Tag: ron

Ron on the shelves


basement kitteh gets filed

Originally uploaded by ramtops

They grow ever bigger, and ever more exploratory. Today Ron spent time on the speaker mounted on the wall above my desk, then moved to sit on the box files on shelves a bit further along.

He’s a big like Gollum in some respects – all limbs and clinging. And he’s gorgeous.

In other news, he is now coming in and out the window with aplomb. Henry has just – as of yesterday – decided he will come in that way. He’s not at all happy about exiting, but that will come.

Originally published at the Tribe.

bzzzzzzzt

This afternoon I found Henry and Ron busily investigating a bumble bee which had somehow fallen into their clutches. They were fascinated by the sound it made, and had batted it about enough for it to be not very well at all. Pete removed it, as what we really don’t need is a kitten with a stung mouth.

However, I fear this may be inevitable, as they are sproinging round the garden chasing anything that flies. Or buzzes.

Originally published at the Tribe.

and so it begins …



and so it begins …

Originally uploaded by ramtops

We were musing last night on how the kittens would behave when confronted with wildlife, as we tormented played with them with a bird on a wire (a toy! bird, I hasten to add).

Ron just sorted of batted it, but Henry went straight for the back of the neck of this thing (it’s remarkably realistic – I must video them with it).

And lo, we talked it up – Ron came in this morning with his first catch, a small finch (I think). He hadn’t killed it, but had it grasped firmly in his mouth, and when I picked him up to try to make him drop the unfortunate bird, he was going “thrum” in a most thrumming manner.

He wouldn’t drop it, and instead got away from me and legged it up the stairs, where Pete caught him, picked him up and scruffed him. Whereupon Ron opened his mouth to scream in rage, the bird seized the opportunity and flew down the stairs, past my face, and landed in the shopping bag hanging from the rack in the hall.

With some presence of mind, Pete kept hold of the infuriated Ron, and I legged it through the house and out the patio doors, and decanted the bird amongst the flower pots, shutting the door firmly behind me when I came back in.

Had Henry had the bird, I think he would have killed it, killed it dead – playing with it isn’t his style. But Ron has had his toy taken away, and he is officially Not Pleased.

Click the image for a bigger version – I thought I’d spare you the full horror of a large picture.

Originally published at the Tribe.

limbs

limbsRon is still very leggy, and if he grows into those long limbs (and big paws) he’ll be huge. Here he is this morning sleeping up high; this ikea storage box is on the top shelf in the study, and clearly isn’t big enough for him to rest all of his body.

Bigger image available at the Tribe’s site below, or click through for Flickr

Originally published at the Tribe.

the unkindest cut of all

Ron and Henry were conveyed to the vet today, to be neutered. As is the way of things these days, this can no longer be done at the little surgery in Hotwells; instead, we had to drag them all the way over to Zetland Road for 8-8.30 a.m. The traffic in our village is appalling from about 7.30 a.m., so we were up early, enboxed the chaps and drove across Bristol.

Neither they nor the other cats had had anything to eat since about 7.45 last night, and so there was a deal of plaintive mewing en route, but we arrived safely without them actually consuming the cat box, and delivered them in plenty of time.

Within an hour or so, the vet hospital phoned and said that Ron’s (it would be Ron, wouldn’t it?) second testicle had not descended, and thus his op would be a little more serious. And expensive. They have to “go in and get it”.

We collected them at 14:00 and brought them home to, on the vet’s recommendation, “a light meal and rest and quiet”. The mewing in the car was rather more urgent on the return journey, which was – I think – due to hunger.

I’m not joking here: within 10 minutes of getting home, they’d consumed an entire chicken breast (boiled and chopped), a pouch of Whiskas, and half a can of Whiskas. They’re now roaming the house to see if there’s anything else nice to eat. Ron has killed a cardboard, and Henry has seen to a piece of plastic coated wire. Nobody’s told *them* they’re supposed to be resting.

I have a second chicken breast, which is supposed to be for the three big cats – what do you think the chances are?

a bushy tale

Ron being black

Ron just came hurtling into the study, tail like the proverbial bog brush. Henry followed close behind, but not looking quite as bushy or agitated.

Turned out they’d both been asleep on the bed, and the window cleaner had startled them.

Ron wears a permanently startled expression, but this was something to behold. His little heart was going pumpity pump!

Edit: this photograph was taken in the kitchen last night, not after The Incident.

scrabbling under the bed

Pete and I were reading in bed last night, and there was a sort of scrabbling from under the bed. Kittins do scrabble, of course, but there seemed somehow to be a more concentrated aspect to this than usual.

So Pete got out and had a look. And found a rat. Dead, thankfully, but not for long, as it hadn’t stiffened up. Also thankfully, it was intact, despite Ron and Henry’s best efforts to open it. Pete has disposed of it.

A rat in February seems quite odd, and they certainly didn’t catch it themselves. We can only surmise that Aunt Lilith brought it in for them, as she is the only cat we have now who rats (as far as we know, of course). Perhaps she has commenced some sort of training regime.

Originally published at the Tribe.