The Legend of Stinkfoot

So I accidentally stepped into my own poo the other morning as I was exiting my litterbox, which made my humans very excitable when they woke up and discovered little smelly paw prints tracked all over the kitchen floor.

You'd have thought the end of the world was nigh, the way they over reacted. There was a little too much dramatic wailing, cursing and gnashing of teeth for my liking. I sat and watched as they hauled out the buckets, mops and disinfectants, and although I wore my best innocent face, they somehow knew it was my doing (or pooing, if you will). I decided it might be in my best interest to hide.

Mysteriously, they were able to track my whereabouts with great ease, and the next thing I knew, I was being carried outside by Softie while the British One filled up a bucket of hot, soapy water. Obviously they had something wicked on their minds, and I wriggled and struggled to break free, to no avail.

Softie passed me over to the British One, who held me in his arms like a squirming baby. Just as I was beginning to calm down and enjoy the attention, Softie began wiping my back paws with a rough, wet cloth.

I kicked, I struggled, I cried. In an effort to keep my paws away from the damp rag, I even tried to burrow myself into the British One's shirtsleeve, which was quite impossible since I was lying flat out on my back. But Softie was very determined, and I concluded that it might be a good time to go into Zen-kitty mode. So I did. I let her wash my back paw, and then she rubbed the cloth on my other paw, evidently in an effort to add to the injustice already being served.

And just when I thought the humiliation was finally over, she brought out the dreaded scissors and clipped the fur from between my paw pads! I didn't enjoy it in the slightest, and Zen-kitty morphed into Thrashabout-kitty. Although she managed to clip a few small clumps from between my toes, I'm pleased to note that Thrashabout-kitty prevailed and I was set free. I shall file that little nugget away for future use.

Annoyingly, I now suffer the ignominy of being called "Stinkfoot" by my humans. How rude!

Safe?

Oh dear oh dear oh dear.

Animal Mutilations worry me very much, and even more so when cats are being mysteriously mutilated.

I am glad I live indoors.

Cool Claws Treats sounds wonderfully delicious, and I believe that it should be a MUST on my humans next shopping excursion.

Ice cream + chicken?

Yes please!

Food! Glorious Food!

Nearly a month has passed since I was coaxed away from the shores of the Summerland, and I am pleased to report that since that day I have been presented with a vast array of gastronomical delights each and every time I enter the wonderful world of the kitchen.

Salmon, tuna, cod, lamb, even succulent turkey! As if that wasn’t enough, the humans have gifted me a new ceramic food dish, which is blue and groovy and I like it very much. Eating is such a pleasure that I have found a way to comfortably situate myself within viewing distance of the kitchen door, so that I never miss the chance to discuss food fantasies with whomever may be passing by.

Sometimes I stretch out on the seagrass rug in the dining room, and sometimes I lounge on a chair, but most often I like to sit on the kitchen mat near the back door, so that I don’t miss out on any food-related activity.

I even have newfound energy to climb the stairs and hop onto the humans’ bed on weekend mornings when they oversleep. Once they are awake --it usually only takes a couple of minutes of walking around on top of them-- they are easily led down the stairs and into the kitchen.

It is gratifying to know that my journey back from the brink has been well worth the effort.

Miau?

Oh dear!

Is it poor taste or tasty tidbit?

You be the judge.

Der Fuhrer Furrer

Goodbye, dear friend

My dear, gallant friend Crackers passed away yesterday, from pancreatic complications following his surgery last week.He was a most excellent cat, and was well loved by his human. He is greatly missed.

A Slight Detour

My departure to the Summerland has taken a detour, as I have been coaxed away from the foot of Rainbow Bridge by a steady diet of sumptuous foods, compassion, and antibiotics.

My humans suspected that the dreaded eardrops I was being given were making me lose my appetite, and they were partially right—the eardrops were making me very depressed, but the underlying reason my ears were bothering me was because I had a very bad kitty sinus infection. My ears were clogged so that I couldn’t hear very well, and my nose was clogged so I couldn’t smell anything.

There is nothing worse than a broken smeller!

My humans began feeding me very pungent smelling (and delicious) foodstuff like tuna and salmon, and then the British One took me to the not-quite-evil hippy vet, who prescribed some antibiotics to clear up the infection.

