I haven't felt like doing much of anything except nap and eat for the past week. There have been fewer demands to go outside, although I've forced the British One to go out with me once or twice, just to keep him on his toes.
Mostly I have just wanted to nap on the sofa, which has caused the British One a spot of trouble in the evenings, because I insist on napping in what he mistakenly believes to be "his spot." Well obviously this is faulty thinking, because it is MY spot.
He should know by now that EVERY spot in the house is MY spot, to be relinquished whenever required. As I am usually ensconced in the spot well before he decides to sit down, I think he has no humanly right to forcibly remove me-- and I have told him so on several recent occasions. Whenever I make my displeasure known, however, I am called "Grumble Butt."
HOW RUDE!
There are two other sofas on which to sit in the lounge, so why is it that he should always want the very spot where I am happily napping? Why can I not voice my opinion on the matter without the situation deteriorating to name-calling?
It seems my sleep is always being disrupted. It's no wonder I am so tired!
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Back to Normal?
After a several week absence, the British One turned up yesterday. I have been looking forward to his return, as it means I will not be lonely during the day, and more importantly, I will be fed an extra helping of delicious diced chicken for lunch!
As pleased as I was to see him, I played it cool and acted as if I had no earthly idea who he was when he came through the door laden with smug looking suitcases. Oh he made quite a fuss over me and told me how much he had missed me (as well he should!) but I just gave him a blank stare as if to say "Who are you?"
I couldn't keep up the pretense for long, however, and soon I was ensconced on his lap, purring mightily.
As pleased as I was to see him, I played it cool and acted as if I had no earthly idea who he was when he came through the door laden with smug looking suitcases. Oh he made quite a fuss over me and told me how much he had missed me (as well he should!) but I just gave him a blank stare as if to say "Who are you?"
I couldn't keep up the pretense for long, however, and soon I was ensconced on his lap, purring mightily.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
A Day In The Life
Softie and I have fallen into a nice little routine, which gives me great pleasure. I do love a routine, as it helps me to schedule my day between eating and napping.
Each morning Softie prepares for me a delicious dish of diced chicken, opens the blinds on the front window, and give me the first set of eye drops. By the time she walks out the front door I have finished my morning meal (leaving a bit for later, of course) and have situated myself on the back of leather sofa #2, where I watch her walk to the bus stop at the end of our street.
After she has climbed into the belly of the bus, I turn my attention to the next door neighbor, who leaves in a little metal monster parked at the curb. Each morning when he opens the front door, I can hear the evil Mooch begging him not to leave. He carries on, yelping and pleading, until the metal monster is out of sight. One would think he would understand the routine by now, but then again, he IS a dog.
I next turn my attention to the humans across the street from our neighbors. Their morning routine includes letting outside their huge, fluffy Burmese, who sniffs the house perimeter and then lounges on the front porch, and taking their Pug-ly little dog, Elvis, for a walk. As far as barkers go, I don’t mind Elvis too much, as I rarely hear a peep out of him. He seems genuinely chuffed to be allowed out in public with a face like that.
After Elvis passes my house, I nap until being rudely awakened by the postman throwing piles of magazines through our door. This is my signal to go and have a mid-morning snack and prepare myself for the arrival outdoors of The Don. If it is cold outside The Don doesn’t appear (bit like a groundhog, that little old lady) and I go upstairs and nap on the duvet until well into the afternoon. If the weather is nice I, along with the squirrels and the rest of the neighborhood, await the arrival of The Don.
Softie comes home in the afternoon, waves to The Don, gives me eye drop #2, and together we venture out into the back garden to enjoy the sunshine. When I have had my fill of the great outdoors I insist on being let back inside the house, which prompts her to prepare for me a lovely dinner of delicious diced chicken in the kitchen.
The evening is spent dozing on her lap, regardless of whether she is on the sofa, or sitting in the office. I am given the last set of eye drops of the day, and have myself an evening snack while she reads in bed. The bedside light being switched off is my cue to climb into bed and curl up next to her, and the whole routine begins anew the following morning.
As much as I enjoy this routine, I miss the routine I had with the British One. I hope he returns soon.
Each morning Softie prepares for me a delicious dish of diced chicken, opens the blinds on the front window, and give me the first set of eye drops. By the time she walks out the front door I have finished my morning meal (leaving a bit for later, of course) and have situated myself on the back of leather sofa #2, where I watch her walk to the bus stop at the end of our street.
After she has climbed into the belly of the bus, I turn my attention to the next door neighbor, who leaves in a little metal monster parked at the curb. Each morning when he opens the front door, I can hear the evil Mooch begging him not to leave. He carries on, yelping and pleading, until the metal monster is out of sight. One would think he would understand the routine by now, but then again, he IS a dog.
I next turn my attention to the humans across the street from our neighbors. Their morning routine includes letting outside their huge, fluffy Burmese, who sniffs the house perimeter and then lounges on the front porch, and taking their Pug-ly little dog, Elvis, for a walk. As far as barkers go, I don’t mind Elvis too much, as I rarely hear a peep out of him. He seems genuinely chuffed to be allowed out in public with a face like that.
After Elvis passes my house, I nap until being rudely awakened by the postman throwing piles of magazines through our door. This is my signal to go and have a mid-morning snack and prepare myself for the arrival outdoors of The Don. If it is cold outside The Don doesn’t appear (bit like a groundhog, that little old lady) and I go upstairs and nap on the duvet until well into the afternoon. If the weather is nice I, along with the squirrels and the rest of the neighborhood, await the arrival of The Don.
Softie comes home in the afternoon, waves to The Don, gives me eye drop #2, and together we venture out into the back garden to enjoy the sunshine. When I have had my fill of the great outdoors I insist on being let back inside the house, which prompts her to prepare for me a lovely dinner of delicious diced chicken in the kitchen.
