Go ahead. Feel free. I mostly write about my cats, it seems, and I haven’t had a chance to update in over a year.

For the record, my cat is awesome. I’ll take a 5% pay cut in exchange for being able to bring him to work with me each day (not really).

(I’ve also managed to accidentally trash my theme while trying to update my WordPress installation… but really, you shouldn’t be thinking about hiring me to do visual design, anyway. You should hire Albert Lee of Yellow Devil Designs.)

“I have something unpleasant to ask you to do.” This is never good. More laundry? Mopping floors? “Arista… didn’t make it.”

Rewind to Sunday night — four days ago. Mandrina and I were supposed to be working on our 2008 NaNos all day, but ended up running errands, instead. I was also supposed to be working-working, but that didn’t happen, either. So ten o’clock comes, and we’re finally sitting down to get an hour or two in before bed.

Part of Sunday had involved washing a cat crate and then bathing our two remaining fosters (Bristol – the momma – and Cardiff – the runt) so that they could be brought upstairs. Cardiff had met our household cats, and he and Dragon had INSTANTLY hit it off. It was past adorable into creepy. (Mandrina, we’re not keeping Cardiff-the-so-ugly-he’s-cute). Bristol, however, despite sniffing under the door for weeks, wasn’t at all interested in the house. She occasionally left the crate to hide under the futon, and once to use the litter box, but other than that… she would at least come to us to be pet, so we weren’t overly concerned.

I came back upstairs to discover Mandrina had brought her to sit between us on the futon while we wrote. Bristol was purring up a storm, so who was I to complain. We were writing, or trying to, and eventually Bristol got bored with us and hopped to the floor. A few minutes later, there was this incredibly high pitched whine. The last time I had heard anything like it was when Mandrina’s best-cat-ever had died, so my heart stopped for a moment.

I couldn’t see Bristol, but Mandrina could. “Bristol, are you… is that a kitten?” Words quickly devolved. We weren’t at all prepared to have a litter of kittens; it was a new experience, so I did what anyone with a modicum of common sense would do: call the foster agency’s twenty-four hour emergency line.

Twenty-four hours my ASS. So instead, we bundled again-momma cat and new kitten into a hamper, and took off to the 24-hour emergency vet around the corner. The kitten was LOUD! Bristol just wanted to be somewhere else, but was happy when we pet her. We brought them inside… and the vet sent us home with a ten page printout on how to give birth to kittens.

Short version: Let the mom handle it.

On the way home, Mandrina decried the little guy’s set of lungs, then, brilliance: “Let’s name her Aretha [Franklin.]”

“No, she could be a he or an it.”

“Then Motown.” And so, the decision was made that much like the last set of Fosters had been the British invasion (Ayton-Bristol-Cardiff-Dublin), this set would be classic recording labels.

We got home, and waited. A half hour later, we found out that Motown may have been loud, but new kitten Arista was high- pitched. Good lungs on that one!

Over the course of the next four hours, we got RCA, Columbia, and Abbey Road. Polygram was born overnight after we were sure Bristol must be done.

That poor, poor momma cat.

That was Sunday night — there was a distinct lack of sleep. I ran to Walgreens in order to get them a heating pad to sleep on, and I think they were warmer than I was. Cardiff was learning to socialize, and Bristol was allowed out of the crate as long as someone was around to make sure she returned to her little brats — the tiny little things were so small, Mandrina and I took to calling them “sausages” — the breakfast kind, not the McDonald’s or put-on-a-bun kind.

So back to tonight. Mandrina called, and asked me to bury the little guy. Or girl. Kittens don’t open their eyes for days, and can’t hear for weeks. So poor little Arista never got to see the world outside, never got to hear her name. She did get lots of love, and I know I held her for a few minutes last night; I could barely feel the weight she was so light.

I’ll add a picture later. It’s easier to tell them apart when they’re all together, and I’m afraid I’d add the wrong picture.

I came home tonight and buried her. It was far from the most fun thing in the world. I lifted a glass of my favorite Reisling; and don’t tell Mandrina or Bristol, but I buried her with some Grade-A Catnip. Wherever she’s going, she deserves it.

This would be one of the aforementioned stories. That’s Taj.