I can’t say I’m as good as new, because that would be a lie. But I’m as good as I was before, only a little bit lighter. Now that my appetite is back I am hopeful that my weight will increase, and with all the delicious, fattening foods I’m being served I should be back to normal in no time.

I want to thank all my kitty friends who have had me in their prayers, and who have been so kind as to email me and mention me in their diaries. It is very humbling to know so many care about my welfare.

I know I do not have a lot of time left on this side of the Bridge, but I’m hoping to stick around a little while longer.

It’s good to be back.

The Best Christmas Present Ever

This past weekend was simply the best.

The strange men showed up early Saturday morning to refit our front entry doors, and I wasn’t even banished to the dining room! I got to lie on the sofa, on Softie’s lap, and watch them work, which was incredibly interesting. They removed the particle board from the entry and hung the doors, which took several hours, because the doors are very large and heavy. Those old doors look brand new now, and I am amazed at how something so obviously deteriorated could be rejuvenated. I wish someone could do the same for me.

When the strange men took a lunch break, Softie and I went outside in the back garden and I noticed that the gate on the side of the house was open—so I wandered over to it and paused, waiting for Softie to either shut it or scoop me up and away from it, but she didn’t! Instead, she simply shadowed me as I passed through the gate and walked along the side of the house. I am so happy that I have finally been allowed to put this last piece of the house puzzle together. Now I know the perimeter of my home, and I know how to link the front and back on the house.

I was overjoyed, and with quickened steps I explored the area, and walked onto Mooch’s front garden to sniff the flowers, and then back to my front porch.

I even found the strength to briefly chase a butterfly and although I didn't catch him, I'm quite sure I put a good scare into him.

My humans have also served up some foods that I never thought I’d taste again. I don’t have much appetite, but I was able to eat a few bites of the delicious tuna I was given. It makes my heart sing to know that my humans love me enough to let me have forbidden foods like tuna again, even though they know that I sometimes cannot make it to my box after I’ve had the forbidden goodies.

My humans kindly stayed home with me nearly all weekend, and whenever I wanted a lap they were right there, ready and willing. I was so happy and thankful that I purred, which is something I don’t do very often.

I know my time is short, and the pull of the Summerland increases ever stronger, and so I have been reflecting on my good fortune and all I have to be thankful for.

I am thankful for my house and the shelter it provides. I was born in a barn, and had fate not intervened, I might have remained there, exposed to the elements and fighting other cats for scraps of food. Instead I have lived a pampered life inside a lovely, warm home with three meals a day.

I am thankful for all the toys and presents bestowed upon me over the years.

I am thankful for never going hungry. I have never wanted for anything, and have been safe in the knowledge that there would always be food in my dish and fresh water too, whenever I wanted it.

I am thankful for clean litterboxes.

I am thankful for all the kitties I have met on Catster, especially the lovely Keiser, Cooper and Camilla.

I am thankful for all the blue ribbon rosettes I have been awarded over the past two years since I joined, and for all the times I was chosen as a Daily Diary Pick.

I am thankful too, for being chosen as "Cat of the Week" on Catster. It was a great honour, and I am pleased I had the opportunity.

Even though I do not like vets, I am thankful for being well cared for. I am thankful that my humans have kept me current on my vaccinations, and went above and beyond with regards to my many medications over the years. I know the British One has a phobia about eyes, so I know it has been an act of great love for him to administer my eye drops each day.

Most of all I am thankful for my humans, Softie and the British One. They have provided me with shelter, love, and affection, and have always treated me as an equal member of the family. They have no children, so I have been spoiled thoroughly and completely for all of my nineteen years. I could not ask for a better pair of humans.

Although Softie and I celebrate our birthdays together in November, I would like to take this chance to say that I personally celebrate my birthday as the day I came to live with Softie on Christmas Eve, 1986.

Living with my humans these past nineteen years has been the best Christmas present a cat could ever have.

Atonement: The Sequel

My humans attempt to make me as comfortable as they can in the short time I have left.

The British One took me outside yesterday, and I greatly enjoyed sniffing the warm breeze. When we came back indoors, he enticed me to eat a little bit by serving up a helping of delicious turkey baby food. I plowed into it with great gusto, and even licked the spoon, but all that eating made me very tired and I had to have a nap on the sofa.

