Confusion!

As if last weekend wasn’t chaotic enough, all this week I have had to deal with strange, noisy men in my house. They have taken a great interest in the mysterious fourth bedroom. They have done things which I cannot believe Softie and the British One would be happy about. My humans must not realize that the strange men have knocked a hole through their bedroom wall, and they must not realize that the strange men have ripped out the walls and floor of the mysterious fourth bedroom.

Naturally I have been relegated to the dining room and kitchen during the day, so I can only inspect their work after they have gone. When I saw what the men had done I felt it my duty to inform the British One all about it. He didn’t seem too surprised by what I told him, nor did Softie. In fact, I think they must have known something about the strange men because on Sunday evening the two of them busied themselves with moving all their belongings from THEIR bedroom into MY bedroom, which I had been helping the British One paint.

They are sleeping in MY bed, with MY duvet and pillows. Of course I sleep with them, usually at the foot of the bed between Softie’s ankles. It’s quite disorienting to me, however, and I can never seem to remember which way the door swings open because it is different from their bedroom door. One swings to the left, the other to the right.

This morning I stood at the door trying to nudge it open, only to have the British One laugh at me and open the other side. It was an honest mistake, and one that could have been easily avoided if my humans had doorknobs on that door. The knobs were removed so that the doors could be painted, and the have not yet been replaced. How am I supposed to know which side of the door opens without a doorknob to guide me?

The Feline Ambassador

Saturday morning, bright and early, strange men came into my house and made a lot of noise and dust. I was banished to the kitchen and dining room again while they worked. The strange men worked in the stairway this time, and made a big hole in the wall. It has been covered over so I cannot explore it, but I will try to find a way around this small setback.

After the strange men left, Softie and the British One cleaned and tidied the house. I helped by meowing loudly at them to let them know where the dust and dirt were. I also meowed loudly to go outside, and finally Softie went out with me to the back garden. She clipped grass around the fence and I chewed it.

Softie and I went back inside and I took a short nap on the dining room rug while she prepared a lot of really delicious smelling food. The British One continued to clean the upstairs of the house, and the vile vacuum he was using woke me up. So I helped Softie out in the kitchen by discussing my diced chicken fantasies with her. She obliged and I had a nice meal.

Then the phone began to ring, and people began showing up. Some of them I knew, like Doug (the human of Maya and Inca), Christian and Michelle (humans of Jackson and Gabby), Lauren (human of my good friend The Baron) and Laura (human of Crackers). A lot of them I did NOT know, however, and it made me mildly distressed. Plus everyone was coming into the kitchen and dining room to fill their plates high with delicious smelling food, none of which I could reach.

To make matters worse, everyone went outside and enjoyed the back garden, and I was stuck inside the house! UNFAIR! As more people turned up some sat inside on the sofa with me, and I got a really good scratching from a guy named Brian. I ended up lying on his head for a time. I also took a nap in Jess's lap, and got carried around by Softie, Michelle and Laura.

It was a long day, and the shindig went on well into the night. It was very tiring to be the official ambassador and keep everyone happy and entertained.

This morning I slept in until 10am!

Lost

I have still not been allowed back outside in the front of the house. I went outside with the British One, but it was the back garden and at the moment I am much more interested in the front. I enjoy the shade of the front porch, and there are no fences to keep me away from exploring the neighbors’ front gardens.

Softie was inside preparing dinner when their friends Christian and Michelle turned up. They are the humans of my kitty friends Jackson and Gabby. A lovely meal was served up, of which I got exactly nothing, but it was okay because the British One served up a heaping helping of delicious diced chicken for me.

The humans are hooked on a television program called Lost. The humans take turns visiting each other to have dinner and watch the program. I always enjoy seeing Chris and Michelle because Michelle spreads my blankie out on her lap and lets me nest.

I personally do not see the fascination with this program. For starters, there is a big barker that lives with the survivors. I don’t like him. Second of all, they have a massive litterbox right at their feet and don’t even realize it. Thirdly, they have all those wonderful trees to climb, but no one ever does. Also, the caves seem like a great place to explore, but all they ever seem to do is sleep in them. And all those bare toes and ankles! They are just ripe for biting. I salivate at the thought.

