Swiffur's 1st Birthday

Swiffur can no longer be considered a kitten. He is now a cat. To acknowledge his coming of age, here goes. Happy Birthday to you, (meow, meow, meow), Happy Birthday to you (meow, meow, meow), Happy Birthday, Dear Swiffur...Wait! Stop right there! Has this really happened? Have I really become the person that treats their animals as if they are her kids? You know, the people that dress their animals up in cutesy clothes and take them out to eat with them? The people who ask for a doggy bag and take it a little too seriously because it really IS actually for their doggy! Say it isn't so!! Nooooooooo. This isn't me! I swear! Someone slap me! (Oh, sure, look at the line forming for THAT! But where were you all when I asked for help with raking the yard? Nice.)

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!