Warm bed

The humans are not very good at regulating the temperature of their house. When we first got here, it was hot all the time. They seemed to be able to make some rooms cooler, some of the time, but not the whole house. We had to lie on the floor to stay cool, and drink lots of water.

But now it's much pleasanter. Perhaps they've worked out how to get it right, although they keep muttering that it will get colder. If they know that, why don't they do something about it?

Anyway, there's a very nice bed in the living room. I don't know if we're supposed to sleep in it, but I've noticed the old cat Cleo getting in there sometimes, and the humans don't stop her.

I thought I'd try it a few days ago, when the floor was feeling a bit on the chilly side. Just as I was about to curl up and go to sleep, my sister decided to join me:

It was really very comfortable although there wasn't much room to stretch out:

Still, I can see that we might make more use of this if it really does get colder. Particularly when the older cats want it...

Trolley

There is always so much to explore in our house, and so many mysteries to solve. One of them involves a kind of bag on wheels which the humans call a 'trolley'. Most of the time it sits near the front door; then at random times the female human takes it out for half an hour or so, and when she returns it's full of all kinds of exciting things, usually in smaller plastic bags. She won't let us play with them; she gets quite annoyed when we tear up the bags and try to eat them.

However I don't know where all the interesting things come from, or how she knows when to go out and collect them.

Still, the trolley itself is quite an interesting toy in its own right. Sometimes there are tantalising dangly cords in front of it, but I reckon they're a bit dangerous. I pulled them once, and it fell over on top of me. Thankfully it wasn't too heavy and I ran away before they found the camera.

Since then, the humans have put the dangling cords inside the trolley. I expect they did this to try and fool me, but I quickly figured out that it's a lot more fun to play with them this way - and I can now jump inside the trolley without knocking it over.

My sister doesn't join me inside - she's a bit of a scaredy-human at times - but she watches, so I often put my paw out to tempt her to battle.

I was thrilled to discover that a film was made about this, even if it's only 22 seconds long:

The trouble with this game is that I'm rather restricted by the bag part of the trolley. And then it's not so easy to get out without knocking the whole thing over...

... but I usually succeed.

A thing about paper

I want to make it clear that, while I am the bigger and stronger kitten, my sister causes just as much trouble as I do.

Well, sometimes.

For instance, she has a thing about paper. Not that I have anything against paper - it's good to play with, particularly when it's big, crunched up pieces, or when it's blowing around and has to be stilled.

But my sister Joan likes to EAT paper.

A few days ago, the humans produced some more boxes with things inside, and an envelope that had - bizarrely - a thick folding piece of paper inside, which they stood up. Joan had to investigate, to see what it tasted like:

They stopped her doing that, so she turned her attention to a big envelope that had fallen on the floor. Floor items are for cats, by definition, right?

The humans watched her for a while, but when she started tearing pieces out of the envelope, one of the humans commented that it wouldn't be good for her - and took it away. 

She's pretty accepting of this kind of thing; after all, there are plenty of other toys around the house. 

In the evening, she noticed one of her favourite toys: a box with thin paper poking out, the kind of paper that tears easily. 

The humans don't like this kind of paper much - sometimes they pull one out and wipe it on their noses, then they just crunch it up and throw it away. 

They don't even play with it first. 

What a waste.  

Joan discovered a while ago that this kind of paper has a sort of magic inside. When one of the thin sheets is pulled out, another one pops up! She gets quite excited with so much paper and started pulling and pulling until one of the humans decided to stop her. Yet again. 

As you can see, I was simply a quiet spectator on these occasions. 

Nice human food!

A few days ago, Joan and I were about to fall asleep in the female human's study, when we heard the big sliding door closing.

This usually only happens if there are visiting small humans watching the television when the adult humans are playing a game in the dining room. But we thought nothing of it - humans are, after all, both unpredictable and illogical - until the old cat called Sophia started calling loudly, saying that there was 'nice human food'!

It actually sounded as if she were saying 'chicken', but that didn't make sense. The humans had just had lunch, with cheese and eggs and bread, all of which are delicious, but chicken is for evenings.

Still, we had to go and investigate:

We couldn't see - or smell - anything interesting. Sophia often talks a lot, loudly, so we thought perhaps she was just saying that she would like some chicken. It seemed like a silly thing to shout about when the door was shut; we could hear the male human doing something in the kitchen but he doesn't usually prepare nice food.

Then the very old cat, Cleo, arrived too: 

She evidently thought there was something going on as well. We have a lot of respect for Cleo, though I'm not entirely sure why. But if Cleo believed there was some nice chicken, maybe she was right. Then again, she could have been fooled by Sophia's cries.

Joan wondered if she could get behind the door:

But that was no good. She's smaller than me, but not that small.  

We started to catch Sophia's impatience, although we had no idea what to expect.

And then...

Wow!

