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A Story About a Cat
ru-cats.livejournal.com/19218540.html
Dear fellow cat owners, I've come to you for advice.
There is a cat. The cat weighs ten kilograms.
There is a bed. The bed has a high soft headboard 10-15 centimeters wide.
And there are the cat's owners, who sleep in this bed.
At night, the cat jumps onto the headboard and walks along it. The cat has a nightly promenade. But since the cat was a cow in a past life and carried some characteristics into its current incarnation, on the fourth or fifth lap, it loses its balance and splats downward.
If I'm lucky, the cat falls nearby. If not, ten kilograms of cat land on my head, and for some reason, always backside first.
Question: how do I break the cat of this habit?
The following have been tried:
- sticky tapes laid out on the headboard. (In the end, we spent half the night peeling them off a frantic cat; we almost left him without a scalp).
- ylang-ylang scent, which the cat dislikes. (The cat didn't give a damn that it was a scent he disliked).
- large amounts of tangerine peels (The cat disdainfully knocked the peels onto my head, and in the process, fell down after them himself).
What else can be done? I've already tried sleeping with a spray bottle under my pillow. The cat bolts, then returns.
ru-cats.livejournal.com/19238701.html
Two days ago, I posted a cry for help in the community.
I received many responses. Two were put into action immediately.
As promised, here is the report.
I love simple and easy-to-implement ideas. Therefore, suggestions to nail a shelf to the bed, to the cat, or to my own head so that it would be convenient for him to fall on, were postponed for later.
To start, I took six balloons from my child, blew them up, and wedged the knots between the wall and the bed. It looked very beautiful. My husband and I admired them and went to sleep.
In the middle of the night, a shot rang out. Half-asleep, I decided that my husband had shot the cat (although the only weapon in our house is a water pistol).
When we turned on the light, the cat was sitting on the floor surrounded by shreds of a blue balloon, squinting discontentedly. He was given a kick, the balloons were shifted, and we went back to sleep. This was our strategic error, proving how little we know about cats.
He popped the second and third balloons about twenty minutes later and scampered off, laughing mockingly. My husband insistently asked me to clear everything away and end the experiments for today. While I was hiding the balloons in the closet, the cat crept up to the largest one and swiped it with his paw.
The bottom line: minus four balloons, minus two hours of sleep, minus eight meters of nervous fibers between two adults. Plus entertainment for the cat.
Then we moved to plan B. The entire headboard was lined with several layers of foil so that it would crinkle louder. I assured my husband that he could now sleep peacefully: the cat definitely wouldn't go near the foil—he'd be afraid.
Well, that's almost what happened. The cat came a couple of hours later after we fell asleep. He jumped from the closet onto the foil. The foil crinkled, the cat got terrified, shot up into the air, and landed on my husband.
The bottom line: minus ten meters of foil, minus forty drops of motherwort for two adults. Plus entertainment for the cat.
ru-cats.livejournal.com/19428775.html
So, I had a problem that I brought to the community.
After the foil and balloons failed, I started thinking in another direction: how to keep the cat out of the bedroom at night.
First, a cat repeller was used. Unfortunately, the cat didn't understand it was a repeller. My husband, however, did; he grimaced, sniffed around, and eventually asked me to air out the room. So now I have a husband repeller—if anyone needs one, I can give it away.
A basin of water turned out to be roughly the same kind of stupidity. We put it there with the calculation that the cat would splash around and forget about the bed (he loves water).
The calculation was half-correct: the cat splashed, but he didn't forget the bed.
At night he came galloping to us, shaking wet paws. Half-asleep, it seemed to me that he had twenty-two of them. With ten of them, he stepped on my face; with the rest, he ran across the blanket and sheet. Finally, he gave my husband a loud kiss on the nose, poking him with a wet muzzle that was dripping water.
After that, my husband said to hell with the interior, he agreed to the shelf.
In the evening, he brought a varnished board with a lip, fussed over it for two hours, cursed the innocent bed, and finally attached it. I wanted to say that it's better for a cat to fall on us than this contraption (no one would have come out of under it alive). But I looked at my husband's face and decided to stay silent. Fine, I thought, we'll sleep one night—and then I'll take it down just to be safe.
Additionally, before bed, the child ran in and piled his toys on it. I waved it off and didn't start an argument because I was wondering which relative would raise the child if we were buried under the shelf.
(It must be said that my worry was unnecessary: as it turned out, my husband had nailed it for good).
At night, the cat came to the shelf. He strolled leisurely to the middle of the shelf and touched one of the toys with his paw.
This happened to be an interactive "Zhu-Zhu Pets" hamster.
At the touch of a cat's paw, the hamster switched on. It exclaimed invitingly:
"Abuzyuuuu-zy!" and ran at the cat, glowing with love.
