blamebrampton | Entries tagged with kitten

It was a long weekend in Sydney. On the Saturday we went on a little night-time bushwalk with friends in the mountains to a glowworm cave, which was nothing short of delightful. It was particularly good to see how physically adept most of the kids in the group were and how open to Odd Things in the Outdoors. The one who wasn't was actively helped along by some of the others, which was lovely.

Yesterday, the rugby league team we sort of support (we don't really follow league, but they are Erskineville locals and were always so lovely when they were training at the oval or grabbing a kebab that we started to watch their games and cheer for them) won the premiership for the first time in 43 years. Their opponents were enormous, one of them looked like a polar bear, and for the first 65 or so minutes of the game it was very scary and could have gone either way. And then in the last quarter hour, the Rabbitohs went from securing the lead to streaming away to 'Chaps, are you still playing? The game is still on, you know.' I may have cheered quite loudly, which made this morning a little awkward when I realised my neighbours had bedecked their house with flags for the opposing, losing team.

They're still going to like us more than the previous person who lived here, he was a bastard.

Today I was catching up on the gardening. One of the biggest jobs was laying new pavers in the front yard, where there was originally a muddy path and where we've been making do with slabs of sandstone I just plonked down when we moved in.

Mr Brammers said that he was going out the back to read a book and let the cats have some outdoors time. I told him to keep an eye on the cats, as Rusketus had been eyeing off the Catproofing, looking for ways to thwart our efforts. Some half hour later I could hear a little chirruping miaow. I looked around and could see nothing. 'Have you got the cats?' I called down the side passage. 'It's fine,' came the reply.

I went back to digging in the concrete-like ground (the WORST soil: building waste, stones, cinders in one bit. HOW?! And full of onion weed …) and then heard the same sound. I looked up to see Ruus with his tail straight and high (the position that says 'I am cleverer than my humans! Hurrah!') trotting across the front garden towards the gate.

He had slipped through the catproofing at the side of the house, trotted down the passage to the gap under the neighbour's fence, squirmed through, made his way down to the front where he could hear me and offer commentary on my work, then squirmed through another gap to return to our garden.

The good news is that he does come when called, and since I had just dug a hole, things were relevant to his interests. He was extremely offended to be returned to the indoors. This was his face:

I suspect he is plotting my death. It will probably involve divebombing from the shelves beside the bed, and occur around 5am.

It started on Friday: what felt like the entirety of a cold descending upon me in 30 minutes. I bargained with my body: 'Body,' I said, 'this is moving weekend. You need to be in tip-top form! None of this near-death for you!'

'I don't feel at all well,' my body replied.

The magnificent editorial assistant of fandom excellence (who is going to be in Florida in a few months – all tips re Harry Potter tourism will be gratefully received) dragged me out of the building to look at Harry Potter pyjamas. In a febrile fit, I managed not to buy a Hogwarts sleeping shirt (old gym gear will keep me in cold weather sleepwear for at least the next three years!), but I did buy the first two series of Once Upon a Time, and I am not ashamed! At the end of my wander round the shops and a spot of lunch, I had perked so considerably that I began to hope I had dodged the lurgy.

I had not dodged the lurgy.

Saturday saw me wake without a voice. We had to take the train up to the mountains to borrow a car from my magnificent boss, I sat and shivered and read Caitlin Moran's new novel (startling amounts of masturbation, on the whole funny, convincing and very Decent Human) on the train up and then peered anxiously through walls of rain on the drive back down.

Happily we got back to a sunnier city than the one we had left, and picked up the keys without incident.

And drove the first carload of bags and boxes to the new house.

And were horrified.

There was one thing wrong with this house when we inspected it: one of its rooms had been remade into a sound studio, with thick insulation on the walls. We had an agreement that this would be fixed before we moved in.

It's now worse. The landlord's own condition report lists the state of the walls as 'stained, scuffed, mouldy …'

The good news is that NSW law is very clear and that a mouldy premises is a clear violation of the tenancy agreement on the part of the landlord. There is ample precendent for this situation, all of which agrees that the tenants can walk away if the problem isn't fixed. So I have written to the agents and sent photos, expressing disappointment and dissatisfaction and asking that the situation be remedied and the room re-walled (it's just painted plasterboard, so this is not a huge expense). I'll also compromise and take a rent reduction and agreement that we can remedy the situation ourselves. Otherwise, we're back to bloody house hunting! ARGH!