The doors opened, and we all raced inside to find plates with the most wonderful human food:

The humans said this was 'scraps' and that the male human had been 'stripping a chicken to freeze', but we didn't even try to work out what that meant. 

Happily, the old cats are now willing to share dishes with us. We plan to let this state continue for a while, until we've worked out how to get ahead of them when there's a queue for food. 

Sleeping position

Sometimes my humans are not very complimentary.

In warm weather, I like to spread myself out. There is plenty of room on the bed, after all.

Inelegant?

Moi??

"Oh Alex!"

When I first heard the humans say, 'Oh Alex', I assumed it was a term of respect. My instincts tell me that my ancestors, in another place, were worshipped in a way that really doesn't seem to happen these days. Perhaps, I thought, 'O Alex' was a way of letting me know that I was revered, that they were thankful I had made my home amongst them.

Unfortunately, I soon realised that it's a term of frustration rather than of adoration. The humans seem to think that the house is theirs, and that they can decide where we may and may not go. This is not very intelligent of them; clearly we can (and do) go wherever we wish when they are not looking. Unless a door is shut, of course. We have yet to unravel the mysteries of door handles.

But when one of them is in the kitchen, they don't like us going on the work surfaces - even when they've put something new and exciting there, something that evidently requires some exploration:

'Oh Alex!' is then said, with a sigh. Sometimes they pick up the silvery flashing box thing, but not always. Mostly they just grab hold of me and put me back on the floor.  I am attempting to show them how undignified this is by turning my back and having a good wash, but they don't seem to notice.

They don't like me going in the kitchen sink, either. This is mystifying because the water for our dishes comes out of a metal spout in the sink. You would think it would save them time and effort if they just left the water running constantly, so we could help ourselves: 

However, humans are quite stuck in their ways. We have to humour them.  

Not that it always helps. A couple of days ago, they put one of those wonderful things called 'pitta bread' in a plastic bag, on the work surface. I love pitta bread. The humans seem to find this surprising, and expect us only to like meat and cheese and yogurt. But I think most human food is worth trying, and pitta bread is one of my favourites.

They left the kitchen, and Joan and I jumped up on the work surface to get at the pitta bread. It's easy to scratch our way into the bag, and we were just about to get started when I remembered that the humans really don't like it when we eat anywhere other than the floor. 

So, not wanting to cause any distress, I pulled the bag onto the floor. It was easier for us then anyway; no worries about falling backwards off the work surface, and we had fun pulling the bag apart, and starting to eat the pitta inside. 

Unfortunately we got a bit carried away, and it made quite a bit of noise, so the female human came to see what was going on.

That was a major 'Oh Alex!' moment. 

I still don't know why she was so annoyed. 

Paper toy

Sometimes our humans go out of the door, making sure we don't go too. My sister sometimes manages to escape but they catch her quickly. She's quicker than me, and lighter... so if she can't succeed, I reckon there's not much point trying.

At least, not for now.

The humans get home again before too long. If we go to sleep, they get home very quickly indeed. And quite often, they bring things with them. I suppose they go foraging around outside - there are so many interesting things to find out there! - and as humans have the advantage of being big and strong, AND they can walk on just two legs, there's quite a lot of scope for them to carry stuff in those odd-shaped feet that they call 'hands'.

Yesterday the male human had a lot of rustly bags that were full of good smells, but the other human took things out and put them quickly into different cupboards in the kitchen. I suppose she thinks she's hiding them, although we always watch carefully.

They also brought back some boxes. I think boxes are wonderful. The older cats like to sit in them and go to sleep, but we kittens know that boxes contain TOYS!

Three of the biggest boxes were piled on the table, and then one of the humans used that strange black object with the little buttons on the front. We still haven't worked out what these are, but they seem to be some kind of communication magic. Sometimes they even talk into them, but this time she just pressed lots of the buttons in a random order. Or maybe not so random. Perhaps it's a secret code. 

Sure enough, the tall human called Tim arrived a while later, and was quite excited to see the boxes too. He said they were 'late birthday presents', whatever that means. He opened them up, and took out some of those thick pads of paper that they call 'books', and looked very pleased about them. 

Humans have such strange priorities. 

There was a much more interesting big piece of paper in the box. This one hadn't been cut up and squashed into a book. Evidently this was intended for us, although Tim didn't mention it - I expect he was a bit jealous, as he simply threw it on the floor, while he took more things out of the box.

What a wonderful game we had. This paper was long, and made a most satisfying crunchy sound when we pulled it. My sister likes to bite paper, and it was quite easy to tear: 

I pretended to be caught up in it, for a moment, but the humans were ignoring me. Well, other than the one who had picked up the small metal thing that she puts in front of her face sometimes.

I don't like the bright light that comes out of that silvery box, but there's a lovely dangly cord thing which I am determined to catch hold of one day. 

