Our new addition (no, not that one)

So, do you know the purpose of the proverbial canary in a coal mine?

To wit:

Early coal mines did not feature ventilation systems, so miners would routinely bring a caged canary into new coal seams. Canaries are especially sensitive to methane and carbon monoxide, which made them ideal for detecting any dangerous gas build-ups. As long as the canary in a coal mine kept singing, the miners knew their air supply was safe. A dead canary in a coal mine signalled an immediate evacuation.

My co-worker's daughter found a trio of kittens out behind a woodpile.

Now, I'm a sucker for cute lil' critters.

And, frankly, one of our concerns with 3/4Em on the way is how Norton and Pumpkin will take to our darling little girl.

So...

Meet the newest member of our household:



That's Oreo. One of the three kittens.

I went for the distinctive-looking one: He's got a black head, black tail and everything else is white.

Thus, the name: He's black on each end and creamy in the middle.

I was going to name him Ninja, since his black head looks like a mask, and we almost went for Zorro (again, the mask).

But as the folks at our childbirth classes were explaining: Cravings. One woman said she craves Oreos. One said she has a bag in her car. Me and Marisa named the kitten after them.

So, as I see it: If the animals don't eat the kitten, they won't eat the baby.

So far: Norton loves him. He's a little afraid of Nort, though he's starting to figure out the big guy's a bit of a wimp (albeit a matching black-and-white wimp).

Pumpkin, on the other hand, hates him. She actually hisses and growls when he's near. But... if she can get used to Norton, she can get used to anything. I speak from experience.

When animals attack... the downside

The other day, at 5 a.m., Marisa and I were awakened by the crashing and howling of animals at the foot of our bed.

Pumpkin, as she is wont to do in her role as Attack Cat, swatted Norton.

And got a claw stuck.

In his face.

Ah. Animals.

Can't wait to add a baby to this mix.

She got her first kill today

I was awakened this morning by shrieks.

Well, actually, I was awakened this morning by Marisa jumping up and down and singing "Good morning to you," but shortly after, under pressure, I'd staggered from the bed, the screaming started.

We had a mouse in the basement a few weeks back. Did I mention that?

Somehow, it managed to evade both Pumpkin the Attack Cat and Marisa.

Well, sometime last night, the mouse dared one raid to many.

And my mother is no longer the only mouse-killer in the family.

Needless to say, I'm quite proud of my attack cat, who left us one dead gift in the middle of the living room floor.

She was quite proud, too. She kept rubbing herself against it. Lovely.



I think maybe we'll get her one of those teardrop tattoos.

It's that, or start stamping little mice on her side, like a fighter plane, but I'm not sure she'll sit still long enough for that.

And yes, Marisa made me throw the corpse out.

On a more serious note, it's Memorial Day, and God bless those brave souls who served and died for their country, and God bless the families left behind. Honor and cherish their memories, and peace be with you.

The fourth wheel

They say the squeaky wheel gets the grease, and so sometimes I do wonder if I'm neglecting the fourth member of our household - not just on my blog, but in general.

That's because Pumpkin is a cat. And of course, not nearly in need of as much attention as Norton, the dog.

But Pumpkin is, as my father once described his (late, lamented) cat, Shadow, a singular creature.

Pumpkin - who really is, as with Norton, Marisa's pet - does several non-cat-like things.

For one, she talks.

Well, not literally. But she meows constantly. I was reminded of this the other day when we visited our brand spankin' new invitation vendor and her cat started meowing at us. And she purrs. A lot. For no apparent reason. The other night, she was sitting on the couch, just purring. Nobody near her, nothing going on. Just a content cat.

Pumpkin, who also has some cataracts (no pun intended), also likes to run right in front of your legs.

I can't tell you how many times I've stepped on her, kicked her or tripped over her. Fortunately a) I've never hurt her, even the time I booted her into a wall when she zigged and I, well, zigged; and b) she doesn't hate me for it.

How do I know she doesn't hate me?

Well, for one thing, she'll "gimme a pound, dog" (pun intended).

Because she likes to rub her head on things, I suppose to mark her scent or something. But as a result, if I stick my fist out, she'll bop it head-on.

I call her "kitty head-butt" because sometimes, that's how she wakes me up. Bam! Head butt.

Another reason I know she doesn't hate me?

She follows me into the bathroom.

Those of you who know me probably realize that's a risk even (the late, lamented) Evel Knievel wouldn't take...

But seriously. The doors in the house aren't all level so they don't all close, and inevitably, if a bathroom door re-opens behind me, four times out of five it's not Norton making sure I haven't abandoned him, it's Pumpkin.

Why she does it, I don't know.

But it's darn hard to take a good bathroom break seriously when there's a cat rubbing against your legs.

Especially if you're trying to, as guys do, pee standing up. The first time she wandered in during that, which was one of the first times she wandered in at all, she nearly wound up a wet cat, if you know what I mean.

And then, of course, there are the little decks on the house. Norton likes going outside, but so does our "indoor" cat.

What does she do out there? Mostly, she sniffs the air. Sometimes she sits in the patio door and just sniffs. Other times, out on the deck, she'll stick her head through the rails and sniff. (The first time, I'll confess, I thought she was going to try and jump.) Once in a while, she growls at a bird, or hunts down a leaf. But mostly, she just sniffs.

Did I mention she likes to hide and ambush Norton? Much like Shadow would sit at the top of my parents' stairs and meow through the baby-gate at my (late, lamented) dachshund, Morgan, just to torment him because he couldn't get to her...

Pumpkin will hide behind something, wait for my gentle, wimpy and 60-pounds-bigger dog to wander by... And swat him in the face!

Hell, sometimes, she doesn't even hide. She just runs up and clobbers him, then runs away. Probably laughing.

As a result, we have a big dog... who's afraid of the cat. He won't go up stairs past her. He just stands there, waiting, looking forlorn. While she wanders back in forth in front of him, rubbbing his legs with her head. Because she can.

Of course, the pets do love each other. But really, I think Pumpkin just knows she can torment him for fun. Like a big sister or something. Except she's the little sister.

Eh. What do I know? I'm an only child.

But somehow, now, in the mornings, sometimes I wake up squished onto one side of the bed, by a snoring dog, a drooling cat and a, well, snoring and drooling girl.

Speaking of which, did I mention the cat drools?

She'll sit on your chest if you're lying down, and drool on you. She did it to me once.

But the best one was, one night when I was driving home, I was talking on the phone with Marisa, and she was telling me how Pumpkin was sitting on her, and suddenly she started screaming and squealing and yelling.

So I'm yelling, "Honey, what is it? Are you ok? What's wrong!"

And when she finally answered, she screeched, "Pumpkin drooled in my mouth!"

Which isn't quite as good as the story about one of my fraternity brothers in college.

But at least this one's printable.