The evening is spent dozing on her lap, regardless of whether she is on the sofa, or sitting in the office. I am given the last set of eye drops of the day, and have myself an evening snack while she reads in bed. The bedside light being switched off is my cue to climb into bed and curl up next to her, and the whole routine begins anew the following morning.
As much as I enjoy this routine, I miss the routine I had with the British One. I hope he returns soon.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Of Dons & Doctors
One of my favorite pastimes is sitting on the back of leather sofa #2, watching the world go by. I suppose it’s akin to the human habit of watching the evening news, or reading the morning newspaper. I like to stay informed on neighborhood events, and keep tabs on the comings and goings of all and sundry, and window watching is my best news source.
There is a tiny little white-haired lady who lives across the street. When the weather is nice, she likes to sit outside in a rocking chair, and if it rains she puts a rain slicker over her gown and stands on the porch with a walker. I suspect she is about as old as me.
I’m always pleased whenever I see her venture outdoors because I can count on stuff happening. Within minutes of her arrival in the rocker, a steady stream of neighbors gravitate over for a visit. She’s quite popular, and it gives me lots to watch.
My humans refer to the little white-haired lady as “The Don,” apparently because she garners a certain respect from much of the community. She is also incredibly well-liked by the squirrel population. Each day when she is outside, I watch as she delights in pitching peanuts to the hungry multitudes. They scramble around her sidewalk and steps, and even with my bad eye I can see how she laughs when one becomes brave enough to remove a nut from her quivering fingers.
After the squirrels have gotten their fill of peanuts, they disperse to their respective homes--except for the three-legged squirrel, who dashes over to my porch to stash his hoard. I don’t think Softie even realizes that there are peanut shells littering her empty flowerpots, but I know they are there.
Today the squirrel visited my porch again, and this time he hopped right up onto the outside window sill, stuck his face close to mine, and we had a little chat. Seems his name is Dr. Southpaw—he said his name used to be Dr. Bright, but after he got his right arm severed in a trap, he said he "had to change my name on account of I wasn’t quite as bright as my mama had hoped."
He also confirmed my suspicion that all squirrels use the title “Doctor” because they think they are rather clever. I suggested that perhaps he should have simply dropped "Doctor" from his title and gone with "Mister" Bright, but that seemed to upset him immensely and he raged about how he was much more intelligent than me, my humans, and then he threw in the evil Mooch from next door, for good measure.
He railed on and on about the British One plugging the entry to his home (he referred to it as "putting a lock on the door"), and got so fired up that he lost his balance, and tumbled from the window ledge.
It would have been very amusing, but I am smart enough to know that it is quite unwise to laugh in the face of an angry squirrel, three-legged or no.
There is a tiny little white-haired lady who lives across the street. When the weather is nice, she likes to sit outside in a rocking chair, and if it rains she puts a rain slicker over her gown and stands on the porch with a walker. I suspect she is about as old as me.
I’m always pleased whenever I see her venture outdoors because I can count on stuff happening. Within minutes of her arrival in the rocker, a steady stream of neighbors gravitate over for a visit. She’s quite popular, and it gives me lots to watch.
My humans refer to the little white-haired lady as “The Don,” apparently because she garners a certain respect from much of the community. She is also incredibly well-liked by the squirrel population. Each day when she is outside, I watch as she delights in pitching peanuts to the hungry multitudes. They scramble around her sidewalk and steps, and even with my bad eye I can see how she laughs when one becomes brave enough to remove a nut from her quivering fingers.
After the squirrels have gotten their fill of peanuts, they disperse to their respective homes--except for the three-legged squirrel, who dashes over to my porch to stash his hoard. I don’t think Softie even realizes that there are peanut shells littering her empty flowerpots, but I know they are there.
Today the squirrel visited my porch again, and this time he hopped right up onto the outside window sill, stuck his face close to mine, and we had a little chat. Seems his name is Dr. Southpaw—he said his name used to be Dr. Bright, but after he got his right arm severed in a trap, he said he "had to change my name on account of I wasn’t quite as bright as my mama had hoped."
He also confirmed my suspicion that all squirrels use the title “Doctor” because they think they are rather clever. I suggested that perhaps he should have simply dropped "Doctor" from his title and gone with "Mister" Bright, but that seemed to upset him immensely and he raged about how he was much more intelligent than me, my humans, and then he threw in the evil Mooch from next door, for good measure.
He railed on and on about the British One plugging the entry to his home (he referred to it as "putting a lock on the door"), and got so fired up that he lost his balance, and tumbled from the window ledge.
It would have been very amusing, but I am smart enough to know that it is quite unwise to laugh in the face of an angry squirrel, three-legged or no.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Cat's and Curses
I am over the moon about a wonderful story detailing how a little black cat put a curse on the 1969 Chicago Cubs baseball team.
"The talented 1969 team built a large lead over the rest of the National League (East) by August - over 10 games at one point - but went into a tailspin in the final month of the season," Feldmann said. "In September, the Cubs' slide began while playing the Mets in Shea Stadium in New York. Early in one of the games, a black cat ran onto the field ... and went right over in front of the Cubs dugout where he stared manager Leo Durocher right in the face."The Cubs lost that night, and the downfall had begun."
I wish I had been able to get into the Cincinnati Reds Opening Day game on Monday to put a curse on the Cubs. Perhaps then they would not have stomped the Reds 16-7?
You can read more about the book "Miracle Collapse: The 1969 Chicago Cubs" HERE .
