Here’s Della Street surveying her domain, which includes pesky kid brother Paul Drake.
Here’s Della Street surveying her domain, which includes pesky kid brother Paul Drake.
Paul Drake is suffering from Carnival withdrawal. A trail of admirers found their way to our house to see PD. He also misses food opportunities such as this one:
They’d both rather sleep on a gnarly snagged up blanket in the basement generally, but Slade sometimes condescends to use the ridiculously fancy cat bed I bought him.
Inter-feline relations continue to improve at Adrastos World HQ. There are still a few minor altercations between the cats but peace has broken out. Della remains jealous of her new kid brother but is willing to snuggle since it’s been a chilly winter.
As the kittens grow we’re seeing more and more of their personalities. Slade is basically a dog. He’ll play fetch for HOURS. He’s vocal and tells us when he wants attention and when something’s wrong. The other day he wouldn’t shut up and I figured he was just bitching about his food, but his bowl was full and he’d already snarfed half a can of his disgusting wet food. I tried ignoring him but after a while he started nipping at my ankles so I did a quick round of the house to see if anything was the matter and who do I find but his sister, trapped in a room because I’d closed a door behind her without knowing she was there. So Slade acquired another nickname: Lassie.
Ada’s quieter and more shy. Kick threw a rager of a preschool birthday party last weekend and Ada hid under the dresser the entire time, glaring at all these new people in her house. She prefers cuddling to playtime and loves best to snuggle up under or in something furry. We bought a cheap furry skin-rug from IKEA and she made passionate kitty love to it all afternoon.
She’s also a bread thief. I came downstairs one day to find the half a loaf of bread I’d been planning to use for French toast scattered all over the basement, with Herself looking innocent whilst surrounded by crumbs. We own a breadbox now.
My friend Brett has taken to calling the new kitty Mr. Drake. He’s certainly a dapper chap with his bow tie.
Yeah, it was supposed to be Sunday. Figured we could all use a little kittums before the SOTU tonight.
Ada has that baby thing of falling asleep anywhere, including directly on top of me while I’m trying to write on the Internets.
It’s been a trying and very short Krewe du Vieux season. A saving grace, as always, was Dennie the Den of Muses cat:
Caption Slade here:
The new kitty is in his second week with us. Before the big freeze, he was content to stay in the guest room. He’s slowly living up to his name and investigating the rest of the house. There are still some minor altercations with Della but we’ve reached the point where they need to work things out between them. It’s going to take some time but I think they’ll get along eventually.
There’s nothing a cat named for a private eye likes more than an unmade bed:
After a brief hiatus of hissing and chasing, Slade and Ada remembered they were brother and sister, and have spent the past couple of weeks tearing through the house after one another, fighting over the same toy even though there are three identical versions of it one foot away from them at all times, and biting me when I try to use the phone or computer.
QUIT WRITING WORDS ON THE INTERNET AND THROW OUR FEATHER TOYS, SLAVE.
They’re settling in well and we’re having a lot of fun with them. Ada’s a bit more shy than her brother. He’ll trot right up to new people and introduce himself, while she likes to hide under a chair for a while. She also holds a grudge; I accidentally stepped on her foot while cleaning one day and she hid under the TV stand for an HOUR until it was time for dinner.
We’ve tried to set ground rules, like having them sleep in the basement where there are ample pet beds and food/water/litterboxes, and not giving them human food, but Kick has already tried to feed them things she doesn’t like without us seeing, and they blew her cover by meowing loudly for MOAR.
Furry little snitches.
We pulled the trigger on a new feline addition to the family. Della Street is still uncertain as to what she thinks of her new kid brother, but she’s bound to be pleased that we stuck to the Perry Mason theme. I told y’all that there was method to my pulp fiction madness yesterday.
Paul Drake was, of course, Perry’s investigator and once described by my late friend Ashley Morris as “the coolest guy in the world.” I cannot resist posting a picture of William Hopper as Paul Drake sitting on Barbara Hale as Della Street’s desk:
I’m sure *our* Paul Drake can sit on a desk. He’s a three year old shelter cat who’s on the shy side but very loving with his humans. He’s spending most of his time in the guest room as we’re slowly introducing the two cats. His shelter name was Charlie but, as he doesn’t respond to it and I had a Charlie for 16 years, we renamed him. I guess that makes me Perry Mason. I’ve got the girth and glower.
We begin with PD’s shelter portrait. He was rescued by a marvelous local group, SpayMart. The bow tie is a nice touch since teevee’s Paul Drake sometimes wore one.
Here he is chilling in his current lair with Dr. A.
