Unwanted Visitors

I am quite angry with Softie right now. She has crossed the line and I'm so upset with her that I may not sleep with her tonight.

She answered the door earlier and a strange girl came into the house. Being the charming, friendly and incredibly handsome cat I am, I went over to greet this stranger, only to discover that she wasn't a stranger at all! Softie let into MY house the dreaded Tammy from the not-quite-evil hippie vet's office! To make an already bad situation even worse, Tammy was visiting to administer some sort of fluid in a big bag to me. She had a big needle and everything!

I was NOT pleased. I growled when I saw Tammy hooking up the bag, because I remembered what happened when she did the same at the office. She poked me in the middle of my back with a big, bad needle and put fluid under my skin.

And she did it to me tonight--IN MY OWN HOUSE! This is simply unacceptable. I made noises about the indignity of it all, but the pair of them told me what a good boy I was. If this is what being a "good boy" means, I am going to be as bad as I can possibly be.

I have no doubt that if the British One was here Softie and the evil Tammy would not have been able to get away with such awfulness. He would not have let her into my house.

After Tammy left I sulked on my blankie, then decided to take action.

As soon as Softie was out of sight, I had myself a nice poop on the stairs.

The Summerland

Sometimes I can faintly hear the Summerland calling to me. I know that as time passes the call will become louder, the pull stronger, and eventually I will be unable to resist the temptation to check it out. We cats are much too curious to not get to the bottom of things.

Sometimes I dream about my friend The Baron, and he tells me that when I cross over the Rainbow Bridge my old body will be renewed and I will be able to run and play again. It's quite tempting to wish myself at the edge of the Bridge, because I don't have nearly the get-up-and-go that I used to.

However, I worry about Softie and the British One. I'm not sure how they would get on without me here to keep them in line. If not for me, who would keep them out of trouble? Goodness knows they need constant supervision.

So for now I will continue to resist the pull of the Summerland, because I am not sure what my humans would do without me here.

Escaped Suitcases

I don't like the look of that suitcase in the bedroom.

It appears to be trying to convince the British One to leave.

How did it escape the closet? Which human set it free?

I wonder if I sit on top of the suitcase and refuse to move, if that will be enough to convince the British One to stay?

Happy Thanksgiving!

Glorious eating today!

Oh how I love Thanksgiving turkey.

Why isn't Thanksgiving every day?

Little Drummer Kittyboy

Each year when the weather turns cold, my humans erect a tree inside the house. In years past I have helped them with this task, but this year I decided my preferred method of help would be to lounge on the sofa and watch.

My humans decorate the tree with bubbling lights, little shiny baubles and loads of glittering bat-ables.

When I first came to live with Softie many years ago, she used to keep a real tree inside her house when winter visited. In fact, the first thing I ever did when she brought me home was to run behind the tree and have myself a nice poo. It's what I was taught by my mother when we lived outdoors, and I knew nothing of litterboxes back then, but pooing on the tree skirt is apparently not the way to a warm welcome in a new home. Each night I would climb the tree and tip it over. It was great fun!

The next year Softie thought she was clever by putting a planter hook in the ceiling and tying invisible fishing line from the hook to the tip of the tree. She really thought that would keep me from knocking over the tree!

It did, in a way, I suppose. Instead of the tree crashing to the carpet, it dangled at an amusing angle, and when Softie would discover it upon waking, I'd be scolded but oh, it was worth it.

Afterwards she got a fake tree.

The first fake tree she had was a hand-me-down from the old lady and man in whose barn I was born. It was a bit more challenging to climb this tree, because trying to scale the trunk was akin to trying to shimmy up a mop handle.

But I did it, much to Softie's dismay, and bent every single branch on my way up. Fun doesn't even begin to describe it. I had a party in that tree every night for a month!

Softie isn't the brightest light on the tree, but she eventually figured out that my favorite bat-able was a certain shiny green drum, and after she learned to hang it from a low, easy to reach branch we got along just fine.

The British One once caught me in the act of stealing the green drum from a branch. I was sitting handsomely on the arm of a chair, bored with the conversation he was having with his mate Malc, who had come to visit from England for the holidays. So engrossed in words were they, that they were not paying any attention to me. How rude! So I nonchalantly reached over and plucked the shiny green drum from the tree and held it dangling from my paw.

Malc and the British One roared with laughter, which spooked me into dropping it onto the carpet. I then proceeded to pretend it never happened, which amused them both greatly.

As I inspected our tree this week I noticed that the shiny green drum was hanging from the lowest branch, right next to my Poang chair.

It is comforting to know it is there, even if I no longer have the overwhelming urge to pluck it from the tree and bat it all over the hardwood floors at 3am.

Turkey Taxidermist

I've stuffed myself full of turkey baby food and delicious diced chicken over the past few days, but today I am just not hungry.

The British One seems worried because I refuse to eat. I have a bad feeling I am going to be taken back to the semi-evil hippie vet again soon.

Softie, however, has reminded me several times over the past few days that this Thursday is THANKSGIVING!!

I am simply saving room for as much Thanksgiving turkey as I possibly can.

Baby food! I've got the cutest little baby food!

Well now! I do believe the British One is my favorite human in the household.

My loyalty fluctuates quite frequently, usually dependent on who is serving up the delicious diced chicken and strawberry swirl yogurt, followed closely by who has the brush and a waiting lap.

However, the British One has done something extraordinary, and now he is my favorite human.The British One served me the most fantastic, savory meal today--it was called "baby food" and it tasted of Thanksgiving turkey.