"The talented 1969 team built a large lead over the rest of the National League (East) by August - over 10 games at one point - but went into a tailspin in the final month of the season," Feldmann said. "In September, the Cubs' slide began while playing the Mets in Shea Stadium in New York. Early in one of the games, a black cat ran onto the field ... and went right over in front of the Cubs dugout where he stared manager Leo Durocher right in the face."The Cubs lost that night, and the downfall had begun."
I wish I had been able to get into the Cincinnati Reds Opening Day game on Monday to put a curse on the Cubs. Perhaps then they would not have stomped the Reds 16-7?
You can read more about the book "Miracle Collapse: The 1969 Chicago Cubs" HERE .
My Daytime Buddy is Missing
Gloriously sunny and warm weather meant that the British One was easily manipulated into taking me out into the back garden for a nice stroll.
I quite enjoyed the sunshine and light breeze, which was made even better by a devious teasing of the big barker down the block. A flick of my very fluffy tail incited a barrage of brutal barks, snarls and much leaping about at the chainlink fence. It's very amusing to watch him go absolutely bonkers, then get scolded by his human.
A very delectable meal of delicious diced chicken followed, and all seemed right with my world.
I should have known, however, that my good fortune would not last. I am sad to report that the escaped suitcase managed to convince the British One to run away with it yesterday. He left me in the afternoon, just as I had settled in for a nice afternoon of window watching from the back of the sofa.
Oh, he tried to soothe me with kind words and a good scratching behind the ears, but I did my best to ignore him and let him know I was most displeased with the situation. Who will feed me during the day?! Who will listen to my daily rants?
When Softie came home later I guilted her into taking me outside again, to help ease the pain of separation with the British One. Plus I managed to get into trouble a tiny little yapping dustmop across the alleyway, which was nice.
I got a good, long brushing from Softie later in the evening, and when we went to the beddie-bye basket I snuggled right on top of her, lest she think of escaping with a suitcase as well.
I quite enjoyed the sunshine and light breeze, which was made even better by a devious teasing of the big barker down the block. A flick of my very fluffy tail incited a barrage of brutal barks, snarls and much leaping about at the chainlink fence. It's very amusing to watch him go absolutely bonkers, then get scolded by his human.
A very delectable meal of delicious diced chicken followed, and all seemed right with my world.
I should have known, however, that my good fortune would not last. I am sad to report that the escaped suitcase managed to convince the British One to run away with it yesterday. He left me in the afternoon, just as I had settled in for a nice afternoon of window watching from the back of the sofa.
Oh, he tried to soothe me with kind words and a good scratching behind the ears, but I did my best to ignore him and let him know I was most displeased with the situation. Who will feed me during the day?! Who will listen to my daily rants?
When Softie came home later I guilted her into taking me outside again, to help ease the pain of separation with the British One. Plus I managed to get into trouble a tiny little yapping dustmop across the alleyway, which was nice.
I got a good, long brushing from Softie later in the evening, and when we went to the beddie-bye basket I snuggled right on top of her, lest she think of escaping with a suitcase as well.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
The Dreaded Suitcase
A suitcase has escaped from the closet, and the British One has been stuffing things into it.
I do not like this turn of events at all.
I do not like this turn of events at all.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Softie's Root Canal
Yesterday was a beautiful day, and because the sun was shining I decided it was high time to let the British One know about it.
He was in the office, staring intently into the glowing box whilst pecking furiously on the keyboard, and I strolled in and demanded to go outdoors. Naturally he ignored me.
I told him again that it was time to stop pecking and start enjoying the sunshine. I tapped on his elbow and increased the volume of my demands. Eventually he got the hint.
We went out into the back garden, where I romped in the grass and chewed on some plants. The sunshine felt so lovely on my fur, and there was just enough breeze to make it a perfect day. I flopped and rolled in the grass, and then wandered the entire perimeter of the back garden, sniffing all the interesting smells along the way.
After a time, I became hungry and voiced my lunch fantasies, to which the British One obliged and served up a dish of delicious diced chicken.
The British One took Softie out for the afternoon--something about visiting a root canal, whatever that is--and while they were gone I sat on the back of the sofa and watched the three-legged grey squirrel forage around on the front porch. The squirrel is still intent on reopening the entry into his former home, but so far he hasn't had very good luck. I am loathe to admit that perhaps the British One has won the battle with the squirrel, because I know that squirrels are incredibly clever.
The evening came and the humans got back from the root canal. Softie didn't seem to feel very well and dozed on the sofa with the blankie. As tempting as the blankie was, I pledged my alliegence to the British One and napped on his lap instead, because it was he who took me outside today.
He was in the office, staring intently into the glowing box whilst pecking furiously on the keyboard, and I strolled in and demanded to go outdoors. Naturally he ignored me.
I told him again that it was time to stop pecking and start enjoying the sunshine. I tapped on his elbow and increased the volume of my demands. Eventually he got the hint.
We went out into the back garden, where I romped in the grass and chewed on some plants. The sunshine felt so lovely on my fur, and there was just enough breeze to make it a perfect day. I flopped and rolled in the grass, and then wandered the entire perimeter of the back garden, sniffing all the interesting smells along the way.
After a time, I became hungry and voiced my lunch fantasies, to which the British One obliged and served up a dish of delicious diced chicken.
The British One took Softie out for the afternoon--something about visiting a root canal, whatever that is--and while they were gone I sat on the back of the sofa and watched the three-legged grey squirrel forage around on the front porch. The squirrel is still intent on reopening the entry into his former home, but so far he hasn't had very good luck. I am loathe to admit that perhaps the British One has won the battle with the squirrel, because I know that squirrels are incredibly clever.
The evening came and the humans got back from the root canal. Softie didn't seem to feel very well and dozed on the sofa with the blankie. As tempting as the blankie was, I pledged my alliegence to the British One and napped on his lap instead, because it was he who took me outside today.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
A Daily Diary Pick
It is always an honor to be chosen as a Catster Diary Daily Pick, but it is even better to be able to share the honor with my friend, the lovely and talented Camilla.
