George and Kirby, momo, photo, pru, William

29 Days of Blog – Kitten Parents

Under that blanket is Wil. He’s sleeping after working the night shift. The kittens are “helping” him. It’s an amazing picture because they were actually napping along side him, nice and quiet. They woke up when I came in to put away some clean socks.

Wil and I have different animal parenting techniques. Mine is influenced by my uncle Skip, who was a vet. He told me, when I adopted Pru, that I should never feed her immediately after getting up in the morning or she would learn to wake me up when she wanted food. So I used to feed her as I was walking out the door to work. Prudence had plenty of issues, but she was very patient and polite in the morning. I use the same strategy with George and Kirby. Wil does not.

Wil is a big softy. After Momo passed, Pru came out of her shell with him and trained him to give her treats every time he walked in or out the front door. Or when she just gave him a sweet look. He was so thrilled that she finally liked him, he was easily trained.

The boys have taken it one step further. They have trained him to give them treats whenever they annoy him. Kirby will sit on his chest, when he is sleeping and yowl. And he will GET UP AND GIVE THEM BOTH TREATS. To distract them. Do you see the flaw in this technique? They also like to annoy him when he’s playing computer games. They crawl all over the keyboard and sit in front of the monitor. He gets frustrated so he gets up AND GIVES THEM TREATS. He also gives them treats when he walks in and out of the front door. Or they meow sweetly, giving him cute kitten face.

Big softy. Big sleepy softy.

momo, William


If you are friends with me on Facebook, or follow me on twitter, you may know that our cat, Momo has been sick. She developed cancer in her leg. And the outlook was pretty grim.

After her diagnosis, we kept a close eye on her, gave her topical pain meds every few hours, and tried to determine when we were no longer able to keep her comfortable. That day turned out to be last Thursday.

Momo was our lovey cat. She loved everyone except Pru. She was soft like satin, all black with a little white patch on her tummy you were not allowed to touch. She loved lying in sunbeams, and when she did, she looked like she was made of dark chocolate. She was very generous with kisses.

She was not a slim cat. Somehow she managed to give the impression of fat cheeks. The vet called her a “round breed.” But watching her walk away, one got the impression of a watermelon with toothpick legs. And a plum sized head. She had tiny paws on the end of stick legs, and an amazing ability to know just where your most tender parts where. All the better to bruise them with her “sticks.”

Wil called her The Annoy-a-tron 5000. I’m pretty sure Momo referred to him in the same manner. Privately. Publicly she called him Poppi. ( That started about the time I moved in, coincidentally. She called me The Lady. ) He was never more appealing than when he was playing video games. She just had to kiss his face and his hands and crawl in his lap.  She was never more appealing to him than when she was minding her own business, or trying to get away from him. They slept together, they watched tv together, they were best friends.

I will miss my baby Momo. My snuggly kissy cat.



momo, pru

Curiosity, they name is Pru and/or Momo

The kittens are looking at me funny. Probably because I am actually cleaning house. They keep coming over and sniffing about, trying to figure out what I am doing.

I tried to explain to them that the time to come over, all big eyed and kitten curious, is NOT when a trash bag full of two litter boxes worth of excrement and litter ruptures, and THEIR POOP goes spilling out all over the hallway and kitchen.

It really is not the time.

momo, William

What passes for entertainment in my day

I just sent the following IM to Wil at work:

1:10 » momo is attacking the front door

1:10 » i’m doing the dishes and hear this thump and then momo runs past, towards the bedroom, and then i see her run back and i hear this thump and she attacks the front door.

1:10 » and then she just looks at me. with these eyes.

1:10 » eyes that say “what? it had it coming!”

momo, William

Waking up with Momo

Scene: I’m in bed, trying to go back to sleep after Wil left for work. Momo jumps up on the bed and sits on me, sphinx like, and gives me the stare.

Me: What?

Momo: …

Me: Didn’t your dad give you crunchies before he left?

Momo: ….

Me: Hey, it’s not my fault he put them in the water dish. Pretend it’s cereal.

Momo: ….

Me: There is no need for that kind of language.

Momo: ….

