The photo box

It has been a while because, people, I have been too busy keeping notes of all the shenanigans going on in this house. Der Dekan will get his extra large font on the naughty list for Christmas this year.
I'll have to be fair. Sometimes he's very calm. He can sleep for hours and be very snuggly, and sometimes I even let him groom me for a few seconds before one of us raises their paw for a slap fight. Yesterday I even let him hug me, but not long enough for Mom to take a picture. That constant photo hunting of hers can get very exhausting.
Usually she can only get a good picture of me if I'm exhausted and trying to disguise as a stone.

This story I have to share with you, though.

After we got our breakfast today, Mom had the nerve to go back to the bedroom and shut the door. That's fine with me, after breakfast I usually take a nap on my favorite faux fur blanket. This time I installed myself on one of the chairs at the dinner table.
When Mom came out again after hours, der Dekan had already been getting ready to knock down that door because his breakfast portion had been too small. Adding insult to injury, however, Mom didn't run to the kitchen right away to give him a second one.

If der Dekan gets mad, he gets MAD. It usually involves running through the place at lightning speed, knocking things down here and there randomly, not actively, just by hitting them with his massive little body. If that doesn't set things right, he'll jump at walls knocking down what he can find, one of Mom's vintage hats, a picture, magnets off the notice board, you get the picture.
Today he took it out on the photo box.

You need a little backstory for that.
Mom had an open light tent that der Dekan loved right from the start. He looked very cute in it when he was still a baby, but he grew and the tent which was more than ten years old started suffering. So Mom decided we'd need a new box, one that she could close, so it wouldn't be used as a cave anymore.
In her calculations she forgot that we would definitely use the box as a stepstone between closet and shelf, though, and sometimes also just to sit on it. I move in an elegant way, so I'm not the problem.

Mom also hadn't figured that der Dekan would do his very best to get inside the box through the flap on top attached by velcro.
Last but by no means the least, she hadn't expected to be so annoyed by some LED strips. To make it short, Mom hated to use the box for taking pictures. Nothing worked the way she wanted and more than once we had to cover our ears because of the heavy cursing.
Finally she gave up. She put the box on the floor for us to have fun with - which of course made us lose interest in it immediately, especially because she didn't open the front flap - and got a light tent that looked like the old one. Now she takes pictures and then puts it up on a cabinet. She could have done that with the old one, but sometimes she's a slow learner. Humans, you know.

Now today der Dekan remembered the box standing there and from her desk Mom could hear him going wild with the velcro. She was on the phone at the time and didn't care what he was doing until it definitely got too loud for her to concentrate on the call and the printout she wanted to do. So she asked her conversation partner to wait a moment and went over there.
This was what she saw.

The little top flap really got it, just as she had expected. But where was der Dekan?
Any ideas? Yes, der Dekan was inside the box and tried to claw his way back out, but the velcro resisted bravely.
When Mom raised the flap, she almost got it as well because he tried to jump up there, claws out as usual. When she tried to open the front flap, a little striped arm came out hitting at her. She finally managed to tear it open with a quick movement and a not at all panicked, but angry tiger walked out ... and immediately came over to me to take it out on me next.
All that got him was a timeout outside - and a very small second breakfast.

Once again I wish I were better with the camera because Mom definitely didn't have a free hand to handle one while releasing the kraken. Sorry, den Dekan.

Not on topic, but Mom chose not to put up a Christmas tree this year. What a pity, I bet I would have had a few things to tell! ;-)

P.S. About 40 minutes later.
Wanna guess who just had to be released from the photo box? A hint, not Mom, not I.

Da Box

Have I ever told you the difference between dem Dekan and myself? It's easy. I'm the good girl and he's a bad boy. Ugh, Mom is giving me the look again. Yeah yeah, he isn't always bad, only if he's awake. Of course that has a lot to do (I hope!!) with him being such a youngster - he just turned 1 1/2, the spring chicken - and my being a lady in my best years with experiences that he's lucky not to have. I'm talking about my life in the streets of course.