I believe my humans should now reward me with a dish of delicious buttered cod.
I believe my humans should now reward me with a dish of delicious buttered cod.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Distinct Lack of Fish
There has been a distinct lack of fish in my life for the past week.
This must change.
This must change.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Piper Lives Up To Her Name, Soars to Safety
Oh dear!
A family cat in South Carolina that was stuck in a tree for eight days fell 80 feet to the ground, landed on its feet and then ran away uninjured.
Owners of Piper the cat said their pet scampered up the giant tree outside their Summerville home on March 13 and all efforts to coax it down were unsuccessful.
Monday, the cat jumped from an 80-foot branch.
Home video of the fall showed the cat clipping a few branches and then landing on its feet and running away.
Local 6 News reported that Scottie Colvin was visibly shaken after the fall but was then thrilled her pet survived."I am scared to death, but at least she's down and she's running, so she's alive," Colvin said. "Thank you all for coming out."A reporter asked, "When you saw her in the air what did you think?""I just wanted to catch her," Colvin said. "I know that's stupid because I probably would have gotten killed but I just wanted to catch her."
Piper was later found under a car after the 80-foot fall.
Colvin said the cat was checked out by a vet and has no injuries.
You can watch the video HERE.
A family cat in South Carolina that was stuck in a tree for eight days fell 80 feet to the ground, landed on its feet and then ran away uninjured.
Owners of Piper the cat said their pet scampered up the giant tree outside their Summerville home on March 13 and all efforts to coax it down were unsuccessful.
Monday, the cat jumped from an 80-foot branch.
Home video of the fall showed the cat clipping a few branches and then landing on its feet and running away.
Local 6 News reported that Scottie Colvin was visibly shaken after the fall but was then thrilled her pet survived."I am scared to death, but at least she's down and she's running, so she's alive," Colvin said. "Thank you all for coming out."A reporter asked, "When you saw her in the air what did you think?""I just wanted to catch her," Colvin said. "I know that's stupid because I probably would have gotten killed but I just wanted to catch her."
Piper was later found under a car after the 80-foot fall.
Colvin said the cat was checked out by a vet and has no injuries.
You can watch the video HERE.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Thanks For All The Fish!
Sometimes being a bit undignified pays off.
I couldn’t help myself. The smells emanating from the kitchen made me swoon. As soon as Softie opened the oven door, the succulent scents surrounded and seduced me. I knew I had found the Restaurant At The End of The Universe.
(As an aside, I am well aware that Softie never eats anything that smells good. She also never eats anything that tastes good. It’s all soy-this and soy-that, and I know from personal experience that it is rubbish.)
Immediately I honed in on the British One. I rubbed all around his ankles. I puffed out my white bib and tried to look as handsome and irresistable as possible. I tried nudging his elbow with my nose, tried jumping into his lap, tried to climb on top of him. I was scolded but didn't care.
I focused unwaveringly on the abundance of buttered cod teasing me from the British One's plate, and my persistance paid off.
The British One fed a forkful of fish to me, and one taste was all it took. I demanded more--lots more. I dashed around the lounge with big eyes, crying and sniffing the aromatic air. I put on quite a show. Eventually they got the hint and served up the remaining fish to me, and I plunged in, quivering with desire and the ecstasy of unbridled avarice.
I couldn’t help myself. The smells emanating from the kitchen made me swoon. As soon as Softie opened the oven door, the succulent scents surrounded and seduced me. I knew I had found the Restaurant At The End of The Universe.
(As an aside, I am well aware that Softie never eats anything that smells good. She also never eats anything that tastes good. It’s all soy-this and soy-that, and I know from personal experience that it is rubbish.)
Immediately I honed in on the British One. I rubbed all around his ankles. I puffed out my white bib and tried to look as handsome and irresistable as possible. I tried nudging his elbow with my nose, tried jumping into his lap, tried to climb on top of him. I was scolded but didn't care.
I focused unwaveringly on the abundance of buttered cod teasing me from the British One's plate, and my persistance paid off.
The British One fed a forkful of fish to me, and one taste was all it took. I demanded more--lots more. I dashed around the lounge with big eyes, crying and sniffing the aromatic air. I put on quite a show. Eventually they got the hint and served up the remaining fish to me, and I plunged in, quivering with desire and the ecstasy of unbridled avarice.
Friday, March 17, 2006
More Sleep Disturbances
Another strange man was in my house today, speaking to the British One about repairing our front entry way. I'm glad my humans have finally noticed that there seems to be a lot of cold air seeping under the door--I've certainly known it for quite some time!
This strange man took lots of photos of the doors, plus he looked at the windows too. I have a bad feeling this means more disruption in my life, and more disturbances to my sleep patterns, so I hope it will be worth the trouble they are going to put me through.
This strange man took lots of photos of the doors, plus he looked at the windows too. I have a bad feeling this means more disruption in my life, and more disturbances to my sleep patterns, so I hope it will be worth the trouble they are going to put me through.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Nights on the Round Table
I would like to thank my many kitty friends for their emailed well wishes and the lovely blue ribbon rosettes I've been given. They have made me very happy, and aside from the odd accident on the floor, I'm doing much better.
Last night I was feeling rather ignored. Softie was busy in the kitchen, fixing something very delicious smelling, and she ignored my many dinner suggestions. I made sure to situate myself right in the middle of the kitchen, so that no matter where Softie was - sink, Magic Cupboard, oven, Big Cold Foodbox - she'd be sure to see me, and quite possibly trip over me if she was not careful. After maneuvering around me for quite some time, she finally got the hint that I was angling for more dinner, and served up a tin of hospital food. Not exactly what I had in mind, but it was fairly tasty (only because I was hungry though).
