Stairway to Kittens
I walked out of the bathroom yesterday. Nothing unusual there, but the first thing I saw upon opening the door was Abbie standing on the couch, and whining in agony that she was unable to climb down. “Oh,” I remarked, “I guess she can climb up on the couch by herself now.”
Climbing up and down things is Abbie’s newest passion. To heck with frivolous pursuits like reading books or learning to talk, climbing on things has real-life applications; it’s the key to reaching all those exciting objects that mommy and daddy leave just out of reach, like the remote controls and the telephone. I knew that she had been trying to climb on the couch because every time someone tries to lie on the couch and selfishly eat potato chips or some other snacky item without sharing, Abbie attempts to scale the cushions and collapse into your lap in order to share her pain as close as possible to you. You might not comprehend the mammoth misery that is not eating a potato chip if she simply whines at your side. She had never successfully climbed onto the couch before, possibly because her anguish crippled her. Fortunately our new bed is higher than the couch, so we can still snack in bed without worry of being bothered (physically at least).
As much fun as it is to ascend furniture, especially when a kitty is resting on top of said furniture, she especially loves climbing stairs. While visiting her grandfather’s house this weekend, she shunned all of the wonderful non-childproofed objects left within her reach, like the computer and the computer accessories, in favor of climbing up and down the stairs. Preparing lunch at home is a harrowing experience that involves softly banging around the kitchen, pretending that you’re not doing anything interesting. If Abbie discovers that you’re actually steaming the most delicious peas imaginable, she will torturously howl until offered a pea, or at least a Tasteeo. Cub fans behave in much the same way once they sniff success only to see it simmering just out of reach, the difference being Cub fans have gone 97 years without a championship, Abbie has gone closer to 97 minutes. At grandpa’s house, though, Abbie doesn’t even notice the hash browns crackling in the frying pan, not with a steep set of stairs to drag daddy up and down.
She mastered her ascending technique long ago. If I’m around, she grabs my hand and uses it to pull herself up one step at a time. If I’m busy chasing the dog in the backyard or blogging downstairs, she doesn’t let a little danger slow her down, she crawls up the steps using her hands on a higher step to pull her legs up. More than once I’ve sat down at the computer to search for important information (Cubs game recap) and turned around to see her halfway up the basement steps with nothing but a concrete floor to catch her should she fall. I rescue her as soon as I see her in this precarious position, waiting until she’s safe to learn that Patterson went 0-4 with 3 K’s.
Her descending technique is new and what I believe she is working so diligently to improve. She will sit down near the edge of the step, with “near” being a relative term as sometimes she sits several inches behind the edge, kicks her legs out in front of her, and then slowly pulls herself over the edge until her feet are solidly on the next step and she can stand. She greatly prefers to have me near so she can grab my hands and pull herself forward, dragging the seat of her pants in an attempt to ruin them and ensure that no one else may wear them when she outgrows them. If I’m not near she generally whines until I approach her with hands outstretched. Yet sometimes I wonder where she learned to whine as her primary form of communication.
She loves practicing her stair techniques that when we go in the backyard, she will climb up and down the steps instead of finding rocks to shove in her mouth. This is a great relief to me as stair climbing is safer than rock chewing. At least that’s what I thought until yesterday morning when she lost her balance on the steps and fell face first onto the concrete landing right in front of me. Now while shopping for Vital Supplies, strangers get to guess if I’m an abusive father, or just neglectful. “Oh,” I thought while comforting her, “I guess she’s not as steady around the steps as I first imagined.”
Climbing up and down things is Abbie’s newest passion. To heck with frivolous pursuits like reading books or learning to talk, climbing on things has real-life applications; it’s the key to reaching all those exciting objects that mommy and daddy leave just out of reach, like the remote controls and the telephone. I knew that she had been trying to climb on the couch because every time someone tries to lie on the couch and selfishly eat potato chips or some other snacky item without sharing, Abbie attempts to scale the cushions and collapse into your lap in order to share her pain as close as possible to you. You might not comprehend the mammoth misery that is not eating a potato chip if she simply whines at your side. She had never successfully climbed onto the couch before, possibly because her anguish crippled her. Fortunately our new bed is higher than the couch, so we can still snack in bed without worry of being bothered (physically at least).
As much fun as it is to ascend furniture, especially when a kitty is resting on top of said furniture, she especially loves climbing stairs. While visiting her grandfather’s house this weekend, she shunned all of the wonderful non-childproofed objects left within her reach, like the computer and the computer accessories, in favor of climbing up and down the stairs. Preparing lunch at home is a harrowing experience that involves softly banging around the kitchen, pretending that you’re not doing anything interesting. If Abbie discovers that you’re actually steaming the most delicious peas imaginable, she will torturously howl until offered a pea, or at least a Tasteeo. Cub fans behave in much the same way once they sniff success only to see it simmering just out of reach, the difference being Cub fans have gone 97 years without a championship, Abbie has gone closer to 97 minutes. At grandpa’s house, though, Abbie doesn’t even notice the hash browns crackling in the frying pan, not with a steep set of stairs to drag daddy up and down.
She mastered her ascending technique long ago. If I’m around, she grabs my hand and uses it to pull herself up one step at a time. If I’m busy chasing the dog in the backyard or blogging downstairs, she doesn’t let a little danger slow her down, she crawls up the steps using her hands on a higher step to pull her legs up. More than once I’ve sat down at the computer to search for important information (Cubs game recap) and turned around to see her halfway up the basement steps with nothing but a concrete floor to catch her should she fall. I rescue her as soon as I see her in this precarious position, waiting until she’s safe to learn that Patterson went 0-4 with 3 K’s.
Her descending technique is new and what I believe she is working so diligently to improve. She will sit down near the edge of the step, with “near” being a relative term as sometimes she sits several inches behind the edge, kicks her legs out in front of her, and then slowly pulls herself over the edge until her feet are solidly on the next step and she can stand. She greatly prefers to have me near so she can grab my hands and pull herself forward, dragging the seat of her pants in an attempt to ruin them and ensure that no one else may wear them when she outgrows them. If I’m not near she generally whines until I approach her with hands outstretched. Yet sometimes I wonder where she learned to whine as her primary form of communication.
She loves practicing her stair techniques that when we go in the backyard, she will climb up and down the steps instead of finding rocks to shove in her mouth. This is a great relief to me as stair climbing is safer than rock chewing. At least that’s what I thought until yesterday morning when she lost her balance on the steps and fell face first onto the concrete landing right in front of me. Now while shopping for Vital Supplies, strangers get to guess if I’m an abusive father, or just neglectful. “Oh,” I thought while comforting her, “I guess she’s not as steady around the steps as I first imagined.”
posted by Matt at
9:39 PM
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