He seemed to sense that I wanted a nice lap, and sat on the sofa with me for a long time. When Softie got home she prepared for me a lovely feast of sumptuous buttered cod, and it smelled heavenly. I am just so tired though, and only managed to eat a few small nibbles. It made Softie cry to know I no longer pine for my favorite foods. The pull of the Summerland continues to grow stronger, and it has taken away my hunger.

I continue to atone for my past.

I am sorry that I scratched a hole in the Oriental rug. I had to scratch it surreptitiously because Softie had put it on my list of no-no’s, and I was scolded whenever she caught me ripping into it. So I simply waited until she had left the house for the day, and then I tore into it to my heart’s delight. She thought she was being clever when she moved it into a room with a closed door, but I was able to get most doors open if I worked at them long enough. And so she would come home at night to discover the door ajar, and I would be sitting on the kitchen table, wearing my innocent face.

I am sorry for all those times I got lonely and decided to ring up people at random. I discovered early on that if I knocked the receiver off the cradle, I would hear a lady's voice on the phone, telling me “If you'd like to place a call, please hang up and try again.” After a short time, a loud noise beeped through the phone, and then it would go silent. I never mastered putting the phone back on the hook, but it was a cinch to knock it off. And I did—every single day.

Softie would come home every evening to a dead phone. After several weeks of this, she tried to thwart me by putting large rubber bands around the phone to keep me from knocking off the receiver. But I’m a very brainy boy, and I quickly figured out that the phone was equipped with a “speakerphone” button that, if pushed, would give me the same result as knocking the receiver from the cradle. So I continued to listen to the nice phone lady tell me to hang up and try my call again.

But after awhile that got boring, so I sat on the back of the sofa and watched Softie closely whenever she placed a call, and soon I had learned how to place calls too. I just pushed something called "the speed dial button!" Sometimes I would ring the old lady, and sometimes it was Softie’s friend Leigh Ann. One time I even phoned up The British One, all the way in England! Softie certainly was surprised to see that phone bill. And for that, I’m sorry.

I have to admit that I am also sorry my humans invested in a cordless phone, because I never learned how to use it.

I am also sorry for all those nights I woke up my humans by sitting in a pool of moonlight, singing songs of woe to my stuffed sheep-pig. I am especially sorry for the nights I couldn’t locate the sheep-pig, and howled and cried until Softie stumbled out of bed to find it for me, so that I would be able to sing my songs again.

I’m sorry I ripped the innards out of countless sheep-pigs and left the stuffing strewn all over the house. Each time I would gut one of them, it would disappear for a few days, then reappear looking and smelling brand new. It was my arch nemesis for a very long time. I’m pleased to say that I finally won the war, because I haven’t seen the sheep-pig in many a year.

I’m sorry, too, that I can’t make this old body stick around a little longer. I don’t know who will keep a watchful eye on my humans after I am gone. And goodness knows, they need constant supervision.

Crackers Needs Good Vibes

Please send good thoughts and wishes to my friend Crackers, as he is undergoing surgery today for the removal of an accidentally swallowed sewing needle.

Atonement

I have not felt very well in the past few days and as such have done a lot of dozing on the sofa. I have also been doing a lot of thinking, and have decided that it might be a good time for me to atone for some of the transgressions done over the past 19 years.

I am sorry for pooing on the tree skirt when Softie brought me home for the first time, many years ago. In my defense, I honestly did not know any better.

I am sorry for climbing that big tree in the back garden of my old house. Oh I was young and thought I knew it all, but in all honesty I had no idea until I was way up in the top of the tree that I did not know how to climb back down. The tree was very big, and Softie stood beneath looking very small. Way into the night she stood under the tree, her soothing voice trying to comfort a crying, frightened kitty. Eventually I summoned the nerve to work my way down, little by little. Softie held out her arms and I leapt into them, and she carried me into the safety of the house.

I admit that I am really not very sorry for chewing a 14kt gold rope chain necklace in half. The necklace was a gift from Softie to a friend, and that friend had the audacity to wiggle the chain in front of me, and laughed with delight when I batted it around. As far as I was concerned, it was a nice, shiny plaything, so it serves him right for leaving it lying, unattended, on the coffee table in the lounge. When the two of them came home from a concert later that night, I had already done the damage. Oh but what a time I had chasing it across the shiny surface of the table, and gnawing it in half when I caught it!

