The Potato Eaters

So…

Mummy brings home this bag of small red globes, not unlike apples (only less shiny).

She opens said bag and dumps the lumps into a shiny silver bowl with all over holes.

SIDE NOTE: I did not put those holes there, though I fear I may be blamed someday. Apparently it has escaped Mummy’s notice that when she pours water into this bowl, it all falls out those holes. It is only a matter of time before she catches on…

 Where was I?

Oh yes, Mummy washes off the potatoes and leaves the leaking bowl in the sink (should have been her first clue. About the holes, I mean).

So…

Young Mosby gets the bright idea, and I admit I was a pippin, that he wants to inspect these tubers more closely with a view to ascertaining their value as a source of nutrition. We kits are always starving so must plan ahead in event of a catastrophe, such as Mummy letting the tuna run out or a burglar making off with the crunchies.

Mosby sniffed and found them not so aromatic as hoped but there is always more to a potato than meets the eye, I always say. He glances round to be sure no one (AKA Mummy) is watching, then deftly nabs a potato and lobs it onto the floor. We all move in to see what this stuff is made of. Concurring that the smell isn’t anything to tell the grandchildren about, we bat it around a bit to see how well it rolls. Pretty smoothly, I am happy to report!

It is at this juncture that Mosby hops down from his aerie and takes charge of the spud, whacking it beneath the cabinet then immediately retrieving it. After volleying back and forth in this manner for several minutes, the potato found itself split in two pieces.

Now, I prefer my potatoes with loads of butter, softly whipped into a mound of fluffy lightness but as a midday snack, cold, raw spuds are not too bad. We finished off most of that potato then began gnawing on another one Mosby very kindly poached for us….

Sage advice: I would give a word of caution to anyone attempting this at home – one would be wise to hide the remains before Mummy reenters the room (as in, don’t leave half in the middle of the room for her to trip on and the other half wedged beneath the frame of the entryway door. It makes a dreadful splintering sound when the door has to be forced open. And I am pretty sure it wasn’t the potato that cracked).

Danger!

I looked out the kitchen window today (Tippy wasn't around, thank goodness!), and guess what I saw?? Mummy was on the deck playing with some little fuzzy creatures that made funny mewing noises [they were very clumsy, too, not graceful like me]! 

Mummy had said she was just going out to check on something but it turned out she was playing with these 'things'. You should have seen the way she was loving on them and cuddling them and stuff.  I got jealous and made my most pathetic face in hopes she would notice and come back to me.  

She looked my way, and I squinted and pouted; I think it worked because she came back in. Then I told her how I felt (a guy has to stand up for himself, you know). She said she loved me so much more than those things and that she was only making sure they were healthy and that she was going to send them to someone else's home to live. 

ut I said she didn't need to make such a great show of checking their vitals. Mummy called me an old silly and kissed me on my head - uggh! I don't trust those 'things'; I've heard tales about things like this. Parents play tough but the little creatures make cute faces and are all fuzzy and sweet, so parents fall for them and let them stick around; then they somehow turn into cats. 

We have cats already. 

That's all we need - more cats in the house! 

They will take over Mummy's life and she won't love me anymore. 

That's it; I have to do something to put a stop to this nonsense before it is too late.

 But what? 

I'm thinking...

Sad Reckonings

It is coming on the one year anniversary of Dad’s death, and we are all most heartbroken. As much as we try to keep cheerful, always we are reminded that Dad is no longer with us, that he simply cannot be part of our lives anymore. Mummy says I am doing a fine job as Man Of The House but I sure wouldn’t mind if Dad came back to do the job – it is daunting taking care of all these cats! If only we could get rid of the cats and have it just be me and Mummy…

Where was I?

Oh yes. I wish that Mummy could have her best friend back ‘cause I am not nearly such good company as Dad. He spoiled Mummy (the reason she is so rotten today, no doubt), and she spoiled him so that they were both rotten, really. But I love them anyway.

