Favorite LOLCat

We are liking this LOLCat in the Meankitty household this week (see below). Otherwise Big D and I have been busy chasing Zsu Zsu pets around the living room that mysteriously showed up in baskets this a.m. They don’t taste very good, btw, even though there’s a distinct smell of “bunny” around the premises.

The ZsuZsus crawl under Typing Slave’s recliner, not the fridge.

Meankitty & Big D

Kiss Kiss, Meankitty!

A conversation between Pink Thing (who’s now 8, if you can believe that!) and myself:

PT: Mom, Meankitty kissed me again.

Me: I guess she likes you.

PT: Yeah, it was kind of a French kiss.

Me: *********

PT: She licked my mouth and I was so surprised.

Me: Where did you hear about French kissing?

PT: A kid at school told me.

Me: Oh?

PT: She said it was kind of gross. When your tongues touch.

Me: Yes, it certainly can be.

PT: Not for French people, I guess.





PS: Meankitty hates Beatles: Rock Band. More on that later!

The Force Was With Me

And by that I mean, the humans had to “force” me out of their way when they were working on their Halloween costumes the past two weeks. Every year they do this. I can’t for the life of me figure out WHY, but they seem to enjoy it.

Typing Slave got the four grown up Jedi and one small Princess Leia costumes done in time for the humans to hit the dark and spooky trail at the zoo this past week-end, but it was a struggle, and I’m proud to say that I was part of that struggle!

Here are some illustrations of my tricksy cleverness:

Typing Slave conned the other humans into helping with the costumes–some folderol about since they were the ones who wanted to wear them, they had to work for it. Both Food Slave and Nanny Slave got a taste of cutting out a sewing pattern. Neither had done such a thing before and probably won’t do it again. You can see that they had exceptionally gifted assistance from myself.

There was a better picture my booty in Nanny Slave’s face, but Nanny Slave said it showed “too much” (too much what, of my booty?? no such thing!) and wouldn’t let us post it. At one point Big D was getting in on the pesky action until he heard the rattle of the treat bag in the kitchen, at which point he deserted me for food. Not that I needed his help to get on Nanny Slave’s last nerve.

I also spent quite a bit of time three inches from the sewing machine whenever TS was using it, vulturing her and making her worry I was going to playfully stick my paw under the needle. As if! And of course every square inch of their costumes was covered in cat hair. I took naps on any fabric I could find strewn about, and lately I’ve been working on the orange velvet trick or treat bags TS is creating for the “big night”.

Pink Thing’s Leia costume was completed first, except for the crazy bun hat, which was a ski cap with crocheted lumps pinned to the sides. TS swears she’s going to crochet a more appropriate cap to go with the buns, but here she is on the computer instead of crocheting now that she has a day with Loud Thing at the sitter.

Nanny Slave in full Jedi regalia, accompanied by the smallest and greenest Jedi, Mistress Yoda. The Yoda costume was store-bought.

Originally, TS intended to make Lego masks for everyone, since Lego Star Wars was the inspiration for the costumes and not, as might be assumed, the live action movies or cartoon that was recently released in theaters. The masks did not come to pass, which is a good thing because she would have done such a terrible job, nobody would have “gotten” it.

So say me all.


Dear People With Kids…

I am not a neatnik. I am neither Spartan nor obsessive about cleaning; I am not hugely organized and my feng is more shooey than shui. Cleaning takes precious time away from writing, so I do a minimum, hubby does a little more than a minimum, and we rush around like lunatics with a vacuum cleaner whenever somebody is supposed to come over.

However, I am finding that #1 (age 6) is such a clutterbug that sometimes it makes me want to cry. She saves everything from broken McDonald’s toys to pieces of ripped up paper or shreds of dead leaves. Nothing is garbage unless I tell her it has to be. Messes follow in her wake like dirt follows PigPen from the Charlie Brown comics. I keep the door to her room closed so I don’t have to see it, though the mess sometimes creeps into the rest of the house like a kudzu of crap. We often “misplace” things in there like socks, ballet shoes, money, dishes, school books, more socks, the remote control, my laptop mouse, photo albums, and so on.