Our darling half-blind kitten Bit has her favorite toy firmly in hand… err, mouth. It’s the remnants of a toy that was once Glitch’s, and was then mostly destroyed by Pixel. Now neither of them want anything to do with it, but Bit adores the broken down ball of purple softness.

She came into the spare room (where I am), carrying it in her mouth. She put it to the floor in front of her, turned to me, and GROWLED.

Bit, for the record, weighs just over 3 and a half pounds.

She has since picked it back up with her mouth, carried it out of the room, and gone to see our other cats while carrying it. She runs up to Glitch or Pixel, toy in mouth, then growls protectively.

After doing a round of the downstairs in that manner, she’s now playing with the toy by herself in this room, making silly combinations of growling and whining noises. With no one near her. Bit is a silly kitty.

*Weight prior to freeze-drying.

Does anyone else see the problem I have with this container of cat treats?

My kitten-blog is being updated again! I really need to add a new category: “Kittens.”

I just walked into the spare room, which happens to be the only room in the house with a south-facing window.

It’s also the room where there’s a queen-size mattress and box spring set sitting on their sides, leaning against said window (long story).

I walked in, and wished I had my camera (it’s with Mandrina for work-related stuff). Glitch is currently lying on his side, with his tummy exposed to the sun. Just in front of him, far enough away as to not block the precious sunlight, Pixel is in the same exact position — just smaller.

Okay, maybe I’m starting to like these kittens.

It’s just entertaining enough that I’m going to see if it improves — it’s no Buffy, that’s for certain.

I’m reading up on CSS and XHTML — apparently, frames are a no-no — as I have to create the website for our wedding. I should probably not care so much, but I kinda liked the neatness of the Google Web Toolkit — recreating the page dynamically via AJAX seems like fun — albeit overkill. The wedding page needs things like the location and time, not fancy-schmancy effects. Note me still reading up on CSS.

Meanwhile, I have a kitten named Bit on my right, leaning right up against my leg. I have a kitten named Pixel leaning up against my left leg. I have a cat named Glitch sitting at the end of the futon. And now Bit just ran off, probably to do something she’s not supposed to do… I can’t believe I just watched 52 minutes of Blade, and only now is it getting violent. Disappointing.

Glitch has always been free-fed. His food bowl, as regularly as possible, has been kept filled with food. Not always to the brim, but there’s almost always food available for him. Between my work schedule and Mandrina’s gimpiness when we first got him, it seemed like the thing to do. He’s a nice, slender cat, too, so it hasn’t led to any massive weight gain.

Our two problems, however, are making me have to reconsider. Both have “sensitive stomachs,” and I’ve spent a pretty penny figuring that part out. Bit has problems with her output — as in, where it should go. She has never tried to get to Glitch’s food, however.

Pixel, on the other hand, takes the fact that Glitch’s food is up on a table as a challenge. He’s used bar stools as skipping stones. He’s leapt from the top of a 4′ high DVD rack to a table three feet away. He’s the athlete of the two — and too stupid to be scared. He also doesn’t associate punishment “properly.”

The last straw was today. Mandrina and I did some cleanup in the living room over the last week and a half. One of the items moved was the DVD shelf I eventually need to find a better place for. For the moment, it’s living in the breakfast nook. See previous note re Pixel jumping from the top. So I moved the DVD rack a few days ago so that he could no longer jump to the top of it from another table; I moved it next to the table with Glitch’s food. It worked for a whole three days. Then Pixel discovered this morning that he could climb up the side of it, using the Plastic-wrap-like substance that was used to keep all the DVDs in while we were moving. I caught him, and moved the DVD shelf so that if he tried to climb it where he had been, he would bump his head into the bottom of the table.

I came home tonight to discover Glitch needed food. Guess what! He needs food again. Pixel found another route up to Glitch’s food, I’m not even sure which one. I’m tired of trying to make Glitch have to work for his food. It might be time to start feeding Glitch on a schedule — as if I had one!

Anyone have any ideas how to change a cat from free-fed to scheduled feedings?

It does NOT help that a kitten named Pixel decided to climb up into my chair and lie down (is that right, Abigail?) in my lap, PURRING as he falls asleep.

Just not fair!