The Longest Day in the World

Yesterday was the longest day in the world. The old lady came to my house and served me a dish of Savory Duck from the magic cupboard for breakfast, and then I slept in Softie's office chair.

Softie and the old lady turned up a little later and eye drops were administered--which I hate. Then they started boxing up food from the magic cupboard, the big cold foodbox and the kitchen drawers. During all this I noticed Softie crushing up a tiny white pill....which came from a small brown bottle. I am pretty sure the label read "kitty valium" and it came from Dr.R, but I didn't know what kitty valium was....but I do now.

Softie mixed the powder with some water and before I knew it, the mixture had been squirted down my throat. It didn't taste bad like the horrible meds from the big cold foodbox taste, but it wasn't very pleasant either.

Oddly, my feet stopped working properly and then I felt very woozy. Softie carried me around and it was most enjoyable. After a while I was having difficulty walking, so Softie kindly put me into the dreaded Pet-Taxi. I didn't even realize it. I curled up on the towel inside and stuck a paw out the door and waved to the old lady, who waved back. They proceded to box up more stuff and take it outside, then Softie took me outside and loaded me into the metal monster. I

t was the longest ride I have ever known. We must have been in the metal monster forever! Funny, I wasn't afraid of the metal monster this time. I didn't get sick and I didn't drool all over myself! Softie hooked up her iPod and the two of us sang a lot of songs on the way. She really cannot sing.

Eventually we arrived somewhere and I was freed from the dreaded Pet-Taxi. I'm still not sure where we are, but Softie and the British One keep telling me it is my new home. It has hardwood floors, massive windows and almost all our stuff inside. I set about familiarizing myself with this new place. I wandered from the kitchen to the dining room to the large lounge to something called a foyer, and back again. I studied the location of my litterbox and counted the paces from each room to the box. Then I did the same for my food dishes.

Then Softie located my blankie and sat down on the sofa, and I curled up in her lap, just like old times. I had a nice little nap, but then I saw the British One appear out of nowhere. I was puzzled and mystified. I had to find out where he had been.

There is an entire second floor to this house! I climbed up the stairs and discovered a bunch of rooms, another litterbox and a bathroom! I found our beddie-bye basket and dresser and more of our stuff! Amazing!

When the British One and Softie went to the beddiebye basket, they kindly put my little stepstool at the foot of the bed. I climbed up onto the bed and curled up between them, just like old times.

I wonder when we are going home?

What's Going On??

Lots of strange things happened today, and I don't like any of them.

The British One and Softie's friend Christian came over last night with a very large, noisy orange truck. Then he spent the night.

Bright and early this morning the three of them were up loading our belongings into the orange truck. Then more people came over and put stuff into the truck. Almost everything went into the truck except me! They also left behind Softie's office chair (which I sat on and wouldn't let anyone take away) and the chair in the lounge that I like to sleep on. The British One calls the chair a "Po-ang." Softie also left my favorite blankie draped over the Po-ang.

Now they have left me alone and I'm not sure what to do. The old lady came over a little while ago and gave me food, but I don't know where the British One and Softie are. They've been gone all day and it's getting late.

What if they don't love me anymore? What if they have left me behind? What if I never see them again?!

Who's going to clip my nappy dreads? Who will feed me? Who will let me sleep on top of them when the weather turns cold?

I wish I knew what is happening.

Just Too Many Boxes

The house has begun to echo.

The packing continues.

Where is all our stuff going?

Why are there only a few tins of food in my magic cupboard?

Too Much Upheavel

The British One has spent the entire day putting things into boxes. He has removed all the pictures from the walls and has taken down the shelving. I followed him around demanding to know what is going on, but it was fruitless.

When Softie got home she also began putting things into boxes. All the stuff from the shelves went into boxes. I sat on the kitchen floor behind her, watching. I thought if I sat there looking regal and fluffy she would not be able to resist letting me in on the secret of the boxes.....and I was right!