Still, losing Dad has been nearly unbearable but we have all gotten through it together, an important reminder that there is strength in numbers, however fuzzy.

I forget who said that…Poppet? No. He isn’t so clever.

I’ll think of it.

 In the meantime, I am so glad Mummy is still here or I would be the saddest kit in the world! I am grateful I have Mummy and that she loves me even though [she says] I am incorrigible at times.

I’m sure I don’t know what she means.

Pink Water

Mummy is up to stuff again.

After a day and a bit of carefully laying my new rope-and-pink feather toy in The Pool for a good soak, only to find Mummy continually removing it, then me having to put it back in again, I managed to wait until the old Mumster went to bed then dropped the doodad back in the water for the night.

Imagine my surprise when I went to check on it this morning and found that the entire Pool was a bright shade of pink! I am certain Mummy put pink dye in there just to discourage me from dropping my toys in, only she was very sneaky ‘cause I never heard her get up. The worst part is that pink dye caused the pink feathers on my new gadget to fade. How, I am not certain, but Mummy should be more careful about shenanigans involving our toys.

Still, there it is.

Mummy must have felt guilty about her actions ‘cause when she saw the brightly colored water, not to mention the fading feathers leaving pink streaks on the tile after I removed it from The Pool, she washed both the floor and The Pool, leaving them nice and clean.

I plan to drop my yellow mouse in today – let’s see if Mummy tries to dye the water the same color.

This time, I will be watching!

The Dinosaurs Are Back!

It is a lovely spring morning, and I am languishing in a puddle of sunshine I happened to spot in the window sill. Perusing my options for the day, I determine that rest is first on my agenda. Settling down for a quiet snooze, drifting silently away [some say noisily. Okay, I snore!], the window instantly becomes a whirlwind of activity – Nutmeg has dashed against the glass in a mad fury, apparently under the impression that some phantom burglar has attempted to break in.

Meanwhile, I am crouching in abject fear, lest that rotund physique should land upon my head. What the devil is going on, I ask myself. My Self replies, I haven’t a ruddy clue but there goes any chance of a decent nap!

Daring to peek above the furor as Nutmeg makes another flying leap at the pane, I spot him – The Dinosaur! I remember him from last year – a wild-eyed reptile all over shades of green with nubbly skin and not a stitch of fur. I note with admiration the claw-like feet that keep him clinging the ivy in the Great Outdoors. He moves steadily, if slowly, cautiously feeling his way along the limb. On seeing the Mad Tabby pelting toward him again, his chest swells into a bright red bubble, my eyes growing equally into great orbs of amazement - this fellow is chewing gum! I say, who would have thought that Dinosaurs did that? 

  I wonder which is his favorite? 

 I prefer mint flavor, myself.

My Self replied, You are straying from the subject at hand.

Oh sorry, back to the Reptilian Guy…

Waiting for the bubble to burst, I twist myself into a spiral to circumvent Nutmeg [and my sizeable tummy] in order to make a closer inspection. Expecting at any moment to see fire and smoke, I reach carefully to pat his little noggin but bump the glass instead. He runs a few feet, stops then rotates an eye in my direction in such a marked manner that I sit back, afraid any further movement might offend him. I understand completely - these Dinosaurs need their space! Freezing in my spot, I decide to merely observe this great creature in motion.

Not Nutmeg – any activity on the part of The Dinosaur, whom we all know fondly as Biffy, agitates her to no end. She leaped and scrabbled and fell back to earth – right on top of me!

That was all the encouragement I needed. To remove my fluffy Self from this scene of madness was with me the work of a moment. After such excitement, I felt the need for serious repose, and this time it would be somewhere that Nutmegs and Dinosaurs would not encounter me.

I took up residence in the laundry basket located on top of the Washing Machine and began to snooze. Little did I know there was a hefty moth lounging on the overhead light.

