The Dreaded Doorbell

I've just noticed several large bags of candy on the kitchen counter.

This can only mean one thing: tiny humans ring will the dreaded doorbell and beg for sweets.

I'm not afraid of the tiny humans, and I'm not afraid of tiny humans dressed as pirates and fairies and whatnot. And I'm not afraid of the doorbell.

I just don't like my sleep interrupted. That's all.

Not Getting Any Younger

I am possibly angrier than I have ever been with my humans.

Yesterday the British One let me go outside with him for a little while, which was very enjoyable while it lasted. The weather was warm and sunny, and I wanted to explore! Naturally the British One couldn't let me do any exploring--instead opting to dump me back inside the house when I started to wander.

To top it all off, Softie got home early and went outside with three pumpkins, newspaper and several knives. I cried and begged to be let outside with her, and finally she relented and let me come outside with her.

I immediately chewed on some grass, walked around the back garden and sniffed around on the flowers and shubbery, then had myself a nice little vomit of the grass I had just eaten.

Softie was hacking away at her pumpkins so I thought I'd have a mosey over to the fence at the alley--which is when Softie swooped in and scooped me up and dumped me back inside the house. I wasn't doing anything wrong! I wasn't trying to sneak out of the garden, and I'm not stupid enough to actually leave the garden and into the alley! I see too many metal monsters travelling up and down the alley--I'm not about to put myself into harms way.

It was a BEAUTIFUL day, and I only got to be outside for a small fraction of it. I stood up on my aching, arthritic hind legs at the kitchen door, and watched Softie carve the pumpkins in the sunlight. I yowled and cried and pounded my paws against the glass. I scratched the glass and made a very annoying noise, and I yowled some more, but neither of my humans let me go back outdoors and into the warm sunlight.

There will not be many more beautiful days until next spring. I think I am entitled to sun myself and sniff the brisk breezes before the ugly winter sets in. Being outdoors is one of my greatest simple pleasures. I do not like to be denied!

I'm not getting any younger, afterall.

Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall

For many years, Softie has held me up to a sheet of glass and told me what a pretty boy I am.

I know I am incredibly handsome, but I had no idea why she needed to hold me in front of the glass to tell me.

Until last night.

She was carrying me around in her arms (which I adore!) and as she passed by the sheet of glass in the upstairs hall she turned and said "Look at that pretty boy! Isn't he handsome?"I glanced around and sure enough, there was a cat staring at me! I panicked a little bit, realizing there was another cat in the house--one that I hadn't even seen come in. To top it all off, he WAS incredibly handsome.

I felt a surge of overwhelming jealousy toward the cat, and then I realized that there was another Softie in the glass, and she was holding the incredibly handsome cat. It took me a few seconds (well, possibly even minutes) to come to the realization that the glass was reflecting her image, which also meant that it was reflecting MY image!

That was ME inside the glass! I kept looking back and forth from the image of Softie to her, and then at myself.

I wonder why I could never see myself before now? I used to have two good eyes to see myself, but I never did. Now I only have one good eye, but that one good eye saw a VERY handsome fellow in the glass, and that very handsome fellow was ME!

A Happy Chappy

I got plenty of lap time over the weekend, and a very nice, long brushing. On top of that, I had many helpings of delicious diced chicken.

As if that wasn't enough, the British One finally switched on those radiator thingies, and it got toasty in the house, which made me quite a happy kitty.

What more could I ask for?

I'm sure I will think of something!

Monkey Business

The British One has returned with more suitcases than he left with, and inside the suitcases are new and unusual items. Items I have had to investigate, sniff and occasionally bat around or treat with utter distain.

One item in particular bothers me. He watches me all the time, and is able to hang around in places that I can no longer reach because of my stiffening legs. I had a good sniff around on him when he was first unpacked, but now he has been placed out of my reach, and he taunts me from upon high.

I overheard the humans talking about him, and apparently he is quite elderly--as he is older even than the British One (!), and has a mate who sustained a wee injury during his travels. The British One is attempting to work out a way to fix him.

I hope he doesn't get fixed. One Teak Monkey hanging around out of my reach is more than enough.

The Return of The British One

At last!

The British One has returned.

Things can get back to normal around here. It's been WEEKS since I had an extra helping of delicious diced chicken and a nice warm lap during the day.

Truely Wicked People

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

Softie just read something to me which had greatly distressed me.

There are some truely wicked people in the world.

Incredibly Handsome

I got a wonderously good brushing last night while Softie watched something silly on the Animal Planet channel. After the brush I was combed and then brushed some more.

It might be hard to believe, but my coat is shinier, glossier and softer than ever. When I strut around the house my tail is magnificently fluffy and fanned out like a peacock.

All modesty aside, I am incredibly handsome today.

There's a Moon Out Tonight

I had the overwhelming urge to sing in the dead of night.

It was quite dark in the bedroom, but a glint of moonlight streaming in compelled me to yowl quite boisterously. I then leapt from the bed and onto the chilly hardwood floor, where I yowled some more. No meek little cries for me! I really bellowed them out, and sounded quite good if I do say so myself.

My singing roused Softie from sleep and she groggily asked what was wrong. Nothing was "wrong" at all! I just felt like singing at 2:25 a.m. Is that so wrong?

I leapt back upon the bed and walked all over her, trilling and chirping and generally letting her know that I was happy and trying to share the love. She poked an arm out from beneath the duvet and gave me a half-hearted couple of strokes, and scratched under my chin.

We then fell back asleep.

Nightmares

I awoke with a start from a very frightening dream involving a large slobbering dog and no place to hide. Even when I realized I was safe inside my house, on a blankie-covered Poang in the lounge, I was still fearful.

I did what I had to do, which was wake up Softie to tell her about it.