Hoping for the best, we took some more boxes over today. At one point, I noticed that Mr B had left both the front door and the gate of our current house open. I shut the door and ran through the house conducting a quick cat census. Two girl cats. No boy kitten cat. I looked in the cat run. I looked through the house again. Mr B came back in and I whispered to him that Rusketus was revisting his Houdini impersonations. He told me that there was no way the cat could have got past him and went to find him.

Five minutes later, he accepted that there was indeed a way, and that Ruus had found it. He then abandoned me to take another carload over to the new house. I did a few laps of the front lane, talking to several pedestrians and a cyclist. This was made more difficult by me not having a voice. A man walked by with two big dogs: I consoled myself with the fact they looked like nice big dogs … I peered into my neighbours' yards, no neighbours and no kitten. I checked the Thai takeaway on the corner, where cats have been known to beg for chicken. I squinted at the road and the railway: no still grey-and-tan forms.

Accepting he was lost, I went over to the vet to report him missing. We do have a good system here, and microchipped cats are often returned. The vet nurse was reassuring and talked me through the report steps, then suggested I walk the whole block and doorknock as many people as possible so the word would spread and more sets of eyes would be looking. This was my plan, but as I walked back to start, I saw a jaunty little creature padding his way up through the nature strip that borders the railway, very pleased with himself.

'Ruus!' I whispered. 'Come here and have a cuddle!' There followed a few minutes of muppetry, which ended in him being caught. I decided to shut the gate as I brought him in, he took advantage of my one-armed hold to fling himself upside-down and sink his rear claws into my face.

I can apparently whisper 'You fiendish little fucker!' really loudly. The nice lad walking past was very sympathetic.

To top things off, last night, laryngitis morphed into ghastly plague, so I have spent the whole day packing, shaking, writing cross but reasonable letters and berating myself for not spending less over the last 10 years as I could easily have bought a house with what I have spent on travel, books and quality moisturiser alone. Well, at least a third of a decent house in Sydney, but a whole house in Tasmania or parts of the mountains!

To Dear

mummimamma, the happiest of days! You are my favourite fleet-footed Moomin!

I have no other news, save that I have nearly reached the end of work hell, and that my kitten is a genius escapologist.

The other morning I poked my head out of the window to say goodbye to the cats in the run. Rusketus's reply came from above me, and was a bit urgent.

He was on the roof. The nearly 5m-high roof.

Where he had jumped to from the top of the cat-run wall, which is in itself about 3m high.

After 45 minutes of woman-handling a giant ladder, which I did not go very far up as I was on my own, luring him to a lower part of the roof and trying to convince him that the Mynah birds were not new friends as they swooped and scolded him, I finally caught him and was able to lock the cats inside and head off for work. Late.

I knew how he had made it to the top of the run: he swarms up the mesh like a sailor on the Victory and then parades up and down the wooden frame. To get back down, he jumps onto the mesh hammocks that are slung in a stepped fashion below the living room window for the cats to enter and leave the cat run. But I had been convinced the nearly 2m vertical jump from the frame to the roof would be beyond him, and so it proved. Instead, he leapt diagonally onto the guttering for the lower roof section, about 1.2 horizontal metres (4 feet) and nearly as much vertically. All with a long drop to concrete below.

That night we spent three hours 'kitten-proofing' the run. He managed to lock us out while we were at it by dint of running up and down the back screen door wailing until he kicked the latch into 'lock'. Happily, we were able to sort it from outside.

The next morning, we let them out into the run, impressed by our handiwork. He swarmed up the wall of the run and met our barrier and was stopped. We congratulated each other. He came back down and sat there investigating it for 15 minutes.

Just as I finished my hair, I heard a familiar miaow. Sure enough, when I popped my head out, there he was, on the roof.

Luckily, Mr B was still home and he is a foot taller than me, so the catching part of the story went far more smoothly, but suffice to say, no cat is going outside until we can fix it on the weekend. The older two have been showing their displeasure in vomit.

I cannot believe that with a combined age of 92, we are being out-thought by a kitten! The shame!

I am an abject failure at getting to bed early.

Some of this is Rusketus's fault: he is a dear little thing but full of boundless kitten energy, which means someone has to chase him and wave string toys and throw balls up and down the hallway, and it's certainly not Cookie or Monster. I have no idea how parents do it.

Tonight I was finishing a piece of embroidery I am doing for a friend when he decided to savage some of the goldwork. Happily, it was fixable.