Then the British One came downstairs to help set the table, and he ignored me too. I sulked off to the lounge and curled up on the sofa. Oh but the aroma of good smelling food would not let me sleep, and soon their conversation and the clinking of cutlery on dishes was just too much for me to bear. How dare they enjoy themselves without my help!
I hopped down from the sofa and ventured into the dining room, and because they didn't seem to notice me sitting on the floor next to the table, I decided to climb up into one of the spare chairs.
And from there I raised my head above table height to survey the leftovers. As I am never allowed to eat leftovers, I merely sniffed the air rapturously.
But then I realized that they STILL seemed to ignore me, so I broke the rules and stretched myself out just enough to lick the mashed potatoes. Oh and were they ever delicious! Once I'd had a taste there was no stopping me, and I hopped right up onto the table--much to the surprise of my humans--and stuck my face right into the potatoes and had myself a good munch.
Of course I was scolded, and of course I was scooped up and placed back into the floor, but oh was it ever worth the trouble!
Now if only I could figure out how to use that gravy boat.
Last night I was feeling rather ignored. Softie was busy in the kitchen, fixing something very delicious smelling, and she ignored my many dinner suggestions. I made sure to situate myself right in the middle of the kitchen, so that no matter where Softie was - sink, Magic Cupboard, oven, Big Cold Foodbox - she'd be sure to see me, and quite possibly trip over me if she was not careful. After maneuvering around me for quite some time, she finally got the hint that I was angling for more dinner, and served up a tin of hospital food. Not exactly what I had in mind, but it was fairly tasty (only because I was hungry though).
Then the British One came downstairs to help set the table, and he ignored me too. I sulked off to the lounge and curled up on the sofa. Oh but the aroma of good smelling food would not let me sleep, and soon their conversation and the clinking of cutlery on dishes was just too much for me to bear. How dare they enjoy themselves without my help!
I hopped down from the sofa and ventured into the dining room, and because they didn't seem to notice me sitting on the floor next to the table, I decided to climb up into one of the spare chairs.
And from there I raised my head above table height to survey the leftovers. As I am never allowed to eat leftovers, I merely sniffed the air rapturously.
But then I realized that they STILL seemed to ignore me, so I broke the rules and stretched myself out just enough to lick the mashed potatoes. Oh and were they ever delicious! Once I'd had a taste there was no stopping me, and I hopped right up onto the table--much to the surprise of my humans--and stuck my face right into the potatoes and had myself a good munch.
Of course I was scolded, and of course I was scooped up and placed back into the floor, but oh was it ever worth the trouble!
Now if only I could figure out how to use that gravy boat.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Squirrel Wars
I have been under the weather for the past few days. I am lethargic and not very hungry. I also had a small upchuck on the duvet in the bedroom. Oops.
Softie always seems to know how to make me feel a bit brighter, as evidenced by the return of an extra long brushing session. She brushed me with the soft brush, then with the bristly brush, then used the comb on me, then went back to the soft brush. It was lovely.
I was so content that I even offered up my hind legs for a brush and didn't fight her when she used the dreaded scissors on me. I must say that I am even more handsome than before, and looking good has made me feel a little better.
My humans have been at war with a small, three-legged grey squirrel for the past several days. The squirrel took up residence recently inside a hollow brick pillar on the front porch, and it has made my humans very excitable.
I sat on the back of leather sofa #2 and watched out the large front window as the two of them asessed the situation. It was quite humorous. The British One got up on the ladder and instructed Softie to find a suitable brick. He then blocked up the entry point with the brick, and they came back inside the house quite pleased with themselves.
As they fixed dinner, I sat on the sofa and watched the squirrel working the brick. By the time dinner was ready, the squirrel had managed to heave the brick onto the porch below!
Next the British One disappeared into the Magic Portal. I could hear him sawing and knocking around and creating a racket, then he emerged victorious with several wedge-shaped bits of wood and a mallet. Back outside and up the ladder, he pounded the wedges into the entry point, then they gathered a bizarre mixture of my used kittylitter and ground cayenne pepper, and sprinkled it around the entry point. Then they moved their dragonfly-shaped windchime next to the pillar so that the squirrel would knock into it, it would make a noise, and the squirrel would be scared off. Again they seemed mightily pleased with themselves.
Which made it all the funnier to me the next morning when Softie discovered curled bits of shaved wood and kittylitter scattered all over the front porch!
I've got to hand it to this squirrel. Not only did it manage to get the entry point unplugged, it pulled out one of the wedges of wood and set it on top of the dragonfly's wings, just to rub salt into the wound! Crafty lil squirrel, I must say.
I spent most of yesterday dozing on the duvet in the upstairs bedroom, but every so often I would hear the British One inside the Magic Portal, making more noise. When I heard him go outside, I finally came downstairs and watched out the window as he took a mirror and looked inside the pillar--he said it was to make sure the squirrel wasn't inside--and then he pounded a bit of wood wrapped in metal screening into the gap.
Yesterday evening the squirrel was back, tugging and gnawing on the metal screen. He hasn't been able to get back inside yet, but I'm betting he will. Squirrels, afterall, are more clever than my humans.
What Softie and the British One don't realize, however, is that the squirrel has a vendetta against them for having it's big, dangerously hollow tree removed last year. If someone knocked down my house without permission, I'd be upset too!
Softie always seems to know how to make me feel a bit brighter, as evidenced by the return of an extra long brushing session. She brushed me with the soft brush, then with the bristly brush, then used the comb on me, then went back to the soft brush. It was lovely.
I was so content that I even offered up my hind legs for a brush and didn't fight her when she used the dreaded scissors on me. I must say that I am even more handsome than before, and looking good has made me feel a little better.