I don't think she enjoyed being rudely awakened with my incessant yowls at 4 a.m., but someone needed to be told about this dream, and reassurances were needed that it would never happen to me.

She climbed out of bed, located me in the hallway and stroked me until I was calm. Then she fell back into bed.

I decided it was best, since I was already upstairs, to sleep there too. I climbed all over her looking for a good spot, and finally decided on the foot of the bed.

I don't like nightmares!

If Only...

If only I wasn't spooked by the boiler.

If only I could figure out a way to switch on the spooky boiler to heat up those radiator things.

If only I could figure out how to get inside the Magic Portal, I could switch on the spooky boiler to heat up those radiator things.

If only I could warm myself up enough to leave the comfort of my blankie, I could maybe figure out a way to get inside the Magic Portal, so that I could switch on the spooky boiler to heat up those radiator things.

Hasn't anyone else noticed the cold?

A Bleak Day Alone

The weather has taken a turn for the chilly and bleak, and this house is cold and lonely.

I miss the British One. If he was here I could curl up in his lap and have a nice, warm nap.

Softie brought out my favorite warm blankie and put it on the Poang chair, but it's a poor substitute for a good lap.

Take a Look at My Life

Softie received some documents in the post the other day and has confirmed that I am actually older than we thought. I am almost 19 years old, instead of almost 18. How rude!

I don't like this at all.

Zen Kitty vs The Evil Eye Vet

Another break in the routine.

Softie slept in this morning, which gave me pause for concern, and then when I was not fed at my normal time this morning I suspected the worst.

Sure enough, I was stuffed into the dreaded Pet Taxi and driven to see the evil eye vet Dr. K. I took the high road and didn't create a fuss on the drive up there (I am quite pleased with myself about that), nor did I create a scene in the doctor's surgery. Dr. K was away on holiday, so a lady eye vet checked me out, and I have to say, I liked her much moreso than Dr. K, because she was gentle with me and didn't scare me. I was ever so glad to get back into the dreaded Taxi though. I do not like lights shined into my eyes, nor do I like having them poked and prodded with implements of destruction.

I became Zen Kitty on the ride home, making myself calm and at one with the world. Then I tore into a lovely extra large helping of delicious diced chicken when I got home.

Softie went off to where ever it is she goes during the day, and I sat on the back of the sofa and watched a man do some landscaping in our front garden.

Sometimes I miss my old garden, where I could go out onto the deck and doze in the sun. I wonder what happened to that garden? I wonder if another cat has taken up residence there, and I wonder if he catches as many mice and shrews as I did when it was my home.

I could really rip into a juicy little grey mouse. I really could.

Of Dog Parks and Starving

I nearly starved yesterday!

I only had two helpings of delicious diced chicken, because Softie goes somewhere during the day and doesn't come home for my mid-afternoon feeding. Very rude.

I decided my best form of complaint would be to ignore her all evening, which is what I did. Unfortunately, she got a call from Jennifer, the human of my dog friend Buster, and the two of them took Buster to something called a Dog Park.

I'm unsure what a Dog Park is, but it doesn't sound very appealing.

Soy Means Starving

My diary has been chosen as a "Daily Pick" by the fine folks at Catster and I am quite pleased about it.

I feel like celebrating with a pot of strawberry swirl yogurt!

Oh. But I can't, because the stupid suitcase escaped from the closet and convinced the British One to take it away, so he isn't here to open the yogurt pot and eat half of it before I get some.

It is no use asking Softie to open it. She doesn't eat that sort of yogurt. In fact, she has found the perfect way to keep me from ever wanting to eat ANYTHING that she eats. Everything she eats is fake. Fake meat, fake milk, fake yogurt.

Soy--blech!

I miss the British One. Not only does he normally keep me company during the day, but he eats lots of delicious foods that get shared with me. He is my afternoon feeder-person, and now that he is away it means I will not get an extra helping of delicious diced chicken, which I have become accustomed to.

I may starve before he returns.

A Case Of You

A suitcase has escaped from the closet.

The British One has been filling it with bits and pieces when he thinks I am not looking.

I have a bad feeling this means a change in my normal routine. I have a bad feeling this means I will not see the British One for a few weeks.

I do not like this turn of events.

Stupid suitcase!

The Not-Quite-Evil Hippie Vet

Well now. I may have to rethink this whole "evil vet" thing.

My evil vet is something of a hippie. He wears Birkenstocks (even in winter!) and is incredibly laid back about things. I had already decided he wasn't such a bad guy when he told Softie and the British One to ply me with delicious diced chicken way back in the winter, but now I think I might even like him a little bit.

The British One took me to visit the evil vet yesterday, and aside from having things put up my bum (which is not very pleasant, let me tell you) the evil vet seems to have set my tummy to rights and made me feel better. I was given some sort of injection, and he tried to give me a pill--which I'm pleased to say he did not suceed in doing--and then some vile meds were squirted into my mouth. But the vile meds didn't taste the same as the vile meds my old vet Dr.R used to prescribe. These tasted...not so bad. Not good, by any stretch, but not bad. I didn't foam and make a scene like I usually do when meds are squirted down my gullet, so I won't complain too much about the fact that I have to have the meds twice a day for the next week.

I am much brighter today, and feel so good that I have jumped into the large upstairs windows and watched the world go by. And I have watched the neighbors with the big deck. From this vantage point I can also see over the big wooden fence of the next door neighbors garden. Which means I can also see the evil Mooch pacing around like the crazed dog he is. He has no idea I am sitting there, so he has no idea that I can watch him sniff flowers and scratch at fleas. It's quite entertaining.

Yes, I'm beginning to suspect that my evil vet isn't really all that evil. I think he actually understands me.

I think I also understand him.

I think we are going to get along just fine.