I also know how to work. My task is mostly to supervise and like most cats, I am very good at that. After I finally got my own office chair which by now has been made more comfy by the addition of a soft blanket (under which I like to crawl and hide, so I can get a nap in every, now and then), I can always be close. Mean people - one mean person, to be exact - have accused me of sleeping on the job, but if you look closely, you can see my eyes being open.

Der Dekan is eager to work, only his definition of it is very different from me. It involves jumping, batting stuff off the walls, may they be pictures, magnets, or hats, knocking stuff over on the desk or knock them off the desk, trying to steal things and - that is very important to him - always having his claws out and his sharp teeth ready in case someone is trying to keep him from wreaking havoc.
His job description can't be the same that Mom has for him.

The other day there was a post on Facebook about a lady putting two boxes on the desk for the cats and Lo and Behold! The cats went in there and all was well in Facebookland.
Mom had just got a parcel with shoes and the shoebox was still around for us to play with. It fit perfectly behind the laptop, and believe it or not, it didn't take a minute and der Dekan was in there which was rather a surprise for me. We both are not as crazy about boxes as some other felines are.
Mom was delighted. Was that really the solution for him sleeping peacefully on the desk without trying to push the laptop off using the force of his, erm, delicate body and legs?

That looked good, very good. We were not sure how that big head would also fit in there, but for once it was a blessing that Mom has huge feet and wears shoes that could serve as small lifeboats. Any smaller and there wouldn't have been a chance for den Dekan to get into the box at all.

Yeah, it looked a little snug. Would it be comfortable enough for him to stay in there?
Der Dekan is no natural "loafer", meaning he very rarely likes to sit like a loaf of bread. He likes spreading out in as many directions as possible which is one reason why Mom woke up the other day to find that she was lying in bed in the wrong direction with her feet firmly on the ground instead of the pillow she uses. The pillow had been conquered by a not so small cat.

Oh. That didn't look promising. One leg was already out of the box.

And then all hell broke loose. Unfortunately I had to laugh so hard that I couldn't take over to take more photos or, even better, make a video of what happenend next.
Der Dekan pushed himself against the laptop using the whole box, then half of him kind of flopped out of the box curling around the laptop shoving things on the desk around.
Mom tried to push back which led to the use of sharp weapons on the furry side, to Mom's hectic attempts to keep the desk from being destroyed completely, and finally the immediate removal of the box.
All in all this didn't take longer than maybe one minute from the occupation of the box to its removal.

I call it an epic fail and I'm sure that Magica on the left and Ponder on the right thought the same judging from their looks.
Mom was mad - which was not okay, after all it had been one of her stupid ideas - der Dekan felt empowered and went knocking off some more stuff elsewhere.

I don't understand why I'm not being paid a hazard pay for having to live here with these two crazies!

The poacher is back

Mom has told me that there is a history of poaching in the family - if she believes her grandmother's stories about "Fanny of the Kuchalm" hiding ancestors of hers who poached in order to help bring food on the table -, but from her choice words today it didn't seem to me as if it is a tradition she would uphold herself or likes to see being upheld by others.
I'm not a poacher. I don't steal and if I hunt, it's Steiff animals - not that Mom appreciates that much - or toys.
There is an ever hungry cat in the area, though, and he won't stop at anything to feed that fat little tummy of his.

Today Mom cut up some cardboard. One of the parcels that hadn't been opened yet contained a large bag of kibbles. Imagine Mom's surprise when this is what she found.

She first saw that long cut and was actually ready to blame herself when she a. remembered that she hadn't even cut the parcel open, but tore the tape off and b. noticed the distinctive little claw marks all over.
The parcel had two holes at the sides, so you could grab it better ... or get in there with a long furry leg and try your best to open up what's inside and maybe get some of that to the outside.
Well, that did work, but unfortunately it was not food, but a few bits of the printed invoice. Mom had wondered where those bits of paper on the floor had come from, but hadn't investigated.