My humans have been at war with a small, three-legged grey squirrel for the past several days. The squirrel took up residence recently inside a hollow brick pillar on the front porch, and it has made my humans very excitable.
I sat on the back of leather sofa #2 and watched out the large front window as the two of them asessed the situation. It was quite humorous. The British One got up on the ladder and instructed Softie to find a suitable brick. He then blocked up the entry point with the brick, and they came back inside the house quite pleased with themselves.
As they fixed dinner, I sat on the sofa and watched the squirrel working the brick. By the time dinner was ready, the squirrel had managed to heave the brick onto the porch below!
Next the British One disappeared into the Magic Portal. I could hear him sawing and knocking around and creating a racket, then he emerged victorious with several wedge-shaped bits of wood and a mallet. Back outside and up the ladder, he pounded the wedges into the entry point, then they gathered a bizarre mixture of my used kittylitter and ground cayenne pepper, and sprinkled it around the entry point. Then they moved their dragonfly-shaped windchime next to the pillar so that the squirrel would knock into it, it would make a noise, and the squirrel would be scared off. Again they seemed mightily pleased with themselves.
Which made it all the funnier to me the next morning when Softie discovered curled bits of shaved wood and kittylitter scattered all over the front porch!
I've got to hand it to this squirrel. Not only did it manage to get the entry point unplugged, it pulled out one of the wedges of wood and set it on top of the dragonfly's wings, just to rub salt into the wound! Crafty lil squirrel, I must say.
I spent most of yesterday dozing on the duvet in the upstairs bedroom, but every so often I would hear the British One inside the Magic Portal, making more noise. When I heard him go outside, I finally came downstairs and watched out the window as he took a mirror and looked inside the pillar--he said it was to make sure the squirrel wasn't inside--and then he pounded a bit of wood wrapped in metal screening into the gap.
Yesterday evening the squirrel was back, tugging and gnawing on the metal screen. He hasn't been able to get back inside yet, but I'm betting he will. Squirrels, afterall, are more clever than my humans.
What Softie and the British One don't realize, however, is that the squirrel has a vendetta against them for having it's big, dangerously hollow tree removed last year. If someone knocked down my house without permission, I'd be upset too!
Monday, March 06, 2006
Squirrels, Thrills and Belly-achers
Aside from another visit to the not-quite-evil hippie vet on Saturday morning, I had a very enjoyable weekend. My humans have both been feeling under the weather, so they stayed in all weekend and I was spoiled for choice in the lap department. It was a beautiful weekend, and as such I felt it only necessary for my humans to go outside with me so that they could get a bit of sunshine. I yowled and demanded to go outdoors until Softie could not bear to listen to me anymore. She's very pliable when she's ill.
I do love how the sun warms my fur, and it was made even better by the lovely breeze in the air. Softie and I sat on the back porch and watched a young, striped cat attempt to catch a very harassed and chatter-y squirrel. I could have told him it was a waste of time, as the squirrel had the Treetop Advantage, but why should he listen? Just because I did the same when I was his age doesn’t mean he’s going to take advice from an oldster like me.
Naturally, he did not even come close to Squirrelville, and it amused me greatly to watch Dr. Chatters chuck a crabapple down on the youngster’s head.
On Sunday I persuaded Softie to take me out again, but alas the morning’s entertainment was not as good as the previous day. A very discordant and vile woman several houses away saw me sitting on the sidewalk in the back garden and began yelling at Softie. She accused me of killing a kitten in the alley way! HOW RUDE! I turned my back to her.
Softie tried several times to calm the woman and let her know that I had done no such thing, but the woman continued to berate Softie, badmouthing me all the while. She said she was certain that I was “the big black cat who killed that kitten.” I could take no more insults and turned to give her and her ugly, yapping dog a piece of my mind! I am certainly not a killer--unless you count mice, that is.
She caught sight of my very fluffy white bib and her diatribe came to an abrupt halt when she realized that she had the wrong cat! She apologized profusely to a still upset and smarting Softie, and scolded the ugly dog for barking at us. I was a bit miffed at Softie for grudgingly accepting her apology, but I suppose it was worth the effort because Softie ended up gleaning useful information out of the nasty woman. Apparently she, her evil children and barking dogs will soon be moving away.
It cannot be soon enough!
I do love how the sun warms my fur, and it was made even better by the lovely breeze in the air. Softie and I sat on the back porch and watched a young, striped cat attempt to catch a very harassed and chatter-y squirrel. I could have told him it was a waste of time, as the squirrel had the Treetop Advantage, but why should he listen? Just because I did the same when I was his age doesn’t mean he’s going to take advice from an oldster like me.
Naturally, he did not even come close to Squirrelville, and it amused me greatly to watch Dr. Chatters chuck a crabapple down on the youngster’s head.
On Sunday I persuaded Softie to take me out again, but alas the morning’s entertainment was not as good as the previous day. A very discordant and vile woman several houses away saw me sitting on the sidewalk in the back garden and began yelling at Softie. She accused me of killing a kitten in the alley way! HOW RUDE! I turned my back to her.
Softie tried several times to calm the woman and let her know that I had done no such thing, but the woman continued to berate Softie, badmouthing me all the while. She said she was certain that I was “the big black cat who killed that kitten.” I could take no more insults and turned to give her and her ugly, yapping dog a piece of my mind! I am certainly not a killer--unless you count mice, that is.
She caught sight of my very fluffy white bib and her diatribe came to an abrupt halt when she realized that she had the wrong cat! She apologized profusely to a still upset and smarting Softie, and scolded the ugly dog for barking at us. I was a bit miffed at Softie for grudgingly accepting her apology, but I suppose it was worth the effort because Softie ended up gleaning useful information out of the nasty woman. Apparently she, her evil children and barking dogs will soon be moving away.