She swooped me up into her arms and carried me around--which I adore--and told me all about a new house. She says it will be our new house. She said it has big windows and lots of nooks for me to explore.

But what if I don't want a new house? What is wrong with my house? I don't see as well as I used to--how will I find my way around someplace new? What if I can't sun myself on the deck anymore?!

It's all quite worrying to a little handsome lad such as myself.

Suspicious Minds

It was a beautiful, brisk day and after a delicious breakfast of diced chicken from the big, cold foodbox I spent the morning sunning myself on the deck. I didn't even have to remind Softie to open the door!

I got suspicious, however, because as soon as I walked out the door the pair of them were busy cleaning and tidying the house. I had a feeling they'd be taking me out to visit the old lady again, and sure enough they did. They kept speaking of something called an "open house." I don't understand why they open up our house to strangers while they aren't even there! I don't understand why they don't leave me there to keep an eye on things. Who knows what strangers might do to our house when I'm not there to protect it!

So instead of protecting my house, Softie stuffed me into the horrible pet-taxi and the British One carried me several houses away to the old lady's house. Softie showed up in the metal monster a little while later. I hate the metal monster. Everytime I've ever been inside its belly I'm jostled around and end up being very sick. I don't even like to look at it when I'm in the garage, but it's good to hide beneath when I don't want to be found.

After I was let out of the pet-taxi at the old lady's house, I realized that the tiny human was there. The tiny human is somehow related to Softie, the British One and the old lady. He greeted me and I was surprised to find that he can speak a little Meow. Meow is not the easiest language to learn, but somehow this pint-sized human could hold a decent conversation with me. Odd.

The parents of the tiny human came by and everyone went outside. I sat in the window and watched them, and watched several fellow felines walking around with them. I recognized one of them--a cat called Kirk. Kirk has followed Softie to our house before. I don't think I like Kirk very much.

Several hours later I was unceremoniously stuffed back into the pet-taxi and carried home by the British One. It was all a bit much for me.

I need a lap.

Softie's Tears

Yesterday evening I took a snooze on Softie's lap and let her use the scissors on me. I was just too worn out to put up a fight, and besides, after she clipped and brushed me I felt very silky and slick, so it was worth the trouble she put me through. To top it off, she didn't administer my meds last night!

I happily curled up next to her in the beddie-bye basket and fell into a deep sleep. Sometime in the night, however, the cramps hit me. I tried to make it to my litterbox, I really did. Unfortunately I only managed to get as far as the bedroom door before I had a bout of violent diarrhea. I knew I would get into trouble for it, so I did what I had to do, which was hide behind the sofa in the lounge.

At 5 o'clock in the morning I heard the British One get up to go to the bathroom and I guess he must have stepped in my mess, because he started yelling for Softie. It would have been amusing to witness, I'm sure!

Softie got out of bed and together they cleaned up my little mistake. I swear I didn't mean to do it, I just can't hold it in like I used to. Neither of them yelled at me about it though, which was good.

But they both cried. And that made me feel worse than if they had yelled at me. I don't like seeing my humans cry.

I've Got The Turkey Blues

Apparently there is no more turkey.

Why does this glorious event only happen once a year?

In other news, the humans are being cagey. They keep referring to "the new house" and Softie has been trying to polish a bunch of old, ornate doorknobs in the evenings. This does not leave her lap free for me to lay on, which is upsetting. I sulked all last night and didn't sleep with them.

This morning the British One actually laughed when he found me hiding under the desk in Softie's chair. I don't like being laughed at.

I might have to take a crap in someone's shoes.

Meowy Christmas!

What a strange few days it has been. Normally Softie goes out each morning and gets into the big metal monster and goes someplace. The British One sits in the office and pecks furiously at a keyboard (that I am not supposed to walk on, but I do anyway) while staring intently into a glowing box.

Not so this past week.

On Tuesday evening when Softie got home there was commotion and the two of them sat up late watching the news. The next morning there was ice everywhere outside, and Softie got up, looked outside, and went back to bed. The weather got even crazier as the day progressed. It snowed and snowed, and then I heard ice hitting the windows almost all night. Softie and the British One went outside and walked someplace to replenish my magic cupboard, but mostly we've all stayed indoors.