Instead, the survivors of the plane crash are all preoccupied with building a raft (which is just silly because it involves WATER) and that thing in the ground called a hatch. I admit that my curiosity is piqued by the hatch, but I’d be able to sniff around on it and decide whether or not it was worth the trouble.

I've Got the Bad Cat Blues

Since my little dash for freedom last week I have not been allowed to venture out the front door. I realize that I might have overstepped my boundaries a bit, and I realize that I am being punished.

It doesn’t, however, mean that I necessarily agree with it. And it certainly doesn’t mean that I haven’t made my wishes known to both Softie and the British One whenever they go anywhere near the front door.

The British One took me outside with him, but it was in the back garden, which has a fence. After racing around in the sunlight and teasing the big barker next door, I tried to squeeze through the gate railings to get into the front garden, where I could see Softie planting flowers and mulching.

Oddly, I couldn’t fit between the gate railings. Try as I might, I just couldn’t get my body to go through. I got my head between the rails, but realized very quickly that I was going to become stuck if I went any further. This is quite puzzling, because I am a very svelte boy…or at least I thought I was.

The abundance of delicious diced chicken, coupled with the glorious spoonfuls of strawberry swirl yogurt, are obviously having an effect on my usually petite size. Therein is the dilemma:

Do I continue to enjoy delicious diced chicken and spoonfuls of strawberry swirl yogurt, or do I shun food in the hopes that I will drop down to a size that will squeeze through the gate to freedom?

No question about it really. It took too long for me to teach my humans to feed me the foods I love and deserve. I’m not going to abandon all that hard work! I shall continue to eat my delicious diced chicken and strawberry swirl yogurt.

I suppose I will begin training my humans to let me go outside in the front of the house whenever I wish. It will be a long and difficult battle, because my humans are not very clever.

I just hope it doesn’t take another seventeen years!

I Smell T-R-O-U-B-L-E

So I got myself into a spot of trouble over the weekend.

Saturday morning Softie went outside to work in the front garden. I watched from the front window, and each time she would come up to the porch I’d run to the door and yowl to let her know that she needed my help. I’ll never know how she managed any of it without my assistance.

I put on my best “poor kitty” look and made sure she could see me in the window. I went upstairs to swindle the British One into letting me go out, but he was too busy yelling at the glowing box as his team sunk closer to relegation, and he told me to stop whinging.

After a time Softie came back inside to get some bottled water, and I made sure to let her know that she couldn’t possibly finish the project without my expert advice. Finally she relented and told me if I “could be good” she would let me outside to help. I readily agreed.

And I bounded out the door and down the steps of the porch as fast as my legs could carry me! I rushed my way next door to make sure the horrible barker Mooch could see me, with Softie hot on my heels. She scooped me up and put me back into our garden.

So I scooted off in the other direction and had made it all the way down two gardens when she caught up with me. She told me I was a bad kitty and put me back on the porch. She had just sat down to enjoy her bottled water when I made another break for it, this time legging it into a neighbors back garden via their open gate.

I could hear Softie yelling at me, which made me run even faster. I raced around this strange garden, and Softie would have never ever caught up with me had I not stopped to sniff a flower near the neighbor’s back patio.

Banishment to the inside of the house ensued, but it was worth every second of freedom.

I must do it again sometime.

What's New Pussycat?

I quite enjoy helping Softie and the British One with their various little projects. It gives me a wonderful sense of well-being.

Yesterday the British One decided to tackle painting the second bedroom. I’m pleased he’s decided to rid the world of the vile colour in that room, as it was putting me right off of napping in there. It’s a very good napping room otherwise, because the bed and duvet are quite comfy. The massive window in the room is an excellent vantage point for watching birds, squirrels and humans walking their dreadful little yapper-dogs.

He donned his old sweats and commenced moving bits of furniture out of the room, while I helped by sitting on the bed, watching. He moved the bed to one side, brought in a ladder and buckets of white primer, and marked off the floor and window with wide blue tape. And then he did a very wonderous thing:

He opened the massive window.