So, people with kids, what can you expect from a 6 yr old re: cleaning her room and keeping it at least kinda sorta picked up so it’s not unusually dangerous, with broken pieces all over the floor that will cut you and make you trip into the dresser, requiring stitches in your head? (This actually happened to her.)
When we ask her to pick up, which we do every couple days, she picks up half of what she’s gotten out and her room usually looks like a hazardous waste dump, Barbie style. Sometimes it’s such a huge chore that we just ask her to “clear a path” to her bed so when she gets up for her midnight potty run, she doesn’t get hurt.

We have what I feel is a great system for organization so simple even my husband understands it: toys of certain types go in a series of tubs, and she’s only supposed to have one type of toy out at a time for easier cleaning — because she can toss everything into the appropriate tub when she’s done. Legos go in the legos tub. Barbies go in the Barbie tub (and suitcase). Dinosaurs go in the dinosaur tub. The items for each tub are easy to sort. It doesn’t have to be perfect, but if you put everything roughly where it goes, there is even extra space in her room. *Gasp!*

I don’t feel I should venture into her room on a weekly basis for a thorough cleaning, but man, the rubbish really gets to me. And when I do a thorough cleaning, like today (hence the rant), it takes hours and hours.


Making the Kiddies Cry

I’m a little tired today, Meankitty fans, after my great tricks at 2:30 a.m. last night. There is a half door to Pink Thing’s room meant to prevent Loud Thing from freely wandering inside and eating doll shoes, falling off bookcases or getting a spontaneous haircut by safety scissors that wield themselves. The door works. It just doesn’t work to keep me and Big D out, although it’s much easier for me to vault my sleek and lithe form up and over than it is for Big D, who’s a hunka chunka.

Anyway, some nights when Nanny Slave isn’t sleeping upstairs and thus requiring my tormenting presence in another part of the house, I like to party downstairs. Last night my partying involved jumping over and over and over the half door, sometimes whacking the top with my strong back legs to make it rattle on its hinges. I did this until Pink Thing woke halfway and started crying (she is NOT nocturnal like I am), which woke Typing Slave and Food Slave and it almost woke Loud Thing, which would have been a moment of sheer triumph, since that kid sleeps like a rock at night. (During daytime naps she is much, MUCH easier to wake, as I have found.)

Typing Slave was convinced Pink Thing was suffering from some stomach ailment and made her go to the bathroom so she wouldn’t kip all over the floor as she has a tendency to do, but she finally figured out the kid was crying because of sleepus interruptus, courtesy of moi.

Hee hee!

It’s just funny to see them stumbling around at 2:30 a.m. trying to figure out which way is up. When she realized what, exactly, the problem was and who had caused it, Typing Slave even tried to kick me, missed and almost fell down. Zombie humans make me laugh.

If you want to try this one at home, SOHC members, it’s more effective if you can work through a small human. Of course, partying within earshot of any sleeping human has its charms as well, but I really like to add a little layering and complexity to my tricks sometimes.


Turtles Are Deadly

After tiring of the toilet flush, Grandma and Pink Thing now love this video and have sent it to me to post on the blog. I find it less funny than they do. I mean, a turtle chasing a cat?? Get real. We’re not DOGS.

In fact, I wouldn’t mind seeing the turtle in the following photo go rabid. This is Grandmaslave’s stupid dog, Frances:


A Meankitty Holiday Fable

One of the tasks Pink Thing completes in k-garden is to make little booklets of her own words and coloring. Yesterday she brought home a book entitled “The Christmas Tree” that we here in the Meankitty household immediately recognized as a Meankitty fable. The pictures are not interesting because they are not freehand, but the short story is as follows:

Up went the Christmas tree,
Up went the lights,
Up went the star,
Up went the candy canes,
Up went the ornaments,
Up went the cat…

Down came the tree.

The moral of this story is that a cat in the tree is worth two on the couch, insofar as being destructive is concerned.

We’ll upload an illustration when lazy ole Typing Slave can brave the upstairs and the scanner!