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.

Spot the Mistake

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!

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.

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.

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.

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 .

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.

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.

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.

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.

Distinct Lack of Fish

There has been a distinct lack of fish in my life for the past week.

This must change.

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.