I tell you, my dear people, this house has turned into a house of crime and only Bast knows where this will be ending.
I want nothing to do with it. I'm not even here and you don't see me.

Mom also wants you to know that we are not affiliated with VetConcept in any way.

Hunter or thief?

I have lived in the streets. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt, and decided to never go back after Mom offered me a warm bed, armchairs, rugs, and blankets almost exactly five years ago. Yup, on May 23rd, we ladies celebrated the best thing that has ever happened to Mom (and I don't care if she's trying to tell me about her other gotcha stories).
Der Dekan didn't celebrate. He didn't have time for it, there are always things to do.
That's fine with me, I like my special time with Mom. She tells me how beautiful I am - true - how lucky she was to get a gorgeous girl like me - true - and she even gave me bits of cheese - don't tell anyone, I'm not really supposed to have it, but there were no bad consequences, so don't scold her. Of course she can't resist me. Who can?
Anyway, I know where I want to stay and what I want to do and don't want to do.
I don't steal, I'm sweet, I'm as loyal as I can be, and I don't steal. Oops, did I say that twice? You know where I'm getting at, do you ..... Let me tell you a story.

It was two weeks ago.
Mom was in a whiny mood because her back had gone back out some time before, and although she could already perform the important tasks around the house again - food and water for us and our litterboxes - she still walked like an 80 year old and moaned so much that it was kind of hard to nap in peace.
Suddenly I heard her laugh out, though.
Apparently, she had looked for something in her underwear drawer and found a black undershirt that she had only worn once or twice in years, so she decided that it was time to get rid of it. She put it down next to her, but when she was done and turned around, the shirt had gone.
As it's rather a rare event for shirts to go walking on their own, she immediately knew her main suspect. He was rather small, had stripes and had been a hardcore criminal since his early youth.
When she went looking for the culprit, this is what she saw ...

A feeble attempt at hiding the goods in the usual place, his "play rug".

As she followed him through the flat, still laughing, the criminal still tried to escape with the loot. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth between the hallway and the rug - no doubt hoping for the door to freedom to open which didn't happen.

Slippery PVC is every thieving kitty's enemy, especially if both his front feet are on a shirt that makes it even worse. I really wish there were a video of this because I have to admit it made me laugh, too.
It looked to me as if this escape had not been planned very well.

In the end, the shirt ended up on the play rug from where it disappeared shortly after. Believe it or not, but it hasn't been found yet ......

Now you tell me. Is der Dekan a mighty hunter as Mom claims or is he just the little thief that I take him for?

A night at the Lonely Cat Saloon

The year was 2022. It had been quiet at the Lonely Cat Saloon, not unusual for a Thursday night. Then he walked in and I knew trouble was ahead. He was a troublemaker and had been ever since he crossed the threshold the first time. Assault, vandalism, poaching, you name it, he had done it and he never felt a shred of remorse. He could be incredibly rude, but also a ladies' man. He could wrap Mom - the owner of this sad, rundown little saloon - around his paws anytime and she was always quick to forgive him.
I don't know what had happened, but he needed a drink ... or two or more.

"Gimme another one, Miss G."

"I think you had enough. How about you pay and have a nap over in the armchair?"
"Come on, Miss G. You can see I have the money right here under my paw. Just one more."

"Sorry, but this bar is closed for you."
I took the empty glass from him just before he passed out.

I may come across tough sometimes, but I'm kindhearted. I could have got Mom to kick him out, but I let him sleep. Tomorrow he would be the same obnoxious tabby cat, no doubt, but I had seen the vulnerable kitten behind it all.

Just another night at the Lonely Cat Saloon ....

Ride, boldly ride to the end of the rainbow .....

