Since we recently reached 4-ish months of age, Kharis and Erik have decided that Holden and I are now old enough to be responsible for updating our own pages from time to time.

The only thing I have to report, embarrasingly enough, is that I am full of gas and am quite smelly. It makes me so unhappy; Kharis and Erik occasionally discuss investing in some "Bean-No" to help me, but do they ever do this? No, they prefer to make scrunched up "ewww-what's-that-horrible-smell" faces, and later laugh about my condition with their friends. I'm left with no choice but to drown my sorrows in cat-nip, cruel world.

Love, Phoebe
posted at 7:22 PM

Holden has now learned to climb what can only be referred to as his very own Jacob's Ladder. Although he is too small to access the coveted kitchen counter top in a single bound, he recognizes that this promised paradise can still be earned if only he, faster than a speeding bullet, utilizes the ascending kitchen drawer handles as one would the rungs of a ladder.

But this path can only lead to the depths of insanity. Just when he feels most certain that he is only a hair's bredth away from obtaining glory, a fierce stream of water inevitably throws him from the ladder and leaves him gasping in a puddle on the floor. However, having nearly tasted the sweet fruits of his labor, even this cruel obstacle is not enough to deter him. Sadly, this scene is destined to repeat itself endlessly, night after night, while Phoebe, his dearest friend looks on, helpless to stop it.
posted at 9:22 PM

Friday afternoon, I'm home from work, Holden's running happy and free, sqeeking to high heaven....but where's Phoebe? Vell, vell, vell, it seems zhat za evil Erik, in one of his (increasingly common) fits of madness, was thoughtful enough to shut her in his dresser drawer for the day. And since one human day equals a kitty week, that lunatic had essentially locked Phoebe away for 3ish-4ish days! But what the makers of hit TV show,"That's Incredible," didn't tell you is that not once, in all 3ish-4ish of her dresser days, did she break down and use the restroom. Bowel of iron; Phoebe's the best kitten ever!
posted at 10:52 PM

When Holden is bad we squirt him. Holden is always bad. Holden is always wet. Holden is unrelenting. We think Holden might enjoy water. Phoebe remains well behaved and slightly perplexed.
posted at 10:00 PM

Phoebe has taken to hidding, relentlessly, in my sock drawer. The first sign of danger, uncertainty, or even just a mild hint of concern in the air and Phoebe's off like a rocket for that dresser, she squeezes behind the dresser, forces the coveted drawer open, and from there plunges into the safety of the socks.
Needless to say, Erik and my hands are literally wringing with conservative parental worry. What did we do wrong, where did we make the wrong turn, what, oh, WHAT can we possibly do from here? We're so ashamed of this vague sign of parental failure that sometimes we even have to avoid each other's eyes in embarrassment. The word psychotherapy drips from our lips.
posted at 8:07 PM

Unlike myself, who is virtually untrainable, the kittens can infact be trained. And they've been trained to scurry up the nearest vertical object when the word "post" in exclaimed in an overly-excited fashion. "Post!" I squeel in an overly-excited fashion, "post!" And up the Thai-goddess statuette they hustle, right past her mudra of peace to the top of her lotus crown, eager to be showered in chorus of gleeful human shrieks and kitty treats.

Incidentally, Erik could post pictures of this event if he had half the mind to. Does he have half the mind? Could he scurry up a Thai-goddess statuette?
posted at 11:40 PM

Please don't mistake the recent lack of entries of an indication of wanning kitty activity; no, there's been sneezing, there's been growing, I'll admit that the squirt bottle has been deployed almost without hesitation (and certainly without regret), there's been drama and yes, there's been passion. (Even now, like an ineffective banshee, I'm screaming "Noooooo" as Holden stuffs his head squarely into my water glass...actually, my second water glass of the morning...which is now going to have to be replaced by a third...kitty lips on everything around here, I tell you. Now I've redirected my efforts to screeching "No, no, no, get OFF the keyboard...")

In terms of paranormal activity Phoebe has turned up with the whisker's above her right eye singed, and some force compels Holden to endlessly desire paperbag rides. There he crouches, centered on a collapsed paper bag, waiting for someone, anyone, to grab hold of the bag handles and whip the bag, with him clinging merrily to it, across the floor. When the bag reaches what he deems to be top speed he then launchs himself from his paper nest, thus securing an enjoyably high-speed flying momentum.
posted at 9:33 AM