I've enjoyed sitting in the large window in the spare room, watching silly humans outside try to dig their metal monsters out from the snow. Most are unsuccessful.

I'm glad I am in a nice, warm house.

My Favorite Day of the Year, part 2

I've had delicious turkey today and I shall have more.

Being an older cat...well, just being a cat actually, makes me inclined to sleep quite a lot. Something about Thanksgiving Turkey makes me even sleepier.

It also makes me extremely happy!

My Favorite Day of The Year

I shall eat like the royalty I am for the next week!

In a few hours I will be feasting on the most succulent turkey ever. I'm trying to act nonchalant, but it's ever so difficult to contain my excitement.

Oh, if only this day came every day.

Chilly Nights...Warm Bed

Ahhhhh....there is nothing I enjoy more than sleeping on top of Softie when the weather turns. I like to sleep next to her in bed, curled up under her arm, but when the weather turns frosty it's much better to sleep right on top of her. She doesn't move around a lot in her sleep so she's perfect to nestle on top of.

Happy Birthday to Me

I am seventeen years old today and to celebrate, the British One and Softie have been making a fuss over me. I think I deserve it.

I have already been outside, plus they cooked me the most delicious feast of diced chicken for my breakfast. For some reason Softie celebrates her birthday with me. The British One gave her something called an iPod.

It looks harmless enough.

Something Fishy This Way Comes

I suspect the humans are up to something sinister.

Over the past month they have taken me up to visit the old lady several times. Each visit is only for a few hours and then we go back home. Prior to each forced visit, the humans really get uber-tidy with my house. Everything is cleaned, polished and gleaming by the time we leave.

Today a strange couple came into the house when the humans were away. They walked around inspecting everything and commenting on what they liked and disliked about my house. This isn't the first time something like this has happened this month, but I felt really uneasy about the way this particular couple seemed to like my house.

They saw me lounging in my chair, and tried to be friendly to me, but I decided that it was best to slink behind the sofa until they had gone.

Why are all these strange people wandering around my house?

Dirty Kitty

Even though I am not fond of water (except to drink of course), I believe THIS might just be my new favorite site.

Who Says I'm O-L-D?

The humans can be so silly sometimes. I am continually amazed at how the tiniest of gestures excite them.

Take this morning for instance. A mere leap from the floor to the desk surprised and excited the pair of them. They acted as if they could not believe I could jump up that high. They both praised me and gave me a good scratching for my effort.

The British One was especially pleased with my performance, because he went into the kitchen of his own accord and fixed me the most delicious breakfast of diced chicken. I always know when I'm getting the good stuff because they open the door to their big, cold, foodbox and heat up something special. The food in the big, cold, foodbox is much tastier than the food from the magic cupboard, although if the food from the magic cupboard is in a small can it's infinitely better than the food from the larger ones.

To further excite the silly humans I did a fancy little maneuver and situated myself on top of the kitchen table. It has been several years since I last got on the table, so I thought it'd be a good time to let them know I could still do it. This small gesture really got them going!

Because I am clever and fluffy and handsome, the sliding door to the deck has been open for me to go in and out at my leisure for the entire day!

I am very good at getting my way!

What Exactly IS a "Dreadlocked Rasta"?

Softie and the British One conspired against me again last night. I was happily dozing on Softie's lap as she brushed me. The next thing I knew they were attacking me with scissors! Naturally I fought them and let my displeasure be known.

They kept saying I have "nappy dreads." Whatever does that mean!?

Yeah, so I can't reach my hind legs as well as I used to--but I can still clean them. Kinda. What's a few little tangles? The pair of them act like it is the end of the world or something!

It's my birthday month!

I don't feel as though I will soon be 17 years old. Well, perhaps just a little. I find myself unable to do things I used to take for granted, like jump up into the front room window, or leap onto the kitchen counters. It's been a long time since I last took a snooze on top of the refrigerator.

