My Name is Grace, How Do You Do

I am the upstairs cat. I live in the guest bedroom. I am plotting my escape now that I feel better. I still get two shots a day. Damn vet. I have been poked and prodded. One day, I am going to get out of this room. In the meantime, I just make it difficult for Monty to take pictures of me, and I won't play with him or his wife too much. I won't spoil them while I have to stay in this room. One day..........



Ah, the cat version of red eye, green eye! But he did get me below.



I'm really a sweetheart when you get to know me. I may play hard to get for a while, but they tell me I was really sick for a while. Hard to believe it when you look at me.



Stay tuned for more exciting adventures when they let me lose with that little orange ball of fur who hides behind the door. Our day will come....

We Have A Guest Blogger

Hi, my name is Jake, and Monty and Judy live with me and this girl cat who is upstairs in quarantine with toxoplasmosis, a parasite in her blood. But why talk about her when I'm here, the caped crusader.



Monty is trying to get me to stop biting, like that's going to happen anytime soon. One of my best hunter games comes from me hiding in the bedroom until he and Judy go to sleep. I wait until they are both asleep, then I jump up onto the bed and I attack his arm where it sticks out of the covers. He loves it when I sink my teeth into his arm, he's so proud of me, his great hunter.

Lately, he has made the game harder, by closing the door when either of them leave in the morning. So I have to hide and try to sneak in when one of them goes through the door.



Then, there was the time I decided to help Judy file, or whatever she wanted to do in that thing.



I'll get the hang of it



OK, what's the trick to doing this?



I could go on and on, what with Monty's no biting zones and no hunting zones, but I have no idea what he's talking about, as he's finding out. I'd go on, but there's just so much that an 8 week old kitten can write. See y'all soon!

A Little Mental Health

I cannot begin to tell you how much fun a kitten is, or can be. Yesterday, I called him Peter Lorre in the "Hunchback of Notre Dame". On the other hand, he loves playing Korean War Games. The other day, he successfully defended the Inchon Resevoir against the entire Chinese Army, complete with trumpets, while they screamed (well, one grunted) "Marine, you die". The cat is fearless, a real Aldo Ray.



The two of them are checking out the back yard, acting normal. This lasts maybe 3 nanoseconds before she smacks him for attacking her. He is in permanent attack mode, with energy to spare. Even she does not intimidate him, although he chooses to count coup, and run like hell. At 16 months, she has mellowed out.



Wiggle worm has initiated an all-out war against my left hand, starting at my left thumb and forefinger. This one has not mastered probability yet. He's a warrior.



After escaping from the dreaded "fist of death", he picked a new target, the other cat's tail. She simply kept moving it out of range, or let him grab it, then pulled it away. Mother cats know more about raising kittens than humans, I think.



After slaughtering all known enemies, and everything around them, the typical warrior cat catches a little shuteye, typically on the recliner in the family room in front of the TV. He will probably like Animal World where he too will learn to drag his prey between his legs. More to come.