Earlier I found him perched on top of the 3m+ fence that sections off the cat run: he had clearly jumped onto the frame from the top of the hammock steps that lead down from the house window and shimmied the one-metre-plus section of narrow framing timber to the top. From here, he could plummet to his doom on the pavers below, jump fairly easily onto the neighbours' roof, or leap into a mature camellia bush and make a bid for freedom.

I helped to raise one of my nephews. A few days after he learned to walk, I found him nearly 10 feet up a cyclone wire fence in my maternal grandfather's garden. I had to whip up after him and pass him down to my grandfather (that nephew is still referred to as monkeylad). I had hoped never to have that feeling of EEEEEK! again. I suppose kittens are at least better than falling …

When not causing trouble, he is a gentle delight and the girls have decided he's all right. Mostly. Here is a photo of him looking innocent: Sorry, nope, you can't, because LJ have made their photo editor completely unusable. Well done. I'll try again later once it goes back to being remotely functional. Sigh. Hey! Quicker than expected! Apparently I may edit words, or images, but not both in the same edit. Oh well, I can cope!

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There is, of course, work. Let us not speak of it.

The rest of my late nightness has been caused by

icmezzo's voice meme: I have been listening to so many people! So many more to go! It's just marvellous, before this I had not realised that for most people I don't hear a 'voice': now, I do! And so many interesting things those voices are saying! Hie ye hence! Speak up!

Look, he's called Rusketus, because I let Mr Brammers get involved and he decided that the Finnish word for tan was where he felt his creative juices going and he wanted to celebrate that little amber tummy, and all I can say is, this is a SUPER SWEET kitten! With a name that we keep saying in outrageous Finnish accents. Sorry, Finland. Though I know for a fact that at least 18 of you get drunk and speak in outrageous British or Australian accents at the drop of a hat. Anyway, pix!

'You what? You want me to look at the camera? But there is a moth. Let's compromise and I will look wistfully at the moth.'

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'So, Ive been here for two hours, is it OK if I savage this finger now?'
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'Behold my testicles! They keep telling me not to get attached to them, crazy humans!'
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We have him in the study, screened off with wire mesh. Cookie has already tried to climb the mesh. Monster took a look through, shrugged, and ambled off, unimpressed. He thought about mewling plaintively, but decided to savage one of his new toy mice instead.

ETA: Guess what this kitten calls 6 feet of thick wire fencing mesh? A climbing wall. Up and over in two seconds once he worked it out. We've had to stuff the gap with pillows and put more pillows on the floor on his side so that his freeclimbing attempts can have a nice soft landing. Plan B tomorrow!

But, KITTEN news!

So we are adopting Nameless the kitten. I visited him this evening in a bid to get photos. Potential names include: Speedy, Ninja, Indefatigable, and – like all relaxed kittens – Fartybum. Will Not Bloody Stand Still For A Second Unless Being Cuddled is too long, and I was not taking a selfie of my norks, which he was burrowing into when cuddled. So here are two bad pix!

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Judging from his running around the vet room trying to make friends with all the cats and dogs (especially Jack the Jack Russell terrier), his epic levels of sluttitude are not confined to humans. And when I put him back in his cage, there was yet more epic levels of mewling and reaching out with paws in an astonishing display calculated to induce the maximum amount of guilt kittily possible. So Classic Jewish Mother, My Actual Mother, Pope Francis and (my great friend) Arty's Greek Nona would all also be appropriate names, albeit unwieldy.

And I had a little chat with Lynxie the kitten so miniature his name has had to be made into a diminutive. His chart even reads 'Needs to gain significant weight.' Here he is, and you can see why we think he might not do well in our small house of much heavy stuff, big boofy Monster cats and Mr Brammerses:
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That is a cutaway 4L bottle he is sleeping in. Those are his little shoulder and hip bones you can see jutting out. If we had a bigger house and I had a career that could be done from home, obviously I would also be adopting him!

And now I need to do a load of washing, water the garden, bake Anzac biscuits and get to bed before midnight, which is in 95 minutes. BWAHAHAHAHAHA! [Fade to sounds of slightly manic laughter.]

It has been a close-run thing: work has been bonkers again, I am deep in the Festival of Embroidery for a friend's major project (not such a commitment from me, about 15 hours to her 200+!) and my second-in-charge at work gave me her plague (which in turn came from another workmate). It wasn't too dreadful as plagues go, but my word the fatigue has been flattening!