I would gladly tell you what happened next. But I won't lie: we didn't see it. And in general, we didn't see the cat again until morning. The hamster reached the edge of the shelf and committed suicide like a lemming, jumping from the cliff into the basin of water.
Result: we took down the shelf.
A guard hamster now sits on the headboard.
The cat doesn't enter the room. And if he happens to see the hamster through the open door, he puffs up to the size of a manul and retreats in terror.
------------
They installed a barrier at the entrance to our territory. The system there is tricky and complicated! A SIM card is inserted into the corresponding block of the barrier, which in terms of functional capabilities corresponds to a mobile phone. You call this number, and if your phone is registered in its contact database, the barrier opens. No key fobs are needed, and the possibilities are wider—for example, a friend arrives, has no fob, and cannot get into the parking lot on the territory. He calls you, you call back the SIM number (even from another city!), and the barrier opens. But the SIM's memory isn't infinite; a hundred contacts and that's it! It was filled to the brim with new contacts. And people continue to demand new phone numbers from which they can open the barrier. Some for a driver, some for a translator or a lover.
And the residents are mostly foreigners, every other one an employee of foreign companies and consulates! And everyone is eager to start an international scandal, especially the journalists. I received instructions—take readings (compile a list of existing contacts on the SIM), determine who is who, delete the unnecessary ones, and add new, particularly persistent ones in their place.
I took out the SIM, put it in my own phone, tasked the security guard with opening and closing the barrier manually, and began to compile the list with great difficulty. Meanwhile, I was chatting with our drinkers—basically, I got distracted. A call, I answer, silence in response. An unfamiliar number. Shrugging, I hang up.
And so it happened twice more. It's getting irritating! I go to the bathroom, and at the most inconvenient moment, the mobile rings again. I thought something very bad about the person who was pestering me like this. At that moment, it didn't occur to me that the SIM in the phone wasn't mine at all. I think: what kind of asshole is calling from an unknown number?
I've had enough! I pick up the mobile—"GO [CENSORED]!!!" and in response, with a distinct Asian accent—"Slagbauma? How go to [censored]???????" Apparently, the guy finally decided once more to hear what answer comes to his unsuccessful calls.
The story didn't end there. After laughing it off somewhat, I finally finished the list and, conducting investigative actions with the help of other office employees, managed to establish the ownership of half the phones. There was nothing for it—the rest had to be called, and from that same SIM.
Of course, people were stunned at first! Almost everyone had this number saved in "contacts" as "barrier," and people were genuinely baffled, trying to figure out how a dumb piece of iron could call them and what questions it had for them???? On the other hand, after hearing the essence of the matter, they talked about themselves without hesitation—since I was calling from this number, it meant I really was doing this for official reasons. During one more call, I didn't have time to say anything. I only heard—"Eeee... Slagbauma? You yourself are fool, [censored] and... eee.. [censored]!!!" I don't know how much longer the poor Asian's Russian vocabulary would have lasted, but I doubled over, wiping away tears of silent laughter. I came to my senses only when my colleagues started shaking me by the shoulders and asking where I got such potent weed.
-----------
Children sometimes knock you for a loop.
My daughter (7 years old) asks: Mom, what are the paints made of that they used to color the world?
Me: ???? I don't understand, explain.
Her: Well, look, before, when you were little, everything was black and white: the grass, the trees, the people, and everything-everything... I know, I saw it in photos, grandma showed me... And then they colored everything, and everything became colorful.
So, what are those paints made of?
I'm floored—imagine that, looking at old black-and-white photos and thinking the whole world was like that! And then it was colored.
---------
Arriving in a northern hole in 1997, I found out that there was no hint of internet there, so I thought, Fido users must definitely be around. A week's search showed that "FIDO" was a very unfamiliar word there, because it really is an exceptional hole. In desperation, I put this ad in the local newspaper: "Looking for a node that will take a point."
I thought whoever knows—will understand; whoever doesn't—doesn't need to. But I was deeply mistaken. Judging by the onslaught of calls that followed, all of eastern Yakutia consisted of Fido users. And at that time, I was sent on a business trip. My wife answered the calls, and I had explained the basics of Fidonet to her. While relaying the content of the calls, she cried. And I cried. Very many people wanted to "take" (the ad said "take," therefore it's free!) this very "point." They asked what size it was, if it was fluffy or not, what it ate, etc. And MOST IMPORTANTLY, no one asked: what on earth is a POINT?
I got the impression that everyone had once kept such a "point" at home, fed it, pampered it, and played with it in the evenings. And they probably considered themselves "nodes":)) Not a single call to the point. There was no Fidonet there.
