopped.

Wanting the entertainment to continue, I played more clips from other birds. The chorus of British birds led her to the window, peaking out curiously. Another clip made her chew nervously on my DSL connection. But the Wedge-Tailed Shearwater turned out to be a mistake; the mournful cries of this bird sent Tilly straight under the bed. I stopped playing the clips, but the girls spent the rest of the evening watching me suspisciously.

Want to hear the Lyre Bird, too, or just mess with your cats? Visit The Life of Birds | Songs at PBS. Look in the column to the right for RealAudio sound clips.

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Tilly Makes a Connection - June, 2001

One Sunday morning, I decided to take a quick bath instead of a shower. As soon as I ran the water, the cats came running in to check it out. Tilly perched on the tub and watched it fill with water. They were fascinated with the bathing process. This was a utilitarian bath, not the luxurious candlelit bath that they've seen before. Something about the soap and washcloth was much more interesting than watching me soak. Lola spun the cake of soap with repeated swats of her paw. Tilly tried walking on the parts of me that were above the waterline. They stayed close to the tub even after I drained it, ready for whatever exciting thing would happen next.

Two days later, I was handwashing undergarments in the bathroom. I left them in the sink to soak, and came back to find two kitties on the counter, one of them (Miss Tilly) with very wet paws. I took out the garments and drained the water, and Tilly leaned close to watch the water spin down the drain. Suddenly, she stood up very straight, looked me in the eye, then jumped down and ran to the tub. She jumped in and looked pointedly at the bathtub drain, then up at me, as if to say, "It takes the water away, just like this one! I get it, I get it!"

(You can also see photos of the experience - sans me, thank goddess.)

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Tilly's Big Adventure - June, 2001

I live in a two unit building, in the lower flat. Today, I opened my door to talk to my landlady, who was heading up the stairs to her own flat. In the middle of our chat, Tilly raced out of the apartment and flew up the stairs, rocketing into my landlady's open door. Luckily, my landlady is a good sport and laughed, going in to find Tilly.

When I caught up with them, they were in her studio, along with Mailbox, her cat. The two cats were about a foot away from each other, studying each other warily. I picked Tilly up, but she soon struggled out of my arms and went off to boldly explore the new apartment.

My landlady was telling me a story, so I left Tilly unattended. She explored the bedroom, then I saw her head into the bathroom and turn and stare at the shower. I remembered that my landlady keeps her cat's litter box in the shower stall and uses the separate bathtub for herself. Afraid that Tilly would help herself to the facilities (and offend Mailbox!) I shouted No! to Tilly. She ran off toward the kitchen and living room.

By the time we rejoined Tilly, she was weaving her way through the dining room and was meowing quizically. That's when I realized she was confused. This was just like home, only totally different. This shouldn't be a dining room, it should be an art studio. And the art studio should be a bedroom. And the bedroom should be an office. Tilly looked like she was in a science fiction movie...maybe Outer Limits.

Finally I picked her up and took her out the door, where she again struggled down and ran into my apartment. I shut the door and prepared to feed her. But Tilly just kept running from one end of the house to the other, at top speed. Finally, she skidded into the bathroom, looked at the shower with huge eyes, and meowed at me, as if to say, "Honest, it was a litter box! Really, I saw it, it wasn't a shower at all!"

After dinner I asked her if she enjoyed her adventure upstairs. She looked at me, perplexed. "What is 'upstairs'? Is that what you call it when you run out of the apartment and run back in, only everything is different?"