We had a wonderful time playing with this new toy.  

But we shouldn't have taken out eyes off it. It was still there when we went back to play again, later, but then one of the humans picked it up. She didn't put it with our toys, though. She started folding it up, and then put it in a sliding box in that tall white thing where they keep lots of rustly bags and pieces of paper and empty cans and other wonderful toys:

We haven't discovered how to get inside these white boxes yet, but we're working on it... 

Exploring Outside

Back in our early kittenhood, our mother taught us about 'outside'. Most of outside does not have any roof, this is how we know the difference. The walls look different, too, and we can go a lot further away. Our mother told us where we could go, and called us in when we tried to explore further. There are lots of interesting things outside.

When we moved to our current home, we didn't think there was any outside at first. Then we learned about 'the balcony', which is sort of like outside, with some unusual toys and lots of space, but we can't get from there to the real outside with other humans, and plants, and cars.

For a while our humans let us outside for a short time when they were eating in the middle of the day. They said it was less trouble than pushing us off the table all the time. We liked going outside very much, but one day I went through an open door, and met a human who didn't seem to like me very much. He shouted a lot, and I hid under a convenient bed. One of my humans came to find me, and said that perhaps we should stay inside for a while longer.

Today, they decided to let us go outside again. The door in the room where they eat is at the top of a strange staircase that goes around in curves, so we hurried down, in case they changed their minds. I was confused to see some walls at the bottom, and stopped to sniff:

Then I saw a plant with lots of lovely long bits to pat and play with:

I was having fun when one of my humans came down, and I was afraid she might pick me up to take me inside again, so I ran away, and around another bit of wall to a place where my humans don't seem to want to go. There was a white car there, and some buckets and plants - so many things to explore:

My sister Joan followed me - she is not so adventurous as me, but she doesn't like to be on her own. She sniffed the car:

Then she sniffed at some plants, and a bucket.

Then our other human came down and called to us. He said we shouldn't go into the 'neighbour's yard'. I thought the neighbour's yard was somewhere else. But maybe it's lots of places. I didn't want to be picked up and taken inside, and I thought I should set a good example to Joan, so I came out of there, and went round to another big place, a bit like the balcony, but with more places to escape to.

I hadn't been there long when I saw something very exciting: 

It smelled like a bird, but it didn't fly away. It was hard to carry in my mouth, but it blew around a bit in the wind. My human was there but he just watched, sometimes putting a shiny box thing in front of his face:

I had a lot of fun, although I realised that Joan was no longer there. I discovered later that she had lost me, so she went back up the outside stairs to find the female human. Joan would rather stay inside with people - even if they're only human - than play on her own.

I knew it was too good to last.

Just as I was thinking of doing some more exploring, perhaps into the other neighbour's yard, the human picked me up and took me back inside. 

Escape!

Tonight I found the front door open!

Success!

I waited until the family, with our first family who were visiting, were sitting at the table. Actually I didn't notice the door at first. One of the humans opened some tuna so that we cats could have the juice, and then one of my humans dropped some egg. Joan and I shared it.

Then I saw Cleo, the old black cat, go out of the door - it wasn't shut properly.

I couldn't believe it at first, but nobody saw me so I hurried out. It was quite dark and a bit scary, but I didn't go far.

A few minutes later I heard a couple of the humans call for me, so I hid under a tree. I thought they would come and look for me - the scent was easy to follow. But they went in. I don't know why humans are so bad at hide and seek. I played with some leaves, then I started to wonder how I would get back inside if the door was closed.

Then another human came down, and called me, but I stayed hidden. Then she sneakily asked the old tortoiseshell cat Sophia where I was. Isn't that cheating in hide and seek? Sophia knew, of course. She started sniffing and walking towards me, so I knew I would be found. I stepped out to show the human where I was, and she picked me up. It felt most undignified, as if I'm not mature enough to be outside yet. So I tried to get down, but she held me tightly, and I thought perhaps it would be nice to be inside again.

Everybody seemed very pleased to see me.

A handsome cat

I believe I am a handsome cat. I think this is a good thing although I do not know what it means.

My humans have collected some toys which are kept in a basket:

I think they expect us to play with them when we are bored.

They don't understand.

If they play too, then of course we will join in. But where's the fun in choosing an allocated toy to play with by ourselves? There are far more interesting things to play with around the house. Tissues, ants, plugs, books. I'm sure there are lots more things too.

I've found a nice box to sleep in, outside above the washing machine. It usually has some nice used towels in it, which make a good nest:

When the humans eat, we like to be with them. But they won't let us on the table. We've given up trying now, unless of course the smell is REALLY good.

Instead I explore the high places in the room. One day I'm going to catch the thing that goes around and around, hanging from the ceiling. I think it's one of my fans.

In the meantime, I can attract attention quite nicely by jumping on the highest bookcases: