Not much time this week for lengthy storytelling. Pictures will have to suffice.
Native American studies at Integrated Day. Rachel is Hototo. (If you're a Wizard of Oz fan, try saying Hototo without saying "And Hototo too."
Rachel's art project at the Norwich Free Academy Arts Program this week is making gargoyles in pottery class. She is also into fairies. So when shopping for Halloween costumes, it was a "must have" when we stumbled upon the Gargoyle Fairy costume.
Some things need no explanation...and some things do!
At the 2nd Annual Aliano Halloween Party, I ended up being the scariest to the kids. Not my intention. But certainly, I'm no Helena Bonham Carter and so it just looked, well, scary. You agree? Ok then. "Off with your head!"
Here's a picture of a simple costume that made everyone laugh:
She was dressed as a smarty pants. LOL!
It wouldn't be Halloween if we didn't torment the cats in some way. So here's what we did. We asked them what they wanted to dress up as. Both agreed they wanted to go as each other!
From Left to Right, Swiffur dressed as Bluepurr. And Bluepurr dressed as Swiffur:
Didn't Bluepurr nail Swiffur's ear hair? Uncanny!
Ths scariest part of the night was in a neighborhood down the street from my house. This area of Ledyard is referred to as Aljen Heights. Last year we went there and one house topped all others by having their front lawn all decorated with live zombies that would grab you as you walked up to the house to get candy. LOVE hearing kids squealing from fear! But this year they outdid themselves. It took them three weeks to build this thing. Rachel referred to it as an addition to their house. They had built a tunnel of doom that you had to walk through to get to the pot of candy. Zombies, dead soldiers, corpses from coffins jumped out at you as you made your way through this pathway full of creepy stuff. It was called, "Aljen Frights". They even had pigs trying to escape from being buried alive. It was very cool. The pictures didn't do it justice.
The next 4 pictures are the scariest pictures I took all night. Warning: The last picture is not for the faint-hearted. Discretion should be used when viewing the 4th picture. I get a chill just posting it.
#1 - Real pig's head
#2 - The coffin
#3 - Aljen Frights entrance
#4 - Here's your chance to look away before it's too late...
My mother. Aaaaaahhhhhhh!
For dinner, we met up with my sister and brother-in-law at Harp and Dragon in Norwich. Guess they didn't feel like dressing up for Halloween. Some people don't have the spirit. (Chuck really should see a dentist soon.)
My Kaneclusion: I love Halloween.
What? You were expecting more than that? Didn't I already say that I didn't have much time? Or didn't you read that part and just skipped right to the pictures? You know, and I know, you did that. Now go back up and read the few lines that were in this blog. I'll even make it easy for you so you don't have to scroll. Click here, it will take you to the top. (How lazy can one get? Maybe next year you should dress up like a couch potato!)
Okay, this once (and maybe 20 times after this) I will indulge the child and have a celebration to commemorate the day Swiffur was born. I wasn't there, of course. If you remember correctly, Rachel got Swiffur for Christmas last year from Santa Claus. On a note from Santa that accompanied the kitten, it stated the day Swiffur was born. October 14, 2009. So we don't know how Swiffur was born or the circumstances of how he came into this world. We only know the day. But this is how I picture it:
October 14, 2009, the North Pole. Scene and Action.
"Santa, Silver Bells is acting funny." (That's Swiffur's mother's name because she too is a silver Persian.) "Santa, you better come quick, Silver Bells says it's time."
Santa says "Now what?" and begrudgingly puts his deep-fried turkey leg down on his plate.
"Someone call a doctor! Get Hermie (or, to some, Herbie) in here...I don't care that he's a dentist. We need some kind of doctor in here now!...Where's Rudolph? We need some light in here...Silver Bells, hang in there kitty. The sleigh is on it's way. (Eye roll) But you know Dasher, and Dancer and Comet and the rest of the gang."
"Breathe, Silver, Breathe. In and Out. That's it." (Quietly, to not upset Silver Bells) "Call Mrs. Claus. I think we have an Octomom copy cat on our hands."
Santa arrives with fried dough stuck in his beard. "Ho, Ho, Ho" Santa says to Mrs. Claus.
"You know what Nick? That's getting old."
"Oh Really? (under his breath, he says, "[filthy rotten] HOOO, HOOOO, HOOOOOOOO!!" (They've been married a LONG time.)
"And hello to you, Silver Bells! What do we have here?"
Silver Bells has a contraction. "me-OOOOOOOOOWWWWWWW, Santa."
"Breathe, Silver, Breathe" says Silver Bell's birthing coach, Will Ferrell.
In steps Yukon Cornelius. "Land Ho!"
Santa says, "Listen Buddy, it's okay for me to call my wife a Ho, but don't you be calling her a Ho, or I'll put you on the naughty list."
"Yes, Santa." Yukon Cornelius licks his pick and walks away.
"Silver Bells, the sleigh is here! Don't you worry. We'll get you to the vet hospital." Will Ferrell whispers to Prancer, "Not a chance you're going to get through that fog. Do you guys have a manger in that sleigh, just in case?"
Hearing this, Linus is in the sleigh and forms a manger with his blanket.
"I don't want to give birth to these kittens today" Silver Bells cries out.
Clarice starts singing, "There's always tomorrow..."
"Shut up, Clarice." Silver Bells has another contraction.
As if the chaos isn't bad enough, it starts to snow. Burl Ives steps in with an umbrella and shelters Silver Bells from the elements.
Will Ferrell announces, "Everyone, Silver Bells is ready to deliver. Here comes the first kitten."
At the sight of the first kitten which resembles something that cats heave up when trying to rid themselves of a hairball, Santa excuses himself and says to call him when all the kittens have arrived. "Ho, ho, ho. I'm going to play with the new toys. Where is my Droid?"
Silver Bells delivers all the kittens and names each one. There were four total:
Jingle Bells, Sleigh Bells, Cow Bells, and of course, It.
Santa holds It up and declares to everyone, "The first gift of Christmas! To Rachel Kane, who has been exceptionally good this year, and to her mother who will have to suck it up!" Then he hands It to an elf, who drops the kitten (he's all slimy and slippery because Silver Bells hasn't cleaned It yet), the kitten falls to the ground and hits his head. (This is the only reasonable explanation for being so stupid as to fall off the landing in my house - twice.)
An elf dressed all in green in the distance standing by an express train is overheard saying under his breath, "That is one ugly kitten. He's as cuddly as a cactus, and looks like he has garlic in his soul...I wouldn't touch it with a 39 and half foot pole."
For the next two months, Frosty the Snowman watches It because Silver Bells has to go to work (She works for the Salvation Army.) While in his care, Frosty serves the kitten "Magic Hat" beer. (Whatever is in that corncob pipe makes him a neglectful pet owner.)
Soon enough, It becomes old enough to leave the North Pole. And so it was written, and so it came to be, that Swiffur was born unto Rachel and her family and delivered on Christmas Eve. Yes, it Twas the night before Christmas that not even a mouse was stirring because we got It. AKA Swiffur.
That's how I envision it all went down.
Anyway, now back to reality. Swiffur's birthday. It's not a party until someone puts on a party hat...
Swiffur had one too many Pounce.
Bluepurr saying, "Not me. I would never do that. Nope. I would have stopped at 2." Bluepurr is my Eddie Haskell. ("Leave It to Beaver" reference.)
What better way to celebrate a cat's birthday than to give them a treat. So, on one day a year they will get "the treatment", as Rachel calls it. "The treatment" is basically being nice to them. Not that we're not nice to them the other 364 days of the year. But "the treatment" is being extra nice to them, like petting them. Nicely. Especially under the armpits. This kind of treatment sends Bluepurr into a purring orgasmic frenzy. Her eyes roll back into her head. She is in sheer ecstasy. Swiffur, on the other hand, hates having his stomach touched in any way. It seemed to have started when he had the ballectomy. If you try to comb his stomach or even just pet him there, he will bite with all his might and then run for his life (I suppose from anticipating the repercussions of biting). So, for Swiffur, rubbing his armpits is NOT "the treatment". To Swiffur, "the treatment" is scratching around his mane. The harder the better. He moves his head to the place where he wants you to scratch. Also, cleaning the gunk out of his eyes is part of "the treatment". I seem to be the only one that delivers that level of service. You could say it's my specialty.
So after the treatment, oh, by the way, both cats get the treatment on each of their birthdays. I learned with having two kids, they both need attention on those special days. The similarities between these two cats and the two kids are so uncanny. At one time in my life, the first one, the older one, was the favorite and I couldn't imagine having another one. I had already trained the first one and training another one seemed like a lot of work to go through again. The older one now stays mostly away, watching from afar from under a cabinet, waiting for the younger one to make her mistakes. The younger one, full of inquisitiveness and curiosity, scouting out all the areas to learn from. The second one, more appreciative, grateful, and demonstrative. The older one, "been there, done that". The older one, runs and hides during conflict; the younger one gets right in your face to try and resolve or distract the situation. Wait, am I talking about the cats now or the kids? Hmm.
Anyway, back to Swiffur's birthday. In honor of his First of many to come, new traditions were started. As part of the continuum of "the treatment", he was allowed to stray from his ordinary diet of day in and day out Iams kitten chow to birthday cake. No, of course not, silly. Cats don't eat birthday cake. But they DO eat...
Hey, that's not tuna FISH, that's tuna FILLET. Nothing but the best for my pets!
Swiffur wouldn't even eat the Fillet from a plate. He required a fork for his fillet.
Note: The fork was completely sterilized after this photo op.
Bluepurr, on the other hand, would have eaten the candle if I had let her.
My Kaneclusion: Well, I guess I have become kind of a pet person. Admittedly, I was equally excited as Rachel when we both remembered it was Swiffur's birthday this week. I started to plan the event in my head to acknowledge how special he has been for us and what it has meant having him in our lives.
Oh, who am I kidding? It was all about what I could do for this blog! See what I do for you people? Torment the cats, all for your amusement. And what thanks do I get? "Oh.....Hey....I read your blog." Where's "the treatment" people?! (If one of you scratches my neck or gets anywhere NEAR my armpits, so help me God...)
In all actuality, I write these things so Rachel and Mia can see that I too can write a bit. Someday when they are old enough to read all this, they too might find this humorous. Or at the very least, it documents some of the funny things that have happened for them to look back on.
And just as a reminder, if you enjoy reading my blog, please click on the google ad links on this page and someday, SOMEDAY, they might send me a check. Cheers!
Warning: Don't look Swiffur in the eyes!