I am sorry for shredding the wicker laundry hamper, but really, Softie needed to get a new one anyway because that one was UGLY. I only helped her along in the decision to do away with the ratty old thing.

I am sorry for poking all those holes in the waterbed when I was a kitten. The lure of her bare toes poking out from under the blanket was simply too tempting. I had to attack them, and the waterbed mattress was simply a casualty of those varied assaults. Each midnight attack resulted in morning repairs. Eventually she was persuaded to get rid of the waterbed in exchange for a proper mattress. I am pleased to have helped her with that decision.

I am sorry for pooing inside her favorite slippers one morning. She had laughed at me for some inconsequential thing, but I was in a foul mood that morning and took offense, so while she busied herself fixing my breakfast in the kitchen, I stalked off to the bedroom and had myself a nice, steaming poo right inside those suede slippers! I felt vindicated at the time, but now I feel rather ashamed of myself. With age comes wisdom.

And speaking of pooing, I am sorry for all those times the British One has had to clean up my accidents over the past few years. I know he has not liked cleaning up after me, and I am truly sorry for all those times I could not, or did not, make it to my box.

I am sorry for dunking my head into that glass of milk after having my teeth cleaned. In my defense, I was still fairly woozy from the anesthesia and my behavior could be excused. My humans laughed and laughed, and they did excuse the behavior. I will now admit to being well aware of my actions. I just wanted to do it, because it looked delicious and inviting.

I am sorry for destroying the spider plant that hung in the spare bedroom. Softie thought it was out of my reach, but NOTHING was out of my reach if I wanted to get to it. The spider plant taunted me every time I walked past the doorway, and eventually I could take no more abuse from the pestering, teasing thing. I must say, it was delicious and I thoroughly enjoyed rolling in the dirt that spilled onto the hardwood floor.

I am sorry for all the times I escaped from the house to dash across the back garden and roll in the fresh catnip which Softie planted around the garden shed. Wait a minute. No I'm not.

I am sorry for being jealous of the British One when he first entered our lives. I felt threatened by him, selfishly wanting to keep Softie all to myself. I had, after all, successfully chased away other suitors, and I tried to do the same to him. To his credit, he persevered and I have come to love him as much, maybe even more than, Softie. He has a great lap and always has time for me.

I am sorry for making my humans feel guilty whenever it was time to visit the vet. It took many years for me to realize that no amount of crying, struggling and fighting was going to change the situation. I am glad I learned how to become Zen Kitty during the journeys in the metal monster.

Most of all, I am sorry that I am no longer able to comfort my humans when they cry.

Undignified and Depressed

The British One took me to the not-quite-evil hippie vet the other day. I've decided to elevate his status to evil hippie vet now, because when I was there he put nasty drops in my ears and then attempted to stick things into them! Oh, he said it was to "clean them" but I know better—I know what he really wanted to do was make me uncomfortable and agitated.

Well he certainly succeeded. Had I not been held down by the British One and an assistant, I would have leapt from the examination table and bit him right on the ankles! Instead, I morphed into melt-down kitty and yowled, cried, resisted mightily and panted with my tongue hanging out—like a common dog. It was very undignified and embarrassing.

Since returning home my humans have taken turns trying to put drops in my ears, and I don't like it one little bit. It's a good thing I have very strong ear muscles, because whenever I think they are up to no good, I close my ears up tight and they struggle to get the drops in. But the whole episode has made me a very unhappy boy indeed, and I no longer want to delve into my delicious diced chicken, and I don't want to go outside to enjoy the warm sunshine and gentle breezes. I only want to mope on the sofa.

I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. The Summerland calls to me a little louder each day. One day soon, the pull will be too strong for me to resist.

Riding the Storm Out

What began as a lovely, sunny day morphed into a scary nightmare of bright flashing light, high winds, heavy rains and rolling big booms.

I had helped the British One with his painting tasks, and then after we’d rinsed the brushes and cleaned up a bit the pair of us settled onto the sofa to await Softie’s arrival home. I could feel the weather changing, even though it looked deceptively warm and sunny out the big front window. The British One switched on the tv and discovered news of impending bad storms. I’m clever enough not to need a tv for such things.