A Story About a Cat
ru-cats.livejournal.com/19218540.html
Dear fellow cat owners, I've come to you for advice.
There is a cat. The cat weighs ten kilograms.
There is a bed. The bed has a high soft headboard 10-15 centimeters wide.
And there are the cat's owners, who sleep in this bed.
At night, the cat jumps onto the headboard and walks along it. The cat has a nightly promenade. But since the cat was a cow in a past life and carried some characteristics into its current incarnation, on the fourth or fifth lap, it loses its balance and splats downward.
If I'm lucky, the cat falls nearby. If not, ten kilograms of cat land on my head, and for some reason, always backside first.
Question: how do I break the cat of this habit?
The following have been tried:
- sticky tapes laid out on the headboard. (In the end, we spent half the night peeling them off a frantic cat; we almost left him without a scalp).
- ylang-ylang scent, which the cat dislikes. (The cat didn't give a damn that it was a scent he disliked).
- large amounts of tangerine peels (The cat disdainfully knocked the peels onto my head, and in the process, fell down after them himself).
What else can be done? I've already tried sleeping with a spray bottle under my pillow. The cat bolts, then returns.
ru-cats.livejournal.com/19238701.html
Two days ago, I posted a cry for help in the community.
I received many responses. Two were put into action immediately.
As promised, here is the report.
I love simple and easy-to-implement ideas. Therefore, suggestions to nail a shelf to the bed, to the cat, or to my own head so that it would be convenient for him to fall on, were postponed for later.
To start, I took six balloons from my child, blew them up, and wedged the knots between the wall and the bed. It looked very beautiful. My husband and I admired them and went to sleep.
In the middle of the night, a shot rang out. Half-asleep, I decided that my husband had shot the cat (although the only weapon in our house is a water pistol).
When we turned on the light, the cat was sitting on the floor surrounded by shreds of a blue balloon, squinting discontentedly. He was given a kick, the balloons were shifted, and we went back to sleep. This was our strategic error, proving how little we know about cats.
He popped the second and third balloons about twenty minutes later and scampered off, laughing mockingly. My husband insistently asked me to clear everything away and end the experiments for today. While I was hiding the balloons in the closet, the cat crept up to the largest one and swiped it with his paw.
The bottom line: minus four balloons, minus two hours of sleep, minus eight meters of nervous fibers between two adults. Plus entertainment for the cat.
Then we moved to plan B. The entire headboard was lined with several layers of foil so that it would crinkle louder. I assured my husband that he could now sleep peacefully: the cat definitely wouldn't go near the foil—he'd be afraid.
Well, that's almost what happened. The cat came a couple of hours later after we fell asleep. He jumped from the closet onto the foil. The foil crinkled, the cat got terrified, shot up into the air, and landed on my husband.
The bottom line: minus ten meters of foil, minus forty drops of motherwort for two adults. Plus entertainment for the cat.
ru-cats.livejournal.com/19428775.html
So, I had a problem that I brought to the community.
After the foil and balloons failed, I started thinking in another direction: how to keep the cat out of the bedroom at night.
First, a cat repeller was used. Unfortunately, the cat didn't understand it was a repeller. My husband, however, did; he grimaced, sniffed around, and eventually asked me to air out the room. So now I have a husband repeller—if anyone needs one, I can give it away.
A basin of water turned out to be roughly the same kind of stupidity. We put it there with the calculation that the cat would splash around and forget about the bed (he loves water).
The calculation was half-correct: the cat splashed, but he didn't forget the bed.
At night he came galloping to us, shaking wet paws. Half-asleep, it seemed to me that he had twenty-two of them. With ten of them, he stepped on my face; with the rest, he ran across the blanket and sheet. Finally, he gave my husband a loud kiss on the nose, poking him with a wet muzzle that was dripping water.
After that, my husband said to hell with the interior, he agreed to the shelf.
In the evening, he brought a varnished board with a lip, fussed over it for two hours, cursed the innocent bed, and finally attached it. I wanted to say that it's better for a cat to fall on us than this contraption (no one would have come out of under it alive). But I looked at my husband's face and decided to stay silent. Fine, I thought, we'll sleep one night—and then I'll take it down just to be safe.
Additionally, before bed, the child ran in and piled his toys on it. I waved it off and didn't start an argument because I was wondering which relative would raise the child if we were buried under the shelf.
(It must be said that my worry was unnecessary: as it turned out, my husband had nailed it for good).
At night, the cat came to the shelf. He strolled leisurely to the middle of the shelf and touched one of the toys with his paw.
This happened to be an interactive "Zhu-Zhu Pets" hamster.
At the touch of a cat's paw, the hamster switched on. It exclaimed invitingly:
"Abuzyuuuu-zy!" and ran at the cat, glowing with love.