I was up and in the window in no time. It was the perfect place for me to orchestrate the goings on inside the room, while being able to keep a watchful eye on the goings on outside in the garden and on the street. The British One switched iTunes on and began a long, sweaty day of priming the walls, doors and skirting boards. I helped out by lying in the window for most of the day, keeping him company and listening to him alternate between ranting at the state of the walls and singing along to Tom Jones.

I’m already geared up for helping with the second coat today. My massive window awaits!

Pretty Purrsuasion

Sometimes it is so incredibly easy to persuade my humans. I’ve discovered one of the best ways of persuasion is to look as handsome and fluffy as I possibly can. They simply cannot resist me when I strike a pose.

Yesterday I wanted to go outside, so I decided to try a different tactic on the British One. Normally, when I wish to go outside, I demand quite loudly to go out. The British One just says “stop whinging” and doesn’t even look my way as he shoots down my demands. He also gets very angry with me when I use the claw on him.

So yesterday I tried something different. As he sat in the office pecking away at his keyboard, I pawed softly at his elbow and then sat looking at him quietly. This didn’t work. So I pawed again, ever so gently, and again sat on the floor. He turned to look at me and I cocked my head to one side and gave a whisper meow. Oh he was eating right out of my paw! He simply could not resist me! Next thing I knew we were outside and I was rolling in the grass with the glorious sunlight on my fur.

Later on, after I'd scampered inside to escape the dreaded grass-chopping noisemaker, Softie came home. I decided to use a bit of pretty persuasion on her as well, just to assure myself that I hadn’t lost my touch. I located her in the office, looking over the British One’s shoulder at the glowing box, as he explained something to her.

First I perfectly aligned my front paws, and then I puffed out my chest to make my white bib very fluffy. I shook my tail a couple of times so that it would be big and bushy, then I curled it on the floor in a semi-circle and gave a playful meow. Softie turned to look at me and couldn’t resist my handsome self. She scooped me up and carried me all over the house for a long time, telling me what a handsome boy I am.

It’s good to be the king.

The Eyes Have It

Last night, as I napped on Softie’s lap, I heard a voice on the television say “Please don’t stare, it’s not nice.”

I’ve been pondering this odd phrase, and have decided that the voice on the television is dead wrong. Staring can be incredibly rewarding.

When I stare at a door long enough, it magically opens.

Staring at sleeping humans causes them to wake up and feed me.

The power of my stare compels the British One to give me spoonfuls of strawberry swirl yogurt.

If I stare long enough at dining humans, morsels magically fall onto the floor.

Staring at birds makes them stagger drunkenly, which makes them easy to catch.

Yes, staring is very underrated.

Who is Doctor Who?

The British One always refers to buildings that are larger inside than they appear from the outside as a “Tardis.” I’m beginning to believe that I live inside such a building.

There’s the Magic Portal, for instance. It looks like an average door in the kitchen, but it leads to an entire new world under the house. From the Magic Portal I am able to go through another ordinary looking door by the washer and dryer and end up out in the back garden.

This weekend I have discovered yet another door that leads to someplace I’ve never seen before. I had never noticed the door behind my litterbox on the second floor. As far as I could tell, my box was up against the wall in a tiny, dim alcove near the humans’ bedroom. Not so!

That gloomy little alcove actually houses a door, and on the other side of that door there is another entire room!! It’s much larger than a closet and it’s larger than the second floor bathroom. It’s not as large as the bedrooms or the office, but it’s a really good sized room for a cat. I’m guessing the British One and Softie are going to fix it up into a proper kitty bedroom for me, even though they should realize by now that every room in this house is already mine.

The British One and Softie have had strange men in to look at the new room, and I’ve had great fun pouncing on the metal measuring tapes used to get the room dimensions. Already part of the hardwood floor has been removed and there appear to be some excellent hiding places beneath the remaining boards, which I am sure they will keep for me to explore.

It will be a fantastic kitty room when they get it finished. I’m just puzzled as to why they have insisted on purchasing strange, non-kitty type items for this room.

Stuff like faucets, sinks and tile.