Softie eschews the bus when the weather is nice, and obviously she hadn’t gotten the memo that there were bad storms on the horizon, because she came strolling in with the iPod in her ears, oblivious to the loud, scary sirens blaring out warnings of storms and tornados. I was very happy to see her, and leapt from the sofa to greet her and get my daily fete’n’pet. She scooped me up into her arms and carried me around, but when she asked me if I wanted to go outside I had to decline. I knew the weather would be turning ugly very soon, and I didn’t want to be caught outdoors. Instead demanded some dinner.

Soon afterwards the wind picked up, and I hopped upon the back of the sofa to watch the trees sway and the squirrels scatter. I noticed The Don still sitting outside, gaily rocking in her porch swing and chatting merrily with two visitors, and wondered why she hadn’t yet gone inside where she would be safe.

I felt it in my best interest to climb into Softie’s lap to ride out the storm, but no sooner did I get settled that a very bright flash startled her off the sofa and away from the window. I scurried back to the sofa to see what was happening out the window, but the rain came bucketing down so heavily that I could barely see. I did, however, see The Don huddled in her rain coat, trying desperately to reach her front door, but the wind was so strong that she couldn’t take a step without fear of falling. Her visitors had already made a dash into her home, seemingly forgetting that The Don was there!

Her son came running to her aid from a nearby house, and scooped her up into his arms, just as Softie did the same to me.

She carried me into the kitchen, where the British One stood peering out the door to the back garden. Softie and I did the same, and I was amazed by the bending trees and sailing debris. I hoped The Don was now safely watching the storm from her kitchen, like I was in mine.

Carry Me

This old body just doesn't get around as well as it used to, which is all the more reason why I love for Softie to carry me around.

The British One continues to paint the foyer--he is taking forever to undercoat the trim and moldings, but in his defense there is quite a lot of woodwork to prep. I helped him by sitting on the back of the sofa and watching as he climbed up and down the ladder. Then I helped some more by watching The Don handfeeding peanuts to several excitable grey squirrels across the street.

When Softie got home I told her all about my day, and insisted that I be let outside for awhile, since it was a rather gloriously sunny day. She promised that we would go out, but then she went upstairs and I began to fret that she would forget about me! So I did what I had to do, which was to climb the stairs with my stiff little legs, and locate her in the office, talking with the British One. I demanded quite boisterously that she cease her incessant chatter and get down to the business of taking me outdoors.

She's not always as dim as she looks, because she understood my petulant yowls and obliged by carrying me downstairs and through the kitchen to the back garden.

We had an enjoyable time outside, but it was cut short by my insistance on gnawing a bit of grass. What's wrong with a few blades of grass? I need my greens, don't I? She didn't see things my way, however, and scooped me up, chiding that if I was just going to eat grass, I could stay inside. How rude!

But a heaping helping of delicious diced chicken followed my return indoors, so I quickly forgave her for bringing me back inside earlier than I would have liked.

The evening was spent alternating between my humans' laps, and then Softie carried me upstairs to bed.

I do love to be carried.

Sunny Days

Yesterday was simply glorious.

After being left to my own devices for most of the day on Saturday, my humans stayed home with me almost all day yesterday.

I was fed a very delectable breakfast of delicious diced chicken, after which I retired to the back of leather sofa #2 to enjoy the warm sun streaming in on my fur.

Softie went outside to do some yardwork, so I kept a watchful eye on her, and when I saw that she was becoming sunburned I did my best to attract her attention by pawing at the large front window, but she had an iPod in her ears and did not hear my scratchings. As a result, she is very red indeed. It serves her right for ignoring my attempts to entice her out of the sun.

While she was busy outside, the British One was busy inside the house, sweeping and polishing the hardwood floors, and then moving bits of furniture into the dining room. It is not very aesthetically pleasing, and I'm quite sure there will be disruption in my daily schedule as a result, because I suspect the British One is up to no good. He has been rubbing down the woodwork and walls, as well as taping paper all over the newly cleaned floors. I have become familiar with this ritual, and know that the next thing on the list will be painting a foul-smelling primer all over the walls.

This, of course, means I will be banished to the dining room and kitchen--locked away from my big front window and the enjoyment it brings. But I will not dwell on that. Perhaps he will let me continue to nap on the sofa while he works. I hope so.