Yeah, we’re still lousy housekeepers. What can I tell ya?
Finally, the Perry Mason theme:
Internet, this is Ada. Ada, this is the Internet.
Ada — so named for Ada Byron Lovelace, given her lovely Victorian collar — came home from the vet Wednesday. She and Slade were littermates, and they seemed attached to one another in the shelter. It also seemed rude to have just one kitten, and we had room for two, even if we’re presently trying to figure out where to put all the shit they immediately acquired.
This cat has the LIFE. pic.twitter.com/CfSaIRnny8
— Allison Hantschel (@Athenae) January 7, 2018
These are the most spoiled cats in the entire universe. They’re also kind of puppy-like. They follow Mr. A around the house. Slade plays fetch for HOURS with this jingly feather toy he has. Ada will sit directly in front of whatever book or screen I’m trying to read until I give her the pets she is due. We actually had to separate Kick and Slade for a while because HE wanted more togetherness than she did.
It’s great having animals again. Yes, it’s an unholy chaotic mess, but Jesus, these days what isn’t, and more time shaking a ribbon for kittens to dance at means fewer dollars spent at therapy.
It’s been a busy 2018 for Della Street thus far. Hiding from fireworks, finding a warm spot near the space heater, and howling for food are hard work but she’s equal to the task.
Here she is at her devilish best:
Slade, this is the Internet. Internet, this is Slade.
Slade has been living with us since Thursday afternoon, when we brought him home from the West Suburban Humane Society. We haven’t had a pet since Claire died, in part because we were selling our condo and it’s hard to stage with animals, and in part because oh my God, a baby was exhausting and a baby plus animals was exhausting and we needed a break. That break was just long enough for Kick to become OBSESSED cats.
I mean seriously obsessed. Even for this family full of madmen, she was FOCUSED. We’d read a book and she’d point out every cat in the pictures. Feeling a little out of sorts? She’d meow at you. She threw over all her stuffed elephants and rhinos for a horrifying rainbow-leopard kitty she found at a gas station. Halloween costume? A cat. Cat cat cat cat cat.
(I blame my sister, who has 300 stuffed cats and gave her six, and I blame her nanny, who has five cats of her own including four hand-raised kittens who act like dogs. I also blame myself because it’s not like I discouraged it all that much.)
And I was jonesing for an animal. I was reduced to petting strangers’ dogs on the street. A colleague got a new kitten and I demanded to scroll through his phone. I followed 12 pet-related Twitters. I missed having something small and furry around. So we took down the tree early and set off on Mission: Cat.
Mr. A was reluctant. Mr. A thought he might be allergic. Mr. A worried the kitten might destroy everything. Mr. A thought Kick and I were insane. Mr. A walked into the kitten room at the local shelter and this kitten put its paw on his shoulder immediately, as if to say look, don’t bother with these other mangy critters, I got you. Mr. A fell in love.
Mr. A now spends most of his time carrying Slade around like a giant furry baby.
Slade (so named by the shelter and it seems to be sticking) spent his first night in the bathroom and has had the run of the house ever since. He wakes us at 7 yelling for food, wants to play fetch with his feather toys, wants to be wherever we are. He chirps and purrs all day long, tries to trip us down the stairs, leaps onto tables and counters and spent all day yesterday napping on top of me, waking only to smack me in the face with his tail.
He came with a sister, a tiny calico we’re calling Ada who’ll join us at home once she’s spayed and cleared by the vet. I think he’ll be happier when she’s there — they’re littermates — but I know we’re happier with him around.
And Kick? OH MY GOD is she happy. She was very little when Bucky died and doesn’t really remember Claire much, though she knew enough even back then to be very gentle with animals and always take into account that they’re smaller and more fragile than she is. The first night he was home she demanded to pet him goodnight and said, “Slade, I love you with my whole heart.”
(The next morning he jumped up onto her chair and tried to eat her yogurt and she called him a dingo and told him to go think about his life.)
She reads to him every night before bed. We’re gonna have serious fun with this one.
You’ve all seen pictures of Della Street IN boxes. Here she is ON a box.
Krewe du Vieux is early this year, January 26th. That means early den days and early sightings of Dennie the Den of Muses cat.
Dr. A took this picture of Della Street on her lap early one morning. Della is all like “what the hell is wrong with you, human? I need my beauty rest.”
Speaking of waking up, here’s another tune from The Band:
It’s that time of the year: the First Draft fundraiser. If you like catblogging, please click here to learn more about donating.
I’ve rolled out the big kitty guns for our fundraiser. First, Della in full-tilt demand mode, then the late great Oscar. How could anyone say no to the Big O? I never could.