Me: Don’t make me roll you off me!

Momo: ….

Me: ok, fine, git off me and I’ll give you new crunchies.

Momo: …..

Me: You’re welcome.

Isn’t it precious how I refer to Wil as her dad? Like the kittens are our children? Don’t you just want to throw up a little?

momo, pru

A Song About the Kittens

The cats still don’t get along. I don’t know if they ever will. Here is a song I made up for them this morning. Sung to the tune of the theme to the “Beverley Hillbillies.”

Ode to Mo and Pru

Let me tell you a story about a cat named Mo,

Eating is her favorite, a hallow leg that’s for sho,

Then one day comes competition for her food,

A snaggletooth kitten, a fluffball named Prud.

Prudence that is,

American girl,

Yankee cat.

Next thing you know, ol’ Mo is getting pissy,

Both cats are fluffing up, getting ready for a hissy,

But just before all the fur can hit the fan,

In she comes, The Girl Who Opens The Can.

Jodi that is,

American girl,

The true Alpha Cat.

Oddly enough, they both seemed nonplussed by my song. Although I am sure that secretly they love my singing.

momo, pru, William

I’m trainable. Like a monkey.

My new bed has broken me. It’s so freakin’ fantabulous, that all other beds are now The Suck. I’m at the house, packing, and the bed I previously considered to be so comfy is now a box of rocks. The many layers of padding I have added to it, trying to simulate Pillow Top are flat and unflufffilling. They probably need to be flipped and manually poofed up, there is a definite dip in the middle of the bed, where I sleep. And that’s the other thing, I couldn’t even begin to get comfortable until I moved to the previously untouched Edge Of The Bed. Because that’s where I sleep now. I sleep on the right side of the bed. Wil sleeps on the left and part of the right. Sometimes, Pru sleeps on the far right side of the bed, and I am left with a thin strip of bed between the two. (Momo sleeps pretty much on me, or Wil, when she sleeps on the bed. After 4 am, she prefers to just jump up and down on my ass, however. )

So last night, it’s 3 am and I am still not asleep, even though I am pretending I am in my new bed, by sleeping on the edge of the bed. The parts of Wil and both cats was played by Pru, who managed to stretch her body across the rest of the bed, and somehow steal most of the covers. But it’s not the same. She’s cute, but she lacks of the manly arms for snuggling. And that Sleep Number bed is THE BOMB.

When we first tried it out, Wil said his Sleep Number would be 100, because he is a man. I declared my Sleep Number to be 35. Wil said 35 was for pussies, but I told him that 35 was TV’s Bionic Woman, Lindsey Wagner’s Sleep Number and I’d like to see him say that to her FACE. Her bionic face. But, after sleeping on it for a while, Wil has decided that real men like squishy. He will sometimes deflate down to 20 or less, effectively creating a nest, or bowl, of smooshy cushiness. He likes the feeling of sinking in, I can always tell when he’s doing it, because he becomes lower than me. I find that I like it about 35 to 45, depending on how I like to sleep. We usually default at 45 and adjust accordingly. And when Wil gets up for work, I will roll over into the Mattress Bowl and sleep there for while. Although, it’s much easier to get out of bed, if you firm it up a bit before attempting it. I find it impossible to leave the warm, soft Mattress Bowl.

momo, pru, William

I feel like my old self again. Neurotic, paranoid, totally inadequate, completely insecure. It’s a pleasure.

Maybe Pru is a bit neurotic. I fear that trait is only exacerbated by the move. Momo is handling things better. She’s known me for a long time. Got to know me slowly, in her own territory. And is not an antisocial freak to begin with, unlike sensitive, twitchy Pru. She’s adjusting. Slowly. But she’s moodier than normal. And has a short span of tolerance for anyone but me.

Wm: Honey, can you come get your cat?

Jodi: What is she doing?

Wm: She’s sitting next to the toilet. She won’t let me go to the bathroom.

Jodi: Did she hiss at you?

Wm: Yes. See?

Jodi: Pru? What is your problem. Oh, look… she threw up. Well, there you go. It makes perfect sense. You can’t use the bathroom. SHE is using it. To barf.