Oh how I swoon at the thought of the taste! I could not get enough. I ate every morsel and then forgot my dignity and begged for more. When it was not forthcoming, I went back to my little blue dish and licked it clean. I could think of nothing else but MORE! He finally understood the gigantic hints I was dropping (rubbing around his ankles, yowling loudly to demand more, dashing around the kitchen with big eyes) and spooned out the remainder of the jar contents into my dish. I couldn't wait and tried to get my head into the jar, so he let me lick clean the spoon.

I cannot believe this incredibly delicious treat is reserved for tiny humans! Why had I not been informed about "baby food"? Softie and the British One call me their "baby" so why have I not been partial to these tiny jars of delight before today?!

At least now I understand why the tiny humans cry and wail until the little jars are opened.

I shall do the same.

A Feast of Chicken and Strawberry Swirl Yogurt

I am feeling much brighter today and have already polished off two heaping helpings of delicious diced chicken (and the day is still young!).

The British One took me to the evil hippie vet again this morning, who said that I am doing much better but says I need to gain back the weight I lost by not eating last week. I shall feast on braised chicken and gravy, turkey baby-food and strawberry swirl yogurt--if my humans realize that I will devour the foods that I love, if only they serve them to me.

I want to thank all my friends who sent me get well wishes, including Cooper, Molokko and Keiser. I would also like to extend a HUGE THANK YOU to Keiser for the abundance of blue ribbon rosettes she has so kindly gifted me. I am humbled to know so many care about my welfare.

Perhaps my friends could implore my humans to step-up the dosage of delicious diced chicken and strawberry swirl yogurt?

Evil hippie vets and scary thunderstorms

The British One took me to the not-quite-evil hippie vet, whom I have now decided IS evil. At least a little bit.

He did things to my bum that I cannot discuss in polite company. I yowled and growled and put up a struggle, but he got what he was after in the end (no pun intended).

I also got shots of fluid and had blood drawn, and it seems that my irritable bowel syndrome may be back with a vengence. Dr. M said I have too many white blood cells in my poo, but he is running some more tests to be sure IBS is what is causing my grief. He has prescribed another bout of Metronidazole to be squirted down my throat every day for a week, which is another reason he is evil.

He wanted to keep me overnight, hooked up to an IV because I am somewhat dehydrated, but happily the British One rang Softie and they decided to bring me home, but unfortunately it also means I have to go back to see Dr. M again on Wednesday. If I am not any better, I might have to spend the night. I really really hope I am better by Wednesday, because I do not want to stay away from my humans. They need a lot of guidance, afterall, and I cannot imagine what they would do if I was not there to supervise them.

The weather has turned chilly and stormy, and I was extra glad to be at home in bed with my humans (sleeping between Softie's knees) because I do not like loud booms and bright flashes of light in the night, and last night there was an over-abundance of booms and flashes. All three of us were awakened many times, and I decided that it might be better for me to sleep right between my humans, because I don't think they like the booms and flashes either. I think they needed comforting.

I know I did.

Oh Dear

Oh dear.

I'm really not feeling very well. My humans know this and are trying to make me as comfortable and happy as they can.

I do not understand why they keep crying.

Feeling Poorly

I feel very poorly.

Softie and the British One are worried because I am not eating, but I am just not hungry. Every time I eat anything I have very bad problems in the litterbox.

Softie tried to get me to eat by preparing a delicious braised chicken and gravy dish for me, which I enjoyed quite a bit until a few hours later, when it exploded out the other end.

I have retired to the chair and am mentally readying myself for a trip to the not-quite-evil hippie vet. I know they are going to take me.

I hope they are going to take me.

Birthday Depression

Yesterday was my birthday, and it has made me very depressed.

I am not as spry and playful as I used to be, and my humans tell me that I have become very demanding in my old age.

I am not demanding because I am in "old age" but because it is the only way I can get my point across to my humans, who are incredibly dimwitted a lot of the time. I NEED to hound them loudly to get what I want, as I have realized that being nice doesn't get me very far sometimes.

But getting older has caused me some depression, and I did not touch my delicous diced chicken at all yesterday. I haven't touched it today either.

I'm just not hungry right now, and I hope this does not mean a visit to the not-so-evil hippie vet.

Super Kitty

I am incredibly impressed with a fellow kitty in Wenatchee, Washington, who, like me, must hate riding in metal monsters. This kitty took action:

Cat survives traffic, 70-foot fall, 600-foot swim
Associated Press Nov. 8, 2005 10:33 AM WENATCHEE, Wash. - One plucky cat is waiting to go home. But no one knows where home is.

The cat is resting up at an animal shelter in Washington state after leaping from a pickup, scampering through traffic, plunging 70 feet into the chilly Columbia River and swimming 600 feet to shore.

Officials at the Wenatchee Valley Humane Society say the cat "ate ravenously" after its ordeal. Now they're trying to figure out whose cat it is. The gray, long-hair calico has no collar.

Witnesses say the cat came off a pickup truck that was driving across a bridge. It managed to dash through traffic, and Humane Society officials found it cowering in the center of the bridge. But before they could catch it, it leaped over the railing.

They watched the kitty hit the water below, go under, surface, then swim like mad. A man in a kayak helped guide it to shore.

Bad Little Boy

I was a "bad little boy" yesterday.

I made several messes downstairs, and upstairs. And all in the span of half an hour.

I hope this does not mean another visit to the not-quite-evil hippie vet.

The Best Thing In The World

I wasn't "cowering" on the back of the sofa last night, regardless of what Softie and the British One thought.
I was counting the beggars. Yes, that is what I was doing.

There were over 400! I think the most popular costumes were witches and fairies for the girls, and Batman and Spiderman for the boys, although there were several firemen, policemen, cowboys, footballers and Darth Vaders as well.

I only counted two tiny humans dressed as cats.

Why is this, I wonder? I think it is the best thing in the world to be a cat!