Did I mention that Nutmeg loves to catch moths?...

Catnip Bubbles!

Mummy brought us home a new treat – catnip bubbles!

What fun we have had, watching Mummy hold that little bottle, dig relentlessly for the tiny, stubborn yellow paddle then attempt to blow bubbles for us. 

She makes the most amusing faces, especially when the stuff spatters all over her nose.

She smells very appealing now.

The Case Of The Disappearing Cheese Roll

Fresh from the store with her arms full of the intriguing and delicious, Mummy piled the contents of the bags onto the counter tiles. Being Man Of The House, a duty taken quite seriously, I supervised the unloading of the foodstuffs with an intent stare. Delicate aromas curled ‘round my nose and drew me ever closer to the goods, one in particular captivating the old senses. What was that distinctive smell? It was like herbs and…let’s see, yogurt? No. Um, milk? Never!

I’ve got it – cheese!

Bread, herbs and cheese – Nectar of the Gods, I believe is the phrase. Or is that Necklace? Nectar, I think. At any rate, immediately I found myself nose to nose with a clear bag of freshly baked cheese rolls (I learned the name because Mummy observed what she referred to as my “greedy stare at her cheese rolls”,  snatching the lovely things away in the process. Only my greedy stare followed her move and noted their final resting place next to the glass canister on the northwest corner of the counter. Note the use of the word “final”….

It is now the midnight hour, and the house is quiet. Or at least as quiet as a house can be with eight kits snoring simultaneously. I am thinking about those delightful rolls and wondering how they are faring, all alone on the northwest corner of the counter, so I am taking a stroll to the kitchen in hopes of catching a glimpse of the golden brown, fragrant delights.

Did I mention I love bread and cheese?

Mummy left for a meeting this morning and merely breezed through the kitchen, swiping her keys from the southeast corner of the counter on her way out the door. Her voice rang out briefly about the package of rolls looking funny but apparently had no time to investigate. After holding my breath for what seemed an eternity then sighing with relief as the lock turned, I fell back into a dream-filled state, resting contentedly on my down pillow and feeling all was right with the world. A few minutes later, I was refreshed and ready to prowl, though there seemed only one place to be at this moment.

Did I mention I love bread and cheese?

Snoozing again (mid-morning nap), I was jarred from sleep by the Mumster returning. Clank went the keys on the marble, plop went the briefcase, sigh went the Mummy. Then “Wait a minute…” went she, and “I thought so!” as well. Who has been eating the cheese rolls, said Mummy, who also followed up with “you little rats” and “I might have known – I can’t have anything nice.”

Enter Mummy via the bedroom door, producing compelling evidence that a Bread Burglar was on the loose – viz: one package of freshly baked cheese rolls with a whacking great hole where a [whole] roll used to be.  The remaining bread was merely a shell of its former self. Even I had to admit it looked pretty bad. Still, that was as far as admissions need go. There is such a thing as discretion, particularly when Mummy is looming overhead wielding a plastic bag that did indeed look as if a rat had been at it. And though I resented being compared to a rat, I found that sobriquet not half so unappealing as the idea that at any moment Mummy may spot the crumbs in my teeth which I had been deeply savoring.

I put forth the notion that perhaps it was rats, or at least mice, as the place is teeming with them (the green one can be especially sneaky, I pointed out). Friedrich and Hortense are lounging in The Pool as we speak, said I, and suggested that Mummy give them a thorough questioning before closing the case. She merely gave me a knowing glance then biffed off to work at her desk, leaving me nonplussed – exactly what did she know? One can never tell with mothers; they are simply vague at times. Still, I find it completely unnecessary to rock the boat, as the old saying goes. Whose boat I cannot say but this is not a time for research.

It is, however, the perfect time for a nap.

So off to sleep I went, having moved a couple of inches toward the sunny southwest corner of the bed. 

Tomorrow is another day!

Urp.