New Celebrity

The purple-haired lady here in the hippie-vet office has left the computer on overnight and I have managed to nip out of my rented accomodation for a brief update.

It's not so bad here. I am being fussed over a lot, and the food is rather delicious. I've had little tins of goodness that Softie and the British One left behind, plus jars of baby food, plus other tidbits from the girls here at the office. They really fuss and coo over me, and I do believe I have them wrapped firmly around my paw.

I get to explore the rooms and visit with my new calico friend Chase, who is young, rambunctious and reminds me a lot of my self when I was a wee lad. When we are together we get up to some excellent mischief, although he can run a lot faster than me.

I have taught the girls in the office that it is quite enjoyable for me to be carried around like a baby. I have also taught them that it is quite alright to be fed at all hours of the day and evening. Hee hee!

The British One has called me on the telephone several times to make sure that I am being looked after properly, and so I know they miss me.

I miss them too, but at the same time I am enjoying my new celebrity.

Sour Times

The full horror of what's going on has finally been explained to me--and I don't like it one little bit.

It seems that my Danish Nan, who is the British One's Mum, has passed over the rainbow into the Summerland. My humans have to travel far away to be with family, or so it has been explained.

As if my anxiety levels were not high enough yesterday, with thoughts of how I was going to manage on my own, I now know what the humans have in store for me.

It is not good, let me tell you.

Because I have medical problems and because they will be gone for a long time (they say only two weeks, but that's FOREVER to a kitty, isn't it?), my humans are going to take me to board at the not-quite-evil hippie vet's office.

Not good, not good, not good. I'm not going to like this, I just know it. I won't have my computer, for a start.

I won't have my comfy Poang chair to nap on, nor the big window to watch the world go by. I won't have my familiar litterboxes, and I won't have a soft duvet to doze on.

My humans say it is for the best, because they cannot expect their friends to come over thrice daily to feed me and give me eyedrops. And they have pointed out the issue that I sometimes don't make it to my box in time, and they don't want their friends to have to clean it up. They tell me I will still have my blankie and jars of baby food. Do they really think that a few jars of baby food will "make up" for this injustice?

How could they think this is in my best interest?! How do they know what my best interest is?

I am so upset by this turn of events that I didn't even sleep with them last night.

Bah Humbug

What should have been a very merry Christmas with lots of gifts and goodies and lovely bits of tasty treats has been tarnished by the discovery of several suitcases hiding in the spare bedroom.

My anxiety levels are skyrocketing at this new development, because not only have the suitcases escaped from the closet but BOTH Softie and the British One have been stuffing them with personal items.

I cannot believe that both of my humans would go away and leave me here alone. They have done it in the past--but that was long ago when we lived in my old house, and the old lady could walk over to visit me and (more importantly) feed me.

Who is going to feed me if both humans go away? How am I supposed to nap gloriously on a warm lap if there is not a warm lap in the house? What about my eyedrops? Have they forgotten that I need daily eyedrops?

And what of my turkey baby food? Am I somehow supposed to live without it!? I cannot imagine a world without it.

I cannot imagine a world without THEM.

Up to No Good

My humans are up to no good.

I can sense it.

Bah, Kittens

I'd like to welcome my dear departed friend The Baron's niece and nephew to Catster. Welcome Countess Buttercup and Archduke Humperdinck!!

Making Flippy Floppy

Sometimes my humans deserve my wrath.

Last night, I was ever so content, lying on the lap of the British One. The humans were lounging on the sofa, watching television, and I was napping gloriously.

So gloriously, in fact, that I might have been snoring. The humans laughed at me for being "floppy." I was NOT "floppy!" I was content! I was happy! And most of all, I was asleep!

Oh but the humans were dead set on jostling, fidgeting and rousing me from my wonderful slumber. Finally, after the upteenth time I had been jarred from my satisfied slumber, I retaliated.

I growled at them. I really put on the deep, gutteral growl too. Surprised, the British One told me that it was time for our beddie-bye basket. Well I was already in my beddie-bye basket--his lap was perfectly warm, soft and cozy. I didn't want to move.

He raised me up from that nice lap and so I growled again. Softie stood up and lifted me from the sofa and carried me over to the stairs, where I decided then and there to be an incredible grump and not let her have her way. I struggled and growled until she set me down on the landing. Then she had the nerve to say "Fine, if you don't want to go to beddie-bye basket with us you don't have to." I snorted a big, loud snort to let her know that I didn't care about the beddie-bye basket, and I stomped off as hard as I could back down the stairs.

Unfortunately, by the time I made it back down the steps the British One had stood up and was switching off the lights, which meant there was no more lap for me to doze on. How rude!