The kitten situation has become more complex than it ought to have been. We decided we would adopt Cuddles the sweet black and white kitten over at the vet. The vet nurse who looks after adoptions was off sick on Thursday. And on Friday. On the weekend, they couldn't do a thing because only that nurse can handle it. I left all my details. I thought about stopping in on the way to work this morning, but had to dash in for a deadline. You've guessed the next part of the story: Cuddles was adopted by a woman with children over the course of today.

The funny thing is that I think I saw her on my way into work. She was looking at Cuddles through the vet window, and she had That Look. I hope that was her: she seemed like an excellent kitten parent.

We did stop in at the vet to meet another kitten called Lynx. Lynx is adorable, but only about seven weeks old, which is just too little for us: Monster might squash her! But then the vet assistant suggested we meet this random tabby kitten who was new and a bit younger than Cuddles and Jones, but much bigger than Lynx. He is the sluttiest kitten known to humankind! Mr Brammers is a massive fan, so tomorrow I am over to talk with the adoption nurse and see about taking him in.

And finding him a name. Not Chicken: Monster would be permanently confused!

Whilst in my near-coma, I did manage to get a Happy Birthday out to the fabulous

raitala and

pushdragon, I failed to get one out to

sinden, but will appear at her place and play ukulele with

pollymel sometime soon, which is sort of a present, if you squint very hard. I'll bring cake, that'll do it!

I also missed

aoifene's birthday: I hope that this year is UNBELIEVABLY SPECTACULAR for you and that everything falls into place, which you most thoroughly deserve.

And also

ldydark1. Shine on, you fabulous Dan-loving diamond! I hope you have such a good year that if you ever decide to fake your age in the future, this will be the year you return to!

And I missed

dumbys_baby and

i_autumnheart, too, but they both know I love them and I will see them soon. With sweets!

But first, two very quick notes:

Cuddles the kitten has been visited.

Mon and Cookie both needed their shots updated this week, so over to the vet they went. Cookie was doing her usual 'They are killing me finally! I knew it was too good to last!!' freakout, so we got her in and out as quickly as possible, while Monster was more relaxed. She is usually like a rockstar at the vet: 'Hi! Hi! I'm here, here I am, yes, you can touch me. Do you have any chicken?' This time she was a bit less relaxed, mostly because the airconditioner was broken and puppy playgroup was on in the other half of the waiting room, so we were uncertain about whether or not she and Cuddles the vet kitten would be able to meet.

But when she made it into the surgery, she calmed down and was more simply put upon than stressed. So the vet nurse brought Cuddles in to meet her.

Now Monster is not a fan of cats who are not Cookie. We assumed there would be hissing, and were more interested in seeing whether or not Cuddles would freak out as we know that she has spent practically no time around other cats. Cuddles was held by the nurse and Mon was on the table, with two of us guarding her.

What actually happened is that Cuddles was very unsure about the whole thing; not freaked out, but a lot of looking around going 'Where are the cage bars??!' Monster actually did some calming down sniffing and reassuring noises and was very gentle with her. Mr B and I did a lot of eyebrow raising.

If someone else comes to adopt her in the next fortnight, we will just keep looking, as all three cats' vaccinations need two weeks to be in sync, but if not, KITTEN!

And the other important thing: HAPPY BIRTHDAY

delvino! I completely forgot to bombard your phone with texts today, and goodness knows my brain is full so I will probably forget again tomorrow, but I have been thinking of you and knowing that you are almost certainly having a fab day because you are surrounded by awesome ;-)

Jones's new human and his cousin came to pick our little kitten friend up today. They seem very nice.

Monster is thrilled he is gone.
Cookie is a bit 'Oh, he wasn't that bad …'
I am missing him horribly.

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Off to new adventures, he thanks you all for your good wishes.

And if it doesn't work out, we will have him back in an instant!

Phone call this afternoon: Hello, this is Mr Kitten, I am trapped at work and won't get away until late. I'm so sorry! Would it be possible to change the pick up to Saturday morning?

YES! Yes it would!

He was ever so grateful, so I confessed I am greedy for any extra Jones time and that if he turns up and I don't like the look of him, I am sending him off empty-handed. rt5ttr Guess who was just on the laptop? Mr Kitten says he understands and would do the same. Alas, this means he is probably fab.

So I will just enjoy my grace days. Cookie has given me a look of 'Really, human? Am I to have no peace?' But we are actively intervening in Jones's I Must Love Cookie At All Times plan for the evening so that she can have some time without kitten embraces.