I would gladly tell you what happened next. But I won't lie: we didn't see it. And in general, we didn't see the cat again until morning. The hamster reached the edge of the shelf and committed suicide like a lemming, jumping from the cliff into the basin of water.
Result: we took down the shelf.
A guard hamster now sits on the headboard.
The cat doesn't enter the room. And if he happens to see the hamster through the open door, he puffs up to the size of a manul and retreats in terror.
------------
They installed a barrier at the entrance to our territory. The system there is tricky and complicated! A SIM card is inserted into the corresponding block of the barrier, which in terms of functional capabilities corresponds to a mobile phone. You call this number, and if your phone is registered in its contact database, the barrier opens. No key fobs are needed, and the possibilities are wider—for example, a friend arrives, has no fob, and cannot get into the parking lot on the territory. He calls you, you call back the SIM number (even from another city!), and the barrier opens. But the SIM's memory isn't infinite; a hundred contacts and that's it! It was filled to the brim with new contacts. And people continue to demand new phone numbers from which they can open the barrier. Some for a driver, some for a translator or a lover.
And the residents are mostly foreigners, every other one an employee of foreign companies and consulates! And everyone is eager to start an international scandal, especially the journalists. I received instructions—take readings (compile a list of existing contacts on the SIM), determine who is who, delete the unnecessary ones, and add new, particularly persistent ones in their place.
I took out the SIM, put it in my own phone, tasked the security guard with opening and closing the barrier manually, and began to compile the list with great difficulty. Meanwhile, I was chatting with our drinkers—basically, I got distracted. A call, I answer, silence in response. An unfamiliar number. Shrugging, I hang up.
And so it happened twice more. It's getting irritating! I go to the bathroom, and at the most inconvenient moment, the mobile rings again. I thought something very bad about the person who was pestering me like this. At that moment, it didn't occur to me that the SIM in the phone wasn't mine at all. I think: what kind of asshole is calling from an unknown number?
I've had enough! I pick up the mobile—"GO [CENSORED]!!!" and in response, with a distinct Asian accent—"Slagbauma? How go to [censored]???????" Apparently, the guy finally decided once more to hear what answer comes to his unsuccessful calls.
The story didn't end there. After laughing it off somewhat, I finally finished the list and, conducting investigative actions with the help of other office employees, managed to establish the ownership of half the phones. There was nothing for it—the rest had to be called, and from that same SIM.
Of course, people were stunned at first! Almost everyone had this number saved in "contacts" as "barrier," and people were genuinely baffled, trying to figure out how a dumb piece of iron could call them and what questions it had for them???? On the other hand, after hearing the essence of the matter, they talked about themselves without hesitation—since I was calling from this number, it meant I really was doing this for official reasons. During one more call, I didn't have time to say anything. I only heard—"Eeee... Slagbauma? You yourself are fool, [censored] and... eee.. [censored]!!!" I don't know how much longer the poor Asian's Russian vocabulary would have lasted, but I doubled over, wiping away tears of silent laughter. I came to my senses only when my colleagues started shaking me by the shoulders and asking where I got such potent weed.
-----------
Children sometimes knock you for a loop.
My daughter (7 years old) asks: Mom, what are the paints made of that they used to color the world?
Me: ???? I don't understand, explain.
Her: Well, look, before, when you were little, everything was black and white: the grass, the trees, the people, and everything-everything... I know, I saw it in photos, grandma showed me... And then they colored everything, and everything became colorful.
So, what are those paints made of?
I'm floored—imagine that, looking at old black-and-white photos and thinking the whole world was like that! And then it was colored.
---------
Arriving in a northern hole in 1997, I found out that there was no hint of internet there, so I thought, Fido users must definitely be around. A week's search showed that "FIDO" was a very unfamiliar word there, because it really is an exceptional hole. In desperation, I put this ad in the local newspaper: "Looking for a node that will take a point."
I thought whoever knows—will understand; whoever doesn't—doesn't need to. But I was deeply mistaken. Judging by the onslaught of calls that followed, all of eastern Yakutia consisted of Fido users. And at that time, I was sent on a business trip. My wife answered the calls, and I had explained the basics of Fidonet to her. While relaying the content of the calls, she cried. And I cried. Very many people wanted to "take" (the ad said "take," therefore it's free!) this very "point." They asked what size it was, if it was fluffy or not, what it ate, etc. And MOST IMPORTANTLY, no one asked: what on earth is a POINT?
I got the impression that everyone had once kept such a "point" at home, fed it, pampered it, and played with it in the evenings. And they probably considered themselves "nodes":)) Not a single call to the point. There was no Fidonet there.