Marsbarn Designs...

Mr Fuzzpants: No one appreciates the cuteness

Look into my eyes...

Am I not cute?

We know I am.

From my furry little feet,

to my extravagant eyebrows, I am so cute.

What's that?

You cannot mean it.

You do not want me here?

Pah.

The Tank, slowing down

The Tank gets cold these days.  He spends a lot of time
lap surfing, in between visits to the heat vent when it's
on.  This increased affection as he gets older seems so
bittersweet. 

He's still our big guy, even with his skinny old man
hips.  He makes as much noise as ever as he prowls
around the house, and if Mr Fuzzypants gets out of line,
he reminds him whose house he lives in.  But our boy
is changing.

He limps more often than not, and he'll allow you to
lift him into your lap (a move he disdained even as a
kitten).  He purrs the same rumbling, deep bass, and
he still sleeps behind my knees every night.  We tell
the girls that he's an old cat now, and that our time
with him is getting short, but I think that is as much
to prepare ourselves as to prepare them. (I avoid even
thinking about what Mr Fuzzypants will do when his
friend and Godfather (think mafioso) leaves us.) Perhaps 
our warnings are premature;  he may go on for years
as he is.  But with all of the changes we've seen in 
him during the past 18 months, it is hard to imagine
the landslide of age leveling out into a plateau.   

Mr Fuzzypants: camo cat

 

And what exactly are you hunting for?

'Cause you found trouble.

The Tank in his element (ie where ever he finds himself)

It's been funny watching the Tank and Mr Fuzzpants
roll through the bathroom/kitchen redo and the
seasonal whirl of workshops. 

The Tank, my previously antagonistic main kitty man, 
has rolled through the spates of craziness with a zen
calm.  He sleeps where he can, finds sunbeams where
they land, even if it's in on the collage supplies during
a workshop, and reacts with cool aplomb when confined
to the upstairs bathroom/prison.

Mr Fuzzypants is the one who growls now at the trucks
that drive slowly down the street, or cries piteously
when even momentarily caught in a room.  

I haven't decided if The Tank is continuing to mellow,
or if he is bowing to the pressure to cool in comparison
to his more spastic younger companion.  I'm sure I heard
him saying "Brace up!" to Mr Fuzzypants the other day. 

Either way, I'm glad he's found his element. 

Remodel update: Under the sink (Or Mr Fuzzpants looses again.)

This photo brings me so much... satisfaction.  Isn't it
beautiful?   

The pipes have been reworked, and best of all, the
shelf has been replaced.  This has always been an ugly
place, and now it is so lovely.

The floor of this cupboard has been water damaged
particle board for as long as we've owned our home,
and now... oh, I'm so happy.  We're all so happy.

Well.. all of us except for Mr Fuzzypants. 
He's lost his new favorite hidey hole.

He liked the "Before" better. Poor boy.  He never gets his way.

Mr Fuzzpants: Where are you?

Oh, Mr Fuzzypants, where are you?
I cannot find you, where have you gone.

Wait, could it be?

Mr Fuzzypants, is that you?

Um... Mr Fuzzypants.. why are you under the sink? I'm
not sure that sleeping on the subfloor under the water
damaged shelf is really a good place for you...

Oh!  Scary Eyes!  
What a lovely, comfy bed you've found Mr Fuzzypants.

Mr Fuzzpants: The unfortunate truth

 

Oh, Mr Fuzzypants.. is that you?

It is you!  Where have you been?

I see. Laying low, enjoying the holidays, having fun.

I have something to tell you.  It's unfortunate, so
brace yourself.  The vacation is over.  It's time to go
back to our everyday lives. No more presents, no more
decorations, no more late mornings, and no more laps
to snuggle on 24/7. 

Yep.  That's what I think as well.

Mr Fuzzypants: Slouch Master

 And a thousands kitty grandmas cry out:
"Don't Slouch!  Sit up straight! You're so handsome when you don't slouch." 

And Mr Fuzzypants is all, 
"Huh?"

Mr Fuzzypants: has paper, will travel

Mr Fuzzypants has always worshiped paper.
Sometimes that worship comes in the form
of destruction and sometimes it comes as love. 

Most of the time, I keep a wad of packing
paper on the floor next to my sewing chair,
Mr Fuzzypants will come up, rough up the
paper (you know, to make it comfy) and
then sleep there.  (I *know* paper is so lush
and soft.  But really, it's what he likes.)

Well, his last bit of paper got too tattered,
so I recycled it last week (heathen, much?).  
So today I gave him a new sheet of paper from
a box I was unpacking.  He played with it on 
and off all morning.

When Big E got up this morning, I was sewing
up the last of my Etsy orders.  He came into
the sewing room and started checking emails,
and then we heard the sound of paper being
mauled.  I wondered what Mr F was getting into,
and turned to find that he's carried his new sheet
of paper into the sewing room so he could hang with us.

 Mmmm.. soft and cozy packing paper...  Notice the toy
collection he brought with him? 

Mr Fuzzypants gets musical

With many apologies to Blondie... 

 

Obviously, I have just enough knowledge to be dangerous.
You have to click on the image and go to Flickr to see the
entire screen.