Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Here kitty, kitty, kitty.

I have chosen the topic of…

 "How would you get your cat down out of a 10-foot 3 meter tall tree"

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Just off the top of my head I can think of several options: an axe, a chainsaw, a hose with a jet nozzle, an eloquent appeal to the cat's rational nature, or just grab the trunk and give the tree a prolonged vigourous shake.

However, if it was one of my cats I'd be a little less callous and much more panicked. But once my fear and my anger abated (JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH -- WHO LET THE CATS OUT OF THE BLOODY HOUSE?!?, I'd yell)  I'd just open a can of tuna.

(Awoken by the smell of tuna, Ezri is full of hope.
And fat.)

Osiris and Ezri are crazy for tuna. Mind you, Ezri is crazy for any type of food which is why she's on a diet.  Because of her portliness she doesn't get treats very often. At least from us; two weeks ago we realized she was prying open the Rubbermaid tub where her food is stored and grazing at will. This explains why the weight has been slow to shift off her frame.

(Osiris attempts to look cute in hopes that he gets some tuna.)

But Osiris in particular is crazy for fish and will perch a top the upper cabinets and mew at us while fish is being prepped or cooked or eaten. He is usually successful convincing me to give him a morsel. I justify this as part of my cultural heritage. I am the product of generations of Newfoundlanders who have tossed scraps of fish to their cats.

(When cute fails, go for menacing.)



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Today in social studies I was reading the boys a passage about John Cabot. In 1497 John Cabot set foot on the shores of Newfoundland, the province where I was born. When I read to Zarf and Klaxon I like to pause and ask questions. If it's fiction, I ask them to speculate about what will happen next or solicit their opinions about some detail of the story. With non-fiction I try to ask questions that pertains to their own lives or experiences. It's always my goal to make information tangible or relateable. Plus I like to make sure they're awake.  Which is why I paused and asked, "Where have you heard the name Cabot before?"

Zarf's eyes lit up and I knew that he was going to offer the answer I was looking for: Cabot Tower. Two summers ago our family visited this prominent landmark while vacationing in St John's, Newfoundland. 



But before Zarf could get the words out, Klaxon yelled, "Cabot Cove, Maine -- home of Jessica Fletcher."


I think I need to start monitoring that boy's television a bit more closely. 





13 comments:

  1. I'm reading this at 3:30AM because I have a head cold that won't let me sleep. And between Ezri prying open the Tupperware (!!) and Klaxon being a "Murder She Wrote" fan, I'm having to laugh silently into a tissue so as not to wake the household or disturb my recalcitrant sinuses.

    My cat is a such a fiend for tuna that if he hears the can opener, he comes running. Which is weird because we don't actually eat that much canned fish, so the chances that The Sound = Tuna Bits is maybe only one in twenty. When it IS tuna, I let him lick the can though, so his incentive to interrupt his busy schedule of napping and shedding all over the carpet is high.

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    1. With tuna I think that anything that gets Ezri moving is a plus! I'm very good at rationalizations.

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  2. My boy cat Butch is a fishaholic as well. When I'm parcelling out fish to freeze it he will sit as close to me as possible just to let me know he's there for any bits that I might want to give him. And if nothing comes his way quickly enough he taps my leg with his paw - claws out, so thank goodness he's a gentle boy.

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  3. Ah yes, the menacing cat look. We call it either looming or vulturing and it is the go to for one of our cats. The other cat opts for "look at me I'm so cute" and then does the thing where he sits up on his hind legs like a bear and begs. This makes it seem like I give my cats treats all the time, but no. They seldom get them, but evidently worry that if they don't menace/beg every time they hear the can opener and/or a bag rustling that sounds like the one their treats are kept in, they might miss out.

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    1. The white cat does a meerkat impression when she's contemplating jumping up onto the chesterfield. She likes to check things out before exerting herself.

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  4. The Cat Who Will Not Be Named will come and SHOVE POOR DYING FRANK away from tuna, which I think is brutal and uncaring. Nature is red in tooth and claw, Nan.
    G finds Murder She Wrote nightmarishly horrible: DON'T I CARE THAT ALL THESE PEOPLE KEEP GETTING MURDERED? Not really, sadly.
    - Beck

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    1. G. cracks me up. He's so caring. Whereas my two like to guess who's going to be the murder victim. They're ghoulish.

      Poor frail, long-lived Frank -- if any cat deserves tuna, it's him.

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  5. Your cat can open rubbermaid containers? I'm glad Barkley hasn't figured out that, because he would probably eat until his stomach actually exploded.

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    1. I watched her do it. She pryed the lid flap off the catch. Shoved her head in, grabbed a mouthful and ran off to eat it in peace. Meanwhile the black cat -- who I thought was the smarter of the pair -- sat there stymied. And jealous.

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  6. Ah yes, Jessica Fletcher - one of the most successful and prolific serial killers of all time.

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    1. HA! She's a sweet natured angel of death. I bet she smells of peppermints.

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  7. I did really have a thing for Murder She Wrote in my middle school years. Also, not very many friends....

    Also also, your kitty word problem is EXACTLY why I need my very own chainsaw. Ahem.

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