I stalked over to the Poang and climbed on my blankie, snorted again for good measure, and waited until well into the night when they were sound asleep before I crept up the stairs and into the beddie-bye basket with them.

Holiday Happiness

This holiday stuff is quite enjoyable. The house is filled with the smell of baking sweets and savouries, a new blanket has been unfurled in the lounge, and my humans are staying indoors because of the cold, which means I am spoiled for choice in the lap department.

There are also lots of gaily wrapped gifts under the tree. Sparkling. Shiny. Irresistible!

I used to go absolutely mental whenever I saw shiny ribbons and bows, but the memory of what exactly compelled me to go bonkers for them is fading. I guess I am finally beginning to act my age.

Don't get me wrong--they still entice me, just not like they used to. Unlike years past, I have finally learned to pass the glistening, beckoning ribbons without pouncing on the packages and ripping them to shreds. I'll leave that task to Softie and the British One this year.

This year I have also promised myself that I will not touch the dish of walnuts in the lounge. Even though I adore the sound of them rolling around on the hardwood, I vow not to fish them out and bat them around. I also vow not to chase them beneath the sofa. And I especially vow not to do it between the hours of midnight and 4 a.m. I've been keeping a close eye on the stockings hanging from the fireplace mantle. I know which one is mine, and I know that one day soon it will be filled with lovely tins of food, jingle-bell balls and heavenly catnip. I think I have been a very good boy this year, and as such deserve to have some jars of lovely baby food included in the stocking this year. Also some delicious diced chicken. And strawberry swirl yogurt. In fact, if Santa is going to fill my stocking with goodies, I sincerely hope he forgets about the jingle-bell balls.

Why would I need jingle-bell balls when there is an entire dish of walnuts in the lounge?

Human Predictability

My humans are so predictable sometimes.

I have found an easy way to get my humans attention in the mornings. All I have to do is stretch deeply whilst simultaneously giving a big hearty yawn and meow. It gets them every time! They think it is so cute, and become putty in my paws. It worked to my advantage this morning, as I hoodwinked Softie into following me down the stairs and into the kitchen.

She was planning to serve up some delicious diced chicken, but I wasn't really in the mood for delicious diced chicken this morning. Normally when I see the bag of chicken I will rub around her legs to let her know I am pleased of the selection. So this morning I ignored her when she got the bag out of the big cold foodbox. She turned to me and like the dim bulb she is, kept repeating "Chicken? You want chicken?" I stood my ground, which is to say I just sat and looked at her like I didn't understand. I wouldn't look at the chicken. She continued to repeat her chicken phrase like a broken record, so I decided to get my point across by walking over to the Magic Cupboard and staring at it.

She finally got the hint and opened it. I immediately honed in on the bottom shelf of tins, because I know they are mine. She pulled out a lovely tin of tuna and asked which I wanted. She held the bag of chicken in one hand and the tin of tuna in the other. No contest there! I was in a tuna mood, and went right over to the tin and rubbed my chin and whiskers around on it.

My plan for the rest of the day is to work on the British One. I'm thinking turkey baby food for lunch...

I Pledge Allegiance to The British One

I took refuge yesterday on the British One's lap whilst he pecked furiously on the keyboard and stared into the glowing box.

After awhile, this got boring, so I decided to present him with a bit of a challenge and climbed onto the desk and plopped myself down between the British One and the keyboard. This way, whenever he wanted to peck furiously, he had to do it over top of me. Hilarious!!

He was good enough not to move me away (which is what Softie does when I try the stunt with her) and I had myself quite a nice snooze. When I'd finished napping I sat straight up and stared into his face, and as he couldn't see through my head to stare at the glowing box, he got the hint that I might be hungry.

We made our way to the kitchen as I told him of my lunchtime fantasies, and he obliged by serving up a lovely helping of delicious turkey baby food! Oh glorious creamy baby food, how I love it. The British One certainly knows how to earn my loyalty.

Softie got home later and fixed something very delicious smelling in the kitchen, but she wouldn't let me have a taste. I thought that since the British One and I had been seeing eye-to-eye, he might let me have a taste if I was persuasive enough. I tried the subtle paw on the elbow trick, which got me nowhere. Then I tried sitting next to him whilst staring at each bite he took, which also didn't work. I worked my way closer, until I was sitting right on his lap, which is when he informed me that no matter how much I begged, I wasn't getting anything. It was alright though, because afterward he served me the most delicious diced chicken.

I showed where my loyalty lies by curling up on his lap for the remainder of the evening.

I've Got the Bad Cat Blues

I was a very bad kitty overnight.