I can only vaguely remember my former home and family. I remember it being cold, and there were many cats, none very friendly. I spent a lot of time hiding in the bushes of a large, white farmhouse until the old lady who lived there began to feed me the most delicious foods. First she fed me on the porch, then eventually she fed me inside the door of the farmhouse, which was very cozy and warm. She always let me back outside when I was finished eating. It was a pretty good life, although the other cats began to get suspicious when I wasn't fighting for food scraps at dinner in the barn each night.

Then came the day she didn't let me back outside. I panicked! It was best to hide out in the basement, crying, and hope that my mother could rescue me.

The old lady still put food out for me, but I was too depressed to eat. I wanted my mother! I wanted the bushes and the cold wind rippling through my fur! I sulked and continued to hide under the stairs. The old man would come into the basement and check on me. The two of them spoke kindly to me but I was too frightened to acknowledge them.

One day the old man came downstairs and grabbed me. I was scared and hungry so I didn't put up much of a struggle. He carried me up the stairs and into the arms of Softie, who cuddled me and held me ever so gently.

Softie took me away to the house we have shared together ever since. I was amazed at how thoughtful she was--she even had a bush in the middle of the lounge with lots of shiny gifts underneath. As soon as she let me into the room I ran behind the bush and had myself a nice poo, which was proper etiquette outside but obviously from Softie's reaction not such a good idea inside a house. Oops.

I had a lot to learn, but I had even more to teach Softie.

Cat Stacking is Wrong!

The British One is addicted to an online game called "Stack The Cats."

I find this game demeaning and insulting, and would advise all my fellow felines to stay far away from it.

Softie is just as bad. She doesn't play it very often but will sit and watch the British One play. And she laughs and imitates the voices and music. They don't even notice when I have left the room to sulk.

Again, I advise all felines to stay away from this website!

Cat stacking is WRONG!

Trick or Treat?

I am not a sissy.

I am not afraid of children.

I am not afraid of children dressed up like dinosaurs, princesses, ninjas or anything else.

I just happen to dislike the doorbell.

Really!

I'm not afraid of the children, and I'm not afraid of the doorbell.

I just prefer to hide under the sofa on Halloween, that's all.

The British One left early this morning to help some other humans paint a teahouse in Cincinnati. This means it's just me and Softie in the house, which is just like old times. Softie has been graced by my presence in her life for the past seventeen years. I've been letting her care for me since I was a tiny kitten, full of energy and mischief.

Softie loves to sing to me, although I have to admit that sometimes her tuneless warbling makes my ears hurt. I enjoy the attention, and as I am normally on her lap when she sings, I get lots of stroking, petting and chin scratches. It's worth the inconvenience of tone-deafness. A big plus is also that she substitutes certain words in the songs and turns them into songs about me! The themesong to "Chitty-Chitty Bang Bang" becomes "Pretty Pretty Kitty" and "Ice Ice Baby" becomes "Black Black Kitty." She and the British One have lots of shiny round music makers, and whenever they listen to them she can turn any regular song into a song about me. It's very flattering.

I am a much better singer than either of the humans. I don't sing as much as I used to, but in my prime I could really belt out a mournful number in the middle of the night. I found 3am to be perfect for a concerto. I would find a suitable spotlight to sit in--the moonlight streaming in the kitchen window was always nice--and I'd sing mournful songs about loss and woe. Sometimes I would bring my favorite stuffed toy into the spotlight with me and sing songs of heroic struggle and death, and then try to rip the stuffing out of it.

Sometimes when the windows are open I hear other cats singing their songs in the night, but all modesty aside, my songs are easily much better than theirs. My rhymes are top notch and my tunes are very catchy.

Not to toot my own horn too much, but I am considered the Paw McCatney of the musikitty world.

After a soggy start to my morning, the clouds disappeared and my pursuasive tactics worked on the British One, who opened the door to the deck. I spent a glorious afternoon lounging in the sun, dozing and warming my fur. Aahhh, bliss!