After the humans had finished their work for the afternoon, we all went outside together and I greatly enjoyed the cool breeze and warm sun on my fur. I stretched out very long on the sidewalk, like the Great Sphinx of Giza, and surveyed my domain. I also walked around the back garden, sniffing the plants and flowers, all the while hoping I could infuriate the evil Mooch next door. Sadly, Mooch was not outside so my efforts went unnoticed.

Once back inside, I was served another heaping helping of delicious diced chicken. After my meal I noticed the warm sunlight streaming in on my favorite rug, and it was so inviting that I curled up on the rug and had myself a lovely, long nap while my humans went out for a neighborhood stroll.

The evening was spent alternating between Softie and the British One's laps, as they had both been so good to me that I didn't want to play favorites.

Behind Closed Doors

Strange men came to my house yesterday when I was happily napping on the sofa, and the British One banished me to the dining room and shut the pocket doors in my face. How rude!

I yowled and scratched at the closed door, all to no avail. I could hear the strange men making a lot of noise, and could only imagine what they were up to. Were they tearing down a wall? Were they ripping out the floor? Did they fall down the stairs?

After a very long time, the pocket doors were opened and the British One led the strange men through the dining room and out the kitchen door to the back garden. I was momentarily torn as to which way to go--should I follow the British One outside, or should I investigate the source of the earlier ruckus?

My curiousity got the better of me, and I slipped into the lounge and followed my nose to a very fragrant smelling wall of particle board--which has been afixed to the place where the front doors used to be!

It is very dark in the foyer now, because those big, old doors are gone, and with them the bright light that spilled through the glass panels.

I wonder how long this new development will last?

Is It Really May?

The weather has turned very chilly indeed.

It has been in my best interest to wedge myself between the sleeping humans in an effort to keep warm.

Speaking of Sneaking

I believe my humans are up to no good.

Why else would they feel the need to sneak up on me?

Take yesterday, for instance. They went out for a walk in the afternoon, and I busied myself with watching the world from the comfort of the sofa. After a time I climbed down and took a nice nap on the blankie, and when I awoke they were still not home, so I checked my food dish—which was empty—and then I went back to the lounge and sat on the seagrass rug to meditate a bit.

The next thing I knew, the front door was hanging open and the British One and Softie were both standing over me. Where did they come from, and how did they manage to get into the house without my hearing the front door open? Very curious, indeed.

They didn’t stay indoors too long, however, because it was such a lovely day. They took the newspaper outside and sat on the front porch, reading. I could scarcely believe they would come home and not immediately feed me, so I went back to the kitchen to check my food dish again.

As I was looking at my empty dish, Softie sneaked up behind me and gave me a fright when she reached over me to get the dish and fill it with delicious diced chicken. I hadn’t heard her come into the kitchen, nor had I heard her open the big cold foodbox and retrieve the chicken. She must have been extra quiet as she did these things.

And yesterday wasn’t the first time I’ve noticed them sneaking up on me. There are times I am napping and they rudely awaken me by switching on lights or opening blinds. Sometimes they talk extra low too, and I have to struggle to hear what they say.

I wish they’d just speak up, instead of sneak up.

No Time to Wait

Each afternoon I watch for Softie’s bus from my vantage point on the back of the sofa. When I see her making her way up the sidewalk, I leap down and sit by the front door to await the shower of praise and kind words she gives me when she walks through the door and scoops me up into her arms.

Yesterday, my normal routine was thrown into disarray because the British One was sitting on the front porch when she came home, and as a result I sat and waited by the front door for a very long time.

I could hear their voices through the door, and it sounded as though they might be out there for awhile. I don’t like to wait. At my age, I should not have to wait—I don’t have that kind of time! So I did what I had to do, which was yowl very loudly to remind them that I was inside, waiting to be feted and petted.

And something quite remarkable happened. Softie let me outside in the FRONT of the house! Oh it was joyous! I wandered the porch, sniffing the flowers and critiquing her planting skills, then I hopped down the steps and enjoyed chewing a few blades of grass. Briefly I even went next door to see how much I could rile and stir-up the evil Mooch. Much to my dismay, he was locked away and had no idea that I was walking around on his grass. Too bad.

It was quite enjoyable to sit outside on the porch with my humans. I hope we do it again sometime soon.

A Good Lap, A Good Blankie, & A Good Nap

I've not been feeling well the last few days.

All I want is a good lap, my blankie, and sleep.