We’re not huge cat-toy buyers.  Our cats aren’t terribly interested in gee-whizzery, and the Kitty Can’t Cope Sack represents the pinnacle of technology to them.  Milo’s favorite toy, when he’s not getting his kitty buzz on, is a crumpled receipt (and his zeal for pursuing them, even in an uncrumpled state, makes entering expenses into Quicken an exercise that would impress the Flying Wallendas).  We are well aware that for the feline imagination a cardboard box is a castle, a TARDIS, and a treehouse all in one.

So why we were enticed by a $5 IKEA nylon cat-hut, I don’t know.  But I’m happy we didn’t listen to our wiser voices for once.  The thing’s a hit at our house, and for some reason we find it endlessly amusing to find our cat-family enjoying its cozy Swedish vibe.

Simon a/k/a "Big Papi" (for his increasingly strong resemblance to David Ortiz ):

Little Milo, happily sharing space with several Kitty Can’t Copes:

Dash, examining the environs:

…and deciding that he draws the line at sharing.

…Though we are sad here at Chez Writingortyping, because wee Milo is off to the vet for that… operation.  The one all good cat-owners have done if they don’t want to be vicarious kitten-mommas or -daddies.  So, despite the fact that I have been a lame blogger of late, I shall only give you a few photos of the little guy.  He’s going to be gone for a whole 24 hours, and John and I are wondering how we will cope without our dense, warm little fur-bundle purring away on our laps.  We have already suffered through this morning’s agony of trying to ignore him on doctor’s pre-surgery no-feed orders as he squeaked furiously at us, completely incensed that his usual demands were met with no kibble.  (Our neighbor likes to say, “Dogs have owners; cats have staff.”  It is all too true.)

We had a party recently – Milo appointed himself Sommelier:

“May I get madame a glass of champagne?”

Feeling like quite the wildlife photographer, I also caught Milo and Dash performing the elusive head-lick:

Lastly, a similarly elusive group photo of all three of the feline members of the household:

At least I don’t have the heartrending task of actually leaving the wee one at the vet’s – that job goes to John, as the vet is on his way to work.