Today has not been without trouble, however. Softie snatched me up as I was walking down the hallway and put those awful medicine drops in my eye. She knows I don't like it, and she knows it upsets me, but it still happens to me three times a day. The two humans even have the nerve to tell me it is for my own good! In my younger days they would not be able to get away with it.

As awful as the eyedrops are, they are not the worst part of my day. Every evening the humans sit down in the lounge to read and watch a little television after dinner. I am quite happy to curl up on one of their laps, but as much as I'd like to have a nice nap, I know I must remain alert. I know that sometime during the course of the evening one of them will arise, go into the kitchen and get the evil, vile medicines from the big, cold foodbox. I know the evil, vile medicines will be mixed, put into a syringe and forced down my throat.

I HATE it. The medicines are supposed to taste of chicken, but they taste horrible and metallic. They make me foam at the mouth. The humans tell me they wish they didn't have to give them to me, and they tell me they wish I didn't need them, but I don't believe them. If they didn't get a perverse joy out of giving those evil, vile meds to me, they wouldn't! Personally, I don't believe that I need the meds.

Ever since they started taking me to see that horrible vet, Dr. R, things have gone downhill for me. Dr.R knows all about my tummy problems, and she knows all about my arthritis. She recommended a special, bland food, which is reason enough for me to dislike her. Plus whenever I have to visit her office it involves a journey inside the metal monster, which makes me sick to my stomach. Dr.R never sees me looking my handsome best. She always sees me covered in drool, trembling. It is not pleasant. To top it all off, she is the one who prescribed the evil, vile medicines. I cannot believe that Softie and the British One believe the stuff the doctor tells them about me.

You'd think I was on my nineth life or something.

A Soggy Day

It's a never ending battle between myself and the two humans. I love them both, but bless them, they are not very smart. The British One usually gets up first. He seems to have a morning routine of sitting in one of my many sleeping chairs and looking at a glowing box. His fingers dance around a flat black board (which for some reason I am not allowed to walk on, but do anyway) and he clicks on something he calls a mouse. I know what a mouse is, and that little plastic thing doesn't qualify.

As decorum suggests, I entered the room to greet him. This is his cue to get up and follow me to the kitchen for breakfast, but he rarely does. I cannot tell you how many times I have stood in the doorway asking to be followed to the kitchen. I'm gentle at first, but as the minutes pass I must resort to loud demands and even sleeve tugging, which is quite demeaning, to say the least.

Even the dreaded sleeve tugging doesn't always work. He insists that I "go tell Mummy." Normally I would do it, because she is rather an old softie and gives in to my demands. Sometimes it's almost as though she understands me, but I know she's not clever enough so it must be my excellent pursuasive skills and handsome tail.

Recently, however, I have been loathe to go into the bedroom to wake her and give her kitchen suggestions because she has been feeling poorly. She went away a few weeks ago and was gone overnight. When she came home she had a strange apparatus attached and I wasn't allowed to lay on her lap. She has been home ever since, which is odd because before she went away overnight she was the one getting up early and driving away for nine hours, five days a week.

But I digress. If the British One won't budge, I reluctantly venture into the bedroom to give Softie breakfast suggestions. Today I was fortunate, because she was already awake, reading, and cheerfully invited me up onto the bed. It's easy for me to climb on the bed now because the pair of them put a kitty-sized stepstool at the foot of it. I'm a very handsome fellow and in no time she was stroking and cuddling me and listening to my breakfast fantasies. It's quite easy to get her into the kitchen.

After breakfast is served--which decorum suggests is never even sniffed at once it is placed before me--the sliding door to the deck is supposed to open and I am supposed to go outside to do my daily routine. Softie and I often argue about the opening of the door because she is not clever enough to remember that it is supposed to be opened after breakfast. How she cannot remember something as easy as this simply proves my theory that she is not very bright. Since today is drizzly, the humans have conspired against letting me go outside.

Let the battle commence!