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Citgo spoils his fur-brats something awful, but it's nothing I wouldn't do myself, if I had two fur-brats of my very own.
In fact, I am guilty of spoiling them for him when he's not looking
Recently, the spoiling contained a bigger, better, now with more platforms, cat-tree-nest thingger.
It stands about 3.5'-4' high, has two platforms, a dangly-ringy toy-thing and a circular nest on the top with a hole in the bottom, (to provide better "annoy you in the middle of the night with the ringy-toy" action.)
This is great, because it means the Great Black and White Hunter can fully strech out and sharpen his claws on something other than the couch and the bed. It also means they have a nice high perch from which to stare distainfully down on the outside world.
The carpet upholstry of this thing is sandy biege and orangey-biege.
The same orangey-biege that adorns the fur of Little Orange Howler. One could say she is well camoflaged in unnatural environments
Sitting here, from my vantage point on the couch, I watched (after many minutes of intense consentration) as the Little Orange Howler, in a rare display of dexterity, lept from the floor, to the second platform, and up through the hole into the top nest bit. There she settled down and has been napping contentidly ever since.
Later, I watched the Great Black and White Hunter stroll in, circle the cat-tree twice, and with far less grace than Little Orange Howler, launch himself skyward. His head had just creasted the rim of the cat-tree when he realized:
a) it was already occupied,
b) he was already in midair, and gravity was beginning to work,
and
c) There was very little he could to to avoid stepping on the LIttle Orange Howler.
By some grace of the cat gods however, he managed to fling all four appendages in opposite directions at once, and plant each heavily clawed paw on the very rim of the cat nest.
He stopped, looked around for a while, admired the view, gave off the air of "Well, I meant to do that", and stared at the Little Orange Howler for a few moments, as if he expected her to reliquish her spot to him.
When she didn't even twich an ear at the great, suave beast balenced percariously over her, he gave up, and with an equally as ungraceful heave, launched himself back to the ground. Only after the cat-tree wabbled back a forth a little bit did Little Orange Howler look up as if to ask, "Did I miss something?"
She then rolled over and went back to sleep, one ear poking out from the top of the nest, one paw dangling down through the hole, a perfect vision of relaxation.
In fact, I am guilty of spoiling them for him when he's not looking
Recently, the spoiling contained a bigger, better, now with more platforms, cat-tree-nest thingger.
It stands about 3.5'-4' high, has two platforms, a dangly-ringy toy-thing and a circular nest on the top with a hole in the bottom, (to provide better "annoy you in the middle of the night with the ringy-toy" action.)
This is great, because it means the Great Black and White Hunter can fully strech out and sharpen his claws on something other than the couch and the bed. It also means they have a nice high perch from which to stare distainfully down on the outside world.
The carpet upholstry of this thing is sandy biege and orangey-biege.
The same orangey-biege that adorns the fur of Little Orange Howler. One could say she is well camoflaged in unnatural environments
Sitting here, from my vantage point on the couch, I watched (after many minutes of intense consentration) as the Little Orange Howler, in a rare display of dexterity, lept from the floor, to the second platform, and up through the hole into the top nest bit. There she settled down and has been napping contentidly ever since.
Later, I watched the Great Black and White Hunter stroll in, circle the cat-tree twice, and with far less grace than Little Orange Howler, launch himself skyward. His head had just creasted the rim of the cat-tree when he realized:
a) it was already occupied,
b) he was already in midair, and gravity was beginning to work,
and
c) There was very little he could to to avoid stepping on the LIttle Orange Howler.
By some grace of the cat gods however, he managed to fling all four appendages in opposite directions at once, and plant each heavily clawed paw on the very rim of the cat nest.
He stopped, looked around for a while, admired the view, gave off the air of "Well, I meant to do that", and stared at the Little Orange Howler for a few moments, as if he expected her to reliquish her spot to him.
When she didn't even twich an ear at the great, suave beast balenced percariously over her, he gave up, and with an equally as ungraceful heave, launched himself back to the ground. Only after the cat-tree wabbled back a forth a little bit did Little Orange Howler look up as if to ask, "Did I miss something?"
She then rolled over and went back to sleep, one ear poking out from the top of the nest, one paw dangling down through the hole, a perfect vision of relaxation.