It cannot be soon enough!
Thursday, March 02, 2006
I Would Like Just One Glass Of Water
Strange men have been inside my house again. They have been tinkering around with the air con, climbing up into the ceiling, replacing wires and generally creating a lot of noise and dust. I decided the best course of action would be to curl up into a tight little furry ball and nap on the duvet until it ceased.
Unbeknownst to me, the British One removed my upstairs water dish during the course of their noisemaking, ostensibly to keep the dish dust-free. That's all well and good, but what about later, after the noisy men have gone and a certain kitty wakes up, thirsty, and cannot locate his water dish?
I yowled loudly, of course. I demanded that my water dish be replaced.
Naturally, the British One was too busy pecking furiously at his keyboard whilst staring intently into the glowing box, and paid me no mind. Sometimes it is like yowling at a wall.
I decided to take action. I ventured into the office and stated my plight, a bit louder than before. Again, I was ignored. Now I suppose I could have wandered downstairs and into the kitchen, where another water dish awaited, but I didn't want to exert the extra energy required for such a task. Besides, I don't like being ignored.
So I jumped upon a cardboard box marked "eBay" next to the British One, and from there climbed onto the desk. And, just as I suspected, there was a short, wide drinking glass half-filled with water sitting there.
So I simply stuck my head right inside the glass and had myself a good drink, while the British One made excitable noises in my direction.
Needlesstosay, my water dish was reinstated promptly.
Unbeknownst to me, the British One removed my upstairs water dish during the course of their noisemaking, ostensibly to keep the dish dust-free. That's all well and good, but what about later, after the noisy men have gone and a certain kitty wakes up, thirsty, and cannot locate his water dish?
I yowled loudly, of course. I demanded that my water dish be replaced.
Naturally, the British One was too busy pecking furiously at his keyboard whilst staring intently into the glowing box, and paid me no mind. Sometimes it is like yowling at a wall.
I decided to take action. I ventured into the office and stated my plight, a bit louder than before. Again, I was ignored. Now I suppose I could have wandered downstairs and into the kitchen, where another water dish awaited, but I didn't want to exert the extra energy required for such a task. Besides, I don't like being ignored.
So I jumped upon a cardboard box marked "eBay" next to the British One, and from there climbed onto the desk. And, just as I suspected, there was a short, wide drinking glass half-filled with water sitting there.
So I simply stuck my head right inside the glass and had myself a good drink, while the British One made excitable noises in my direction.
Needlesstosay, my water dish was reinstated promptly.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Age Ain't Nuthin' But A Number
I do not like getting older.
Sometimes I like to have a good scratch behind my ears, and normally this involves using my hind legs. Recently I have discovered that I'm not so good at balancing myself anymore, and sometimes I fall over when I try to have a good scratch.
Softie noticed my feeble scratching attempts--followed by tipping over, and came to my rescue. She came over and gave me a really good scratching behind the ears, using her fingerclaws. They aren't nearly as nice and sharp as mine, but they got the job done and I was ever so grateful. After she finished I jumped up into her lap and purred very loudly to let her know I was pleased with her attempts.
Nice, sharp claws are another bother for me as I age.
The other day, the British One was sitting in a chair in the office, pecking furiously at the keyboard and staring intently at the glowing box. Sometimes I like to nap in this chair, because it is leather and retains a lot of warmth. Try as I might, I could not persuade the British One to budge. I noticed, however, that there was a new chair in the office. It is one of the many things that came to live with us when the boxes arrived last week. I decided to check it out for napability, but when I tried to jump onto it my claws got stuck in the strange fabric.
I tried to tug my claws out, but the harder I tugged the more my weak hind legs slipped out from under me. To add insult to injury, I also discovered that this new chair has wheels, and in the process of my struggle I managed to pull the chair all the way across the room and next to the British One, who had stopped pecking furiously at the keyboard and turned his attention to staring at me!
I do not like to embarrass myself, so I simply pretended that my intent all along was to move the chair across the room. He helped remove my claws from the evil fabric chair and helped me up onto it, but by then I had decided that I hated the chair and didn't want any more to do with it. I jumped down, stalked off to the bedroom and curled up on the duvet.
A few minutes later I overheard the British One on the phone to Softie, chuckling about my mishap. How rude!
I got him back a bit later by having a nice poo on the seagrass rug.
Sometimes I like to have a good scratch behind my ears, and normally this involves using my hind legs. Recently I have discovered that I'm not so good at balancing myself anymore, and sometimes I fall over when I try to have a good scratch.
Softie noticed my feeble scratching attempts--followed by tipping over, and came to my rescue. She came over and gave me a really good scratching behind the ears, using her fingerclaws. They aren't nearly as nice and sharp as mine, but they got the job done and I was ever so grateful. After she finished I jumped up into her lap and purred very loudly to let her know I was pleased with her attempts.
Nice, sharp claws are another bother for me as I age.
The other day, the British One was sitting in a chair in the office, pecking furiously at the keyboard and staring intently at the glowing box. Sometimes I like to nap in this chair, because it is leather and retains a lot of warmth. Try as I might, I could not persuade the British One to budge. I noticed, however, that there was a new chair in the office. It is one of the many things that came to live with us when the boxes arrived last week. I decided to check it out for napability, but when I tried to jump onto it my claws got stuck in the strange fabric.
I tried to tug my claws out, but the harder I tugged the more my weak hind legs slipped out from under me. To add insult to injury, I also discovered that this new chair has wheels, and in the process of my struggle I managed to pull the chair all the way across the room and next to the British One, who had stopped pecking furiously at the keyboard and turned his attention to staring at me!
