music and kittens

The music identification app on my phone is quite creepily good.  It needed three goes to identify a Saint-Saens piano concerto, and I began to think maybe it wouldn't work on classical music, but it got there, right recording and everything, and I was talking the first time I tried.  Last night it got Dvorak's cello concerto straight off, and this evening as I was cooking I tested it on The Purcell Quartet and Corelli, and it was there within a couple of seconds.  That's seriously obscure.  I'm getting curious about what it can do now.  Fred Wedlock?  Tinariwen?  We shall see.

We watched the kittens as they ate their last couple of pouches for the day, and realised that the serious kitten had eaten the whole of one pouch, while the energetic kitten and Mr Fluffy shared the other between them, and were then too bashful to muscle in on the serious kitten's plate.  Time for three plates.  We tried that at the beginning, being aware of the theory that cats like their own space and their own food rations, but gave up because they never stuck to a plate each, instead piling into whichever helping they saw first, even if it meant that all three of them were sharing.

This evening I ushered the energetic kitten and then Mr Fluffy into the kitchen for an extra pouch, where they unfortunately interrupted Our Ginger who was attempting to eat a little late night supper in peace, and scoffed the remains of his supper as well.  Our Ginger was very forbearing about being robbed of his food, and by the time I'd put second and third helpings down to try and placate everybody I'd lost track of how much they'd all had and Mr Fluffy and his brother were looking as round as barrels, but extremely pleased with themselves.  If there is a nasty mess in the litter tray in the morning I'll know I overcompensated.

We went through a dodgy few days after starting to let them into the garden when they thought that the extra thick gravel that had built up outside the front door was meant as their new litter tray.  I can see why they might have formed that impression, but it was not very nice for the postman.  After a couple of days of poop scooping decisive action was required to break the habit. The Systems Administrator scraped up the thick gravel and dumped it elsewhere on the drive, then dosed the ground with a thick solution of mint flavoured shower gel.  Either I bought it, or the SA bought it because there was nothing else available, but the SA does not awfully like mint scented showers.  It turns out the kittens do not like artificial mint either, and have stopped crapping right outside the front door.  That's good, and we didn't even have to buy a special feline repellent at the garden centre.