Obligatory pic time (not a single one with Cookie in which he is not a blur of action):
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Yes he is about to leap up and demand patting. Yes patting did end in arm savaging. Earlier we had a nap where he curled up against me and was a purring bundle of delight, but I was focussed on sleeping not on kittie pix. Poor Jones, no pictorial record of his goodness!

Tomorrow, Jones will be going to a new home. Unless I take one look at the fella who is coming for him and decide he looks like a bad lot.

For our last evening together I had planned some toy time, some cuddles and some patting.

Instead, we have had I Will Eat Your Linens, Your Arm Is For The Savaging and, his and Cookie's favourite game: I Groom You: I Kill You.

Guess which one is doing which?
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And now, time for bed. Or, more likely, time for Stay Back, Madam, I Believe Your Feet To Be A Security Risk And Will Defend You From Them!

Here, have a pic of him being good. He can be. Sometimes for whole minutes at a time!

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Jones has a home!

Obviously this has all been organised by someone who was neither me nor Mr Brammers as we have been spending all our time playing with him, but – tragically – it is a lovely young cat-centric chap who is living in his first house without a cat and not coping and has a small Jack Russell living with him who is also missing living with a cat. The dog belongs to one of the housemates (three young lads, all cat loving) and they all think the cat should be an indoors cat until they have a cat run outside and think that it would be a good idea to desex him as soon as it is medically a good plan. And he has enough money for vet bills. I may have interrogated him a little.

I can't come up with a single reason why Jones shouldn't go to live with this lovely young chap. Aside from the fact we just love him, but he will have more fun there than here, and our cats will have more calm without him. Bugger!

Monster the cat has an inkling and is writing us a thank you note even as I type*.

He goes on Thursday, so this will be one of the last kitten pix:

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*By which I mean purring and not vomiting up her cat food in the bedroom doorway. She's not technically literate, but she is very expressive.

Best walk to work EVER today -- I found a tiny wee kitten!

I was crossing the road after the park in the estate and I caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of my eye. I checked, and there was a scraplet of grey fur shuddering in a corner, trying to look very very large and very fierce. I reached down and scooped it up and held it to my chest, which it promptly peed on, and set about looking for an owner.

The estate, while a reasonably nice one and full of townhouses rather than flats, is very clichéd in that only certain houses speak to each other. Number 22 was very helpful and could tell me everything about numbers 19-27, who had no kittens, but she thought it might live in 17. 17 had no humans but two large friendly dogs who wished to play with the kitten. 16 said there were no kittens at 17, in fact no one had any kittens at all, why was I bothering them?

At this point I gave up and took the scrap back the way I had come and to the vet across the road from home. They are taking care of her (she was white and tabby under all the dirt, and about six weeks old) and will try to re-home her, we will foster her if we need to until someone can take her on permanently. After a quick change and wash, I made it to work only an hour late.

EDIT for photo! Mr B made my camera work!

In other news, I wrote fic!

Not the fic I meant to write, which I am still working on, but fic with sex (no one is more shocked than I), er, between Regulus Black and Lily Evans (again …). It came about by accident, the lovely

thilia put out a request for a pinch hit for

deatheaterfest , the person who was meant to be writing for

chantefable had dropped out. I had been lucky enough to help

chantefable with her very clever Letter to a Young Death Eater. Knowing how much she had put into her story, I couldn't let her go without, so I told

thilia that I was sure I could put together something semi-decent, probably about 5000 words. Hands up everyone surprised it ended up close to 30K? Yeah, that's what I thought ...

Title: Nineteen Seventy-nine
Author: blamebrampton
Rating: R
Warning(s): Nothing worse than canon.
Word Count: 29,000
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction set in the Harry Potter universe – all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work. (Er, I've pinched the fest's disclaimer, because it is so much saner than mine ever are!)
Summary: Regulus Black already knows he's made a horrible mistake.
Notes: Many, many thanks to

jadzialove , who was a bloody champion with the beta-ing, and

treacle_tartlet who injected sense and support, to

vaysh11 for her help with the shagging and to

thilia for spotting last-minute errors and pointing out my lack of grip on time, and allowing me some leeway with that re the deadline. All remaining errors are thanks to my own ineptitude and tinkering.

( Part One )

thilia put out a request for a pinch hit for

deatheaterfest , the person who was meant to be writing for

chantefable had dropped out. I had been lucky enough to help

chantefable with her very clever Letter to a Young Death Eater. Knowing how much she had put into her story, I couldn't let her go without, so I told