Bugsy's wild hair/hare

Dropped by my folks' place today and got a chance to play with Bugsy, the SuperKitten. He's now well-established as the "baby" of the family; both of my folks dote on him all day long, especially my mom, who babies him pretty good. She holds him and sings at 'im. He doesn't know any better, so he gobbles it all up.

I noticed that the young fellow was carrying a tiny cloth mouse in his mouth. "What's with that dang mouse?", I asked.

Mom told me that the mouse was one of the baubles that was hangin' from the Xmas tree (see action shot above). You know the stuff: all those little Santas, and birds, and snowballs, and guitars, and elves, and whatnot—that people hang on the tree along with bulbs and tinsel and sh*t. Well, as it turns out, out of the fifty or so doodads on my mom's tree, doodad, like, #36 was a mouse.
As you know, one of Bugsy's first toys was a goshdarned mouse. I guess he wanted a new one. So he got it. The boy shows initiative.

The only camera I had was the one on my mom's Mac laptop, which is pretty low-res. Here's a detail of a photo of Bugsy's new cloth mouse. Trust me, it's a mouse all right. It amazes me that the Bugster chose this one thing out of all that junk on that tree. He's smart, he is. One of these days, he'll be doin' my folks' taxes.

Here he is, sneakin' up on the varmint. You know cats. It's all about the obstacles and angles.

Here's my mom, trying to get her boy to give a damn about that duster thingy. Nobody expresses indifference like a cat expresses indifference. It's a feline specialty.

Here's some more "mouse" action. That posy at left is actually just the design of the rug.

Another action shot. That Bugsy moves around like an electron. You think he's over here, but then, a second later, he's way over there. Zip zip zip. Bing!

My mom really isn't up on cats—she and my dad or mostly "dog" people—so I've given her the benefit of my experience, catwise. I told her about how cats can get all revved up and crazy. It's the old "wild hair," I say*. "Once that gets started, they're liable to zip around like lunatics and maybe pull on your pants or bite your ankles. Watch out," I say.
"It's just a cat thing."
Don't get me wrong; Bugsy is about as sweet a cat as I've ever encountered, and that's saying a lot. But he's a boy and he's a kitten. So, well, something's gotta give.

Here's my mom trying to join in the cat fun.
Bugsy and I have become serious play buddies. Nowadays, when I show up, the Bug comes right up to me expecting FUN and MAYHEM (or a bit of butter at the end of a knife). He gets the wild hair every time. My mom doesn't really know what she's getting into here. She's trying to hang that dang mouse on the side of that chair. She figures he'll go nuts about it. Nope. That's all wrong.

Bugsy the indifferent. You gotta toss the dang thing against a wall or crush it in your mouth, stuff like that. Just hanging it up on a chair means nothing. Less than nothing.
Get it right!

My mom always provides lots of balloons for the kids during the holidays. I recall visiting last week and finding all these "dead" balloons everywhere. Evidently, the Bugster had popped 'em all. I was impressed. If I were a little kid—like the Bugster—and I saw some new kind of object suddenly disappear with a bang, I'd think twice about getting near its kind again.
Not the Bugster, it seems.
What a guy!

Mom really loves her little boy. My dad tells me that she'll freak out when Bug sleeps in that deep way that cats do. "He's not dead, is he?" she'll ask, virtually trembling. Many reassurances are issued by dad. "No, the goddam cat is just sleeping!" Then he'll pound his foot on the ground or something and Bugsy'll shoot straight up in the air and tear off in some direction, just like some Warner Bros critter.
My folks are pretty clueless about cats.

Like Kathie, mom doesn't know how to say "no" to a cat. Arguably, it's important for a cat to know that word. When mom (or Kathie) say "no," they're about as stern as Shirley Goddam Temple. Truth is, all of mom's "nos" are virtual "yeses." So I told mom about how to say no and mean it; to be very quick and efficient about it: no lingering or yapping. Works wonders. And you don't have to yell or nothing.
Today, my mom tried out her first stern "no." The Bugster got one of those wild hairs and, when he hopped up on mom's lap, he started biting her (the way kittens do). He got a little carried away, getting those rear legs going. Ouch! That's when my mom tried out her new "no."
Suddenly, she belted out a thundering "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"—a No that could kill a guy.
I suggested that the utterance need not be ear-splitting or gut-wrenching. "Oh," she said.
(I don't think my mom has a "medium" switch. It's strictly off or HELLFIRE with her.)

Bugsy in the kitchen with Mr. Balloon, Mr. Mouse, and his beloved mom.

     *Some say the expression is "wild hare," not "wild hair." Yeah, whatever.

Old Irvine

Evidently, this picture was taken near the current Old Towne Irvine, namely, the south side of the junction of the 5 and Sand Canyon (SEE)