I am not going to go into detail about just how bad I was. Let's just say that Softie and the British One were awakened by the smell, had to get out of bed in the dead of night to change the bedclothes, and their very nice and comfy duvet has to be dry-cleaned.

Although I don't often agree with my humans, even I am willing to admit that I was a bad little boy.

Back to Normal

I am pleased to report that the British One has finally come home. I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see him again!

I helped him unpack his suitcases, and was a very content to climb all over him when he went to bed.

Unfortunately I found myself with some sort of stomach flu yesterday, and Softie and the British One were horrified to see me sneeze and vomit at the same time. Oh it was not pleasant. I had vile liquid coming out my nose and everything. Softie cleaned me up while the British One cleaned the floors, but instead of staying in and coddling me all day, the two of them piled on lots of layers of clothing and left for the day!

How rude!

I was feeling much better by the time they came home in the evening, half frozen to death after attending something called a football game. I curled up on one lap, then the other, until I was sure the two of them were properly thawed out. I dined on a nice bit of fish, which didn't upset my tummy, and then we all went to bed.

I'm glad things are back to normal around here.

Snow!

I no longer need to worry about the "kindhearted woman" symbol out in front of my house.

A heaping helping of that cold white stuff has fallen and covered it up.

An Amusing but Bad Website

My human has shown me a website which I find to be amusing and wrong, all at the same time.

I know without a doubt that I shall never be pictured on the site. Nobody puts stuff on me and gets away with it!

"From the 1880's through the Great Depression until after World War II, hobos used a system of simple markings on fences, posts, sidewalks, buildings, trestles, and railroad equipment to aid those of their kind in finding help or avoiding trouble. These signs were usually written in coal or chalk to let others know what to expect in the area. A cat with a smiling face and a big heart meant a Kind Hearted Woman lived there who would help those in need of a handout of food or safe place to sleep."

All well and good for hobos, but I am rather upset that somehow MY house has been given this same "kindhearted woman" designation--but for cats instead of hobos.

First that horrible ginger cat "Gordon" showed up, hanging around my front door and escorting Softie to the bus stop each morning. Sometimes he'd greet her in the afternoon as well! I've also seen him chatting with the British One and getting lots of scratches behind the ears and belly rubs. It does not please me.

Well Gordon has without doubt been shooting off his mouth to the Neighborhood Kitty Association, because yesterday when Softie got home she went back outside to get the mail and a little black velvety head popped up at the garden wall and greeted her loudly. Softie, kindhearted fool that she is, greeted the black cat with several meows (Softie thinks she can speak meow, but it's worse than some of the other languages she tries to speak) and the next thing I knew, "Velvet" was lounging on the front door mat, getting a very good scratching indeed!

The "smiling cat" symbol has obviously been chalked on the sidewalk in front of my house to let all the neighborhood kitties know that Softie is just a big, well...softie. She's simply way too friendly with strangers. This must stop.

I must get outdoors and erase the symbol before it goes any further.

Gordon is a Moron

"Gordon" turned up at the front door as Softie was leaving this morning. I sat on the top of the sofa and watched out the big front window as he dashed around under her feet, criscrossing in front of her, legging it up and down the steps of neighboring houses and racing atop the stone walls that line the front gardens. I could see him chattering away with her, all the way to the bus stop.

I wish I still had that kind of energy.

Don't Like Ginger-bred

There is a ginger cat who likes to sit on my front porch. Sometimes I see him flopping around on the sidewalk, or walking along the stone wall in my front garden too.

I don't like him at all.

He is trying to weedle his way into the good graces of Softie. He has met her at the front garden wall for several days, chatting her up and flopping over on his side to show her his belly. Each time he visits, she gives him a scratch behind the ears, speaks kindly to him and strokes him from head to tail. She is too dim to realize it is all subterfuse to get inside my house and take over.

I don't think he even realizes I am inside, waiting to swipe him upside the head and show him what's what.

Softie and the British One call him "Gordon," ostensibly because he bears a strong resemblance to a former Saints football manager. I don't care about that. What I care about is this ginger cat has crossed the line, and I need to get outdoors and slap him about a bit.

"Gordon" left a slaughtered black mouse on the front porch for Softie. That is MY job, and one I am not going to hand over easily. I would have gladly--and proudly--slaughtered the mouse for Softie, had I been able to get outside and do some hunting. She doesn't need some skinny ginger upstart giving her succulent gifts such as that. He is encroaching on MY territory, and something must be done.

If there are mice about, I need to find them. Softie hasn't had a proper gift from me in a long time. I do love watching her jump around and scream.