Homeland Security

The kittens Gwenith and Huw are increasingly out and about these days, so appropriate measures must be taken to Protect the Homeland.

And not necessarily from the kittens themselves.

Here's the security device I rigged up on the Kitten Room door a week or so ago:

It's designed to keep Llewellyn out of the room and out of the catbox cookies.

Comme ca:

(Poor baby!)

Then early this morning, I installed this on the hatch door to the attic storage:

The dark recesses of the void under the roof has been a popular hideyhole for Rhadwen ever since we moved in four years ago. In fact, this is what she did back then when I tried to block the door with a full can of white trim paint:

Imagine coming home from a nice Sunday afternoon out to find that!

But we now have an understanding. I can pretty reliably call (or bribe) her out of there when I need to. But who knows what Gwenith and Huw might get up to in that long, dark space. They might park themselves way in the back just to assert their feline independence. They might creep in unbeknownst to me and I could inadvertently close the door on them on a very hot or very cold day. Do not want!

I kept them out as long as possible; yes, I did. But yesterday they, too, figured out how to push aside the door stop, spring the cabinet latch, and get inside.

Huw I quickly managed to catch and deposit back in the Kitten Room. But Gwenith had found something marvellous in the attic space, something delightful and delectable, something so fascinating she must bat it and attack it and carry it in her little mouth all round and behind and between the boxes and bags and stored Christmas decorations, something she was going to keep away from me, oh, yes, she was. It was stiff and gray and looked sort of furry-- Oh, no, do I have mice?

But eventually she--and it-- got close enough and I pounced. This is what she'd found:

A dead bird does not surprise me, though I'd like to know how it got in. Wouldn't be the first bird, live or dead, I've found in this house.

Even so, I don't need my kittens breaking into the attic space in hopes of further necrotic avian treats. Thus, the bolt.

Here's Rhadwen this afternoon trying to get the hatch door open. It's too bad I didn't get a picture of her glaring at me afterwards. If looks could kill--!

Sorry, BabyCat. The kittens ruined your fun for you. The attic has been made Secure.