BeachHead

She said: (The rabbit who peed on his foot.) Photograph by Misa, who just returned from a visit to France.  I couldn't resist posting it! 

And as Lynn would say, while pointing and running arms akimbo, "Bunnnyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!"

She said: OK, so it's not Friday.  But I know you're not reading this blog to hear about us.  Tell the truth: you only come in hopes of finding out what Max and Milo have done broken lately. 

Last winter when Priscilla came to visit, she took some pictures.  When we received a Christmas card from her last week, these portraits were enclosed.  I took digital pictures of them (sorry, the scanner's still in a box) and uploaded them (thanks, Ali!). 

The pictures are a little out of date (about a year old), but they capture the cats' personalities so well.  That's Max ("what can I mess with next?") on the left and Milo ("hey - I'm a cat") on the right.

Chris suggested photoshopping a mugshot plate onto each cat.  Anyone want to give it a shot?

She said: The best darn entertaiment of the week: watching this video with Mike, Max and Milo alongside.  Crikey -- my stomach is cramping, I've cried all over myself, my cheeks hurt, I almost peed myself.... and I had to share.

He said: Since we're on the subject of cats...  We brought the cats to the vet this morning for some urinalysis.  That concluded, we went around the side of the office to receive the cats at the parking lot door.  The vet technician (?) mentioned that Milo's bladder was very very full, and that we should observe him carefully over the weekend.  If Milo didn't relieve himself, he said, we needed to take him to the ER.  Sigh.  Okay, we said, thanks for the info - we'll keep an eye on him.

What we should have said: Don't worry, Milo will empty his entire bladder in the cat carrier in the trunk of the car on the way home, and then poop on top of that.  Thanks anyhow.

He said: Max has this annoying tendency of waking us in the middle of the night.  Picking fights with Milo, pulling books out of shelves, knocking cellphones off tables, yanking CD's out of shelves, pulling pictures off walls, and yes - attacking sleeping humans (Also known as pink-fleshy-underlings in catspeak).  I suspect it's a mixture of hunger and boredom that causes this.  We've been quarantining Mr. Maxter of Disaster in the bathroom so that we can get some shut-eye that is uninterrupted by the Fanged Fury. 

Lo and behold, and through much loud experimentation, Max has now figured out how to open the bathroom door.  We are so screwed.

He said: This week's Friday Cat Blogging is about Psycho Ninja Cats (PNC's).  As some of you have witnessed, when the cats decide to fight, it is apocalyptic.  Fur flies, furniture is knocked over, and the screaming is nerve-shattering.  We usually part the champions by throwing a blanket over them, or putting a chair between them.  Water can do the trick, but seeing as how it takes a few gallons, it's not a practical indoor solution.  We then whisk one of them away and sequester them for a bit.  Yesterday morning, while on my way to the shower, a war broke out and I grabbed Milo to carry him off.  Still overcome by jungle-rage, Max darted after me and launched himself into my thigh with teeth and claws.  Three puncture wounds, two three inch gouges, and a handful of long scratches were the result.  Note to self - grab Max, not Milo.  I'll punish him later by putting rubber bands around his ears.

The sheer amount of fur that comes off in one of these bouts is amazing - I'm surprised the cats aren't bald yet.  Fur in little wisps and large clumps float through the air and accumulate all over the apartment.  It may be time for a Roomba.  Cat-scratches swell in humans, but in cats they produce eschars - long strings of scab material with hairs sticking out of them.  For the morbidly curious, here's a zoomed in shot.  It's gross, but it beats pictures of my bloody upper thigh.

She said: Groady.

She said: OK, so we've been bad.  The slow rhythms of life out here in the week after Christmas kinda get us down.  And Geir's sick too.  He's been coughing so badly at night neither one of us gets much sleep.  Saturday: call the doctor!  But today is Friday, and I seem to recall making a promise of Friday cat blogging.  And we missed last week, so we definitely owe you now. 

The image I will show you is of what easily COULD have been the fault of a kitty -- but nay, it was the fault of humans.  We were unwrapping items inside the box labelled: "KITCHEN, glass/liquids."  Unwrapping carefully, mind you, anticipating leaking soy sauce and balsamic vinegar.  Instead, what we found was a bottle of grenadine syrup (a gift from Andrea because she knows I love Shirley Temples) that had been carefully wrapped in paper along the length of the bottle, but none at the base.  So as Geir unwrapped it, the bottle slipped and landed BAM!  on the concrete floor.  I was washing dishes at the time, and we both froze in our bare feet as we looked down to see shards of cherry-bloody glass scattered across the floor.  The red syrup spotted Geir's feet and my first thought was 'blood!' -- but it was sweet instead.  All told, it took about half an hour to clean up entirely.  Which is saying something, because we don't yet have a mop!

The other item which I wanted to be sure to blog was some Long Beach street media.  Andre rocks out on the west side. I believe this was on Broadway, on a signpost in front of a coffeeshop Central Square would be proud of.