Yeah, I wish I could ride to the end of the rainbow ... without Mom singing along, however ... maybe then I would get a moment peace and quiet here!
Okay, it's not that bad. Der Dekan likes to sleep with Mom, on her pillow, in her arm, even on her chest by his own will, and that gives me time to do my own stuff, like sitting on the newish cat tower, sleeping in the office chair or on the armchair, for example. Or to go for a ride.
You know how little brothers are, though. You have something, they want it. The top of the stairs which usually gets us both thrown out of the room because Mom is afraid we are going to end up on her head, the ball you are playing with, the food you are eating while their own plate is still full, I could keep going like that.

Where I'm drawing the line is Liese. The Steiff sheep (that has no name, poor thing) and Liese are mine. I'm the rider here. Of course Mom keeps trying to tell me that all cats loved riding Liese or sleeping on her, but I don't care about "all cats". I'm putting my paw down here. The brat has to learn that there are limits, even for him!
And this time, I prevailed. That'll teach him, don't you think?

"I wanna ride, too!"

"GO away."

"Pfff, I didn't want to ride after all."

Funny how unimpressed Liese is with all of this. I guess she must have seen a lot in her 50-some years on this planet!

Master of the Desk

Mom has tried, she really has, but der Dekan doesn't like to listen much.
She told him about Ponder and how he has been her studio manager for many years, a good one, a reliable one, a ... let's get real, she lied. I knew Ponder and he was great, but he certainly liked to have a bit of fun with Mom's stuff. There was a reason she called him her master thief more than once, and hunting her things was not his only hobby.
One thing she's right about, though. Der Dekan is not a good desk manager. He likes to sleep behind the laptop and push it with all four feet, so more than once Mom had to remove him, so he wouldn't push it off the desk. He likes to steal pencils, paintbrushes, bead tubes, and last night he stole an earring while Mom looked away for a second. Actually, it's kind of funny to see her freaking out yelling how she has "spent hours on this and you are not going destroy it, give this to me". I'm in my office chair - don't believe her if she says it's hers and I should use the one she specifically got for me (she claims her butt is too big for that one) - watching her and thinking how she deserves this for letting the brat move in.

As one of Mom's cameras is on her desk, she loves to take pictures of us here. It's very convenient not having to get up, also we are often making it easy for her by sleeping or looking adorable. We are very good at both.
Additionally, der Dekan is very good at looking silly. Although he already claims the title Master of the Desk, I'm not so sure about it, not only because it has been just one of his many career choices in the last few months. Just look at Ponder's face in the last picture. I do wonder if he would have been able to educate the (not so) little one ... starting by telling him that the hole punch's handle originally isn't meant for leaning on it.
By the way, do you think I should tell him about the time Ponder applied for a job as chiweenie wrangler? Now that sounds like something der Dekan might enjoy!

Mad kitten

"Mom?"
"Yes, Gundel?"
"Can we ...."
"Talk? Sure. It's about den Dekan again, isn't it?"
"Of course he is. I admit that I'm kind of getting used to him and I haven't said anything for a long time ..."
"Not in words, no, but sometimes a look is quite enough."

 

"Actually I just wanted to inform you that der Dekan has decided to become a Mad Kitten."
"I would have thought he is already rather mad. Have you seen the box he pulled of my nightstand?"
"Not THAT kind of mad! A Madison Avenue kitten."
"We don't live on Madison Avenue."
"Are you just pretending to be stupid, Mom, or are you? He wants to go into advertising."
"Okay. How does he plan to go about that?"
"I have the photo that he wants to send to Philips. Here, look."

 

"Uhm ....."

P.S. People, I just don't know. My personal opinion is that the name placement is quite memorable *cough cough*, but wouldn't it be better if der Dekan showed a little more of the product in question?
I am talking about the DVD player that is actually beginning to have problems running because "someone keeps planting his big butt on there" (That is a slightly altered quote by Mom, she's usually not as sensitive as I am).
What are your thoughts on this?