I do not like to embarrass myself, so I simply pretended that my intent all along was to move the chair across the room. He helped remove my claws from the evil fabric chair and helped me up onto it, but by then I had decided that I hated the chair and didn't want any more to do with it. I jumped down, stalked off to the bedroom and curled up on the duvet.
A few minutes later I overheard the British One on the phone to Softie, chuckling about my mishap. How rude!
I got him back a bit later by having a nice poo on the seagrass rug.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Be Careful What You Wish For
My wish for boxes has come back to me ten fold. You'd think I'd be over the moon with the result. Unfortunately, the FairyFeline who granted my wish wasn't clued into the SIZE box I had in mind.
It's my own fault for not specifying, I know. Never look a gift horse in the mouth and all that.
However, the boxes came to me in a very strange and mysterious way...
Softie and the British One stayed home all day the other day, which caused me some concern because whenever they are both home during the week it either means they are ill (in which case I take care of them) or they are going to put me into the dreaded Pet Taxi and take me to the evil vet (in which case I take a crap on them).
Thursday however, was neither. After a morning of fret and worry, I realized that the dreaded Pet Taxi was not going to appear from the Magic Portal, and so I relaxed and had myself a nice doze on the blankie in the Poang. The British One had other plans for the Poang, and I and my blankie were removed and placed on the sofa. The Poang was taken upstairs. I pondered the logic for a few moments, realized that humans are rarely logical, and went back to sleep.
In the early afternoon I was awakened by a very large metal monster pulling up outside of my house. I tried to ignore it, but the engine and the beeping noise drove me to distraction. Soon my humans were awash in activity, and I was scooped up--blankie and all--and dumped into the kitchen. Softie then had the audacity to shut the door so that I could not leave! How rude!
I could hear strange men and strange noises in my house, and I didn't like it one little bit. How dare interesting activity go on in my own house without me there to supervise! I yowled quite a lot, and I scratched at the closed door. I crouched down to peer under the Magic Portal, but I couldn't see anything. I could only hear the strange men stomping and romping up and down the Magic Portal stairs. I could also hear them in the dining room and lounge, shuffling boxes and talking to my humans. I could hear things being unwrapped--rustling paper always excites me--and I was locked away where I could not revel in the crunchiness of paper.
After an eternity, the strange men left and Softie opened the kitchen door. By that time I had decided that I didn't care about the crisp paper and interesting smells, but I let myself be coaxed from the blankie.
There were boxes everywhere! Oddly, there were also a lot more sofas and tables than when I had woke up that morning. A LOT more. And they smelled very interesting!
Despite my best efforts to appear unimpressed and uninterested, my curiosity got the best of me and in no time I was climbing all over the new sofas and having myself a good sniff. I got so excited that I dashed all over the lounge and foyer, back and forth jumping from sofa to sofa to sofa. I then scampered into the dining room and circled the big boxes, then raced back into the lounge for another hop on the sofas. The humans began to open the boxes, and I supervised until I saw the contents--which seemed to be all boring human stuff.
All the excitement got to me and I collapsed onto one of the leather pillows on sofa #3, and slept soundly well into the night.
Now I am left with dozens of huge empty boxes, and not a single one will fit on the radiator.
It's my own fault for not specifying, I know. Never look a gift horse in the mouth and all that.
However, the boxes came to me in a very strange and mysterious way...
Softie and the British One stayed home all day the other day, which caused me some concern because whenever they are both home during the week it either means they are ill (in which case I take care of them) or they are going to put me into the dreaded Pet Taxi and take me to the evil vet (in which case I take a crap on them).
Thursday however, was neither. After a morning of fret and worry, I realized that the dreaded Pet Taxi was not going to appear from the Magic Portal, and so I relaxed and had myself a nice doze on the blankie in the Poang. The British One had other plans for the Poang, and I and my blankie were removed and placed on the sofa. The Poang was taken upstairs. I pondered the logic for a few moments, realized that humans are rarely logical, and went back to sleep.
In the early afternoon I was awakened by a very large metal monster pulling up outside of my house. I tried to ignore it, but the engine and the beeping noise drove me to distraction. Soon my humans were awash in activity, and I was scooped up--blankie and all--and dumped into the kitchen. Softie then had the audacity to shut the door so that I could not leave! How rude!
I could hear strange men and strange noises in my house, and I didn't like it one little bit. How dare interesting activity go on in my own house without me there to supervise! I yowled quite a lot, and I scratched at the closed door. I crouched down to peer under the Magic Portal, but I couldn't see anything. I could only hear the strange men stomping and romping up and down the Magic Portal stairs. I could also hear them in the dining room and lounge, shuffling boxes and talking to my humans. I could hear things being unwrapped--rustling paper always excites me--and I was locked away where I could not revel in the crunchiness of paper.
After an eternity, the strange men left and Softie opened the kitchen door. By that time I had decided that I didn't care about the crisp paper and interesting smells, but I let myself be coaxed from the blankie.
There were boxes everywhere! Oddly, there were also a lot more sofas and tables than when I had woke up that morning. A LOT more. And they smelled very interesting!
Despite my best efforts to appear unimpressed and uninterested, my curiosity got the best of me and in no time I was climbing all over the new sofas and having myself a good sniff. I got so excited that I dashed all over the lounge and foyer, back and forth jumping from sofa to sofa to sofa. I then scampered into the dining room and circled the big boxes, then raced back into the lounge for another hop on the sofas. The humans began to open the boxes, and I supervised until I saw the contents--which seemed to be all boring human stuff.
All the excitement got to me and I collapsed onto one of the leather pillows on sofa #3, and slept soundly well into the night.
Now I am left with dozens of huge empty boxes, and not a single one will fit on the radiator.
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