No matter what it looks like, I was not stuck up here.
I could have gotten down any time I wanted.
Oh, bite me.
No matter what it looks like, I was not stuck up here.
It must be something to do with the changing of the weather from cold to almost warm. I can’t think of any other reason for there to be so many new Sticky Little People running and crawling around outside. No matter what window I look out, there they are, going off at full tilt, making far too much noise for respectable creatures. One can only hope that with time, they slow down and learn to be quieter.
Though it is kind of neat when one of the new ones learns to say my name.
Not that I pay any attention to that kind of thing.
Someone needs to notify me when my daily routine is going to be interrupted. I have things I’m used to: the Man gets up early, ignores me, reads the papers, and then leaves. I wait a while, then go upstairs and start gently trying to get the Woman to wake up. She eventually opens her eyes, says a bunch of bad words, gets up, uses the giant litter box, and then goes downstairs to feed me. As it should be.
So when the Man does not get up early, it worries me. What if he’s late to where ever it is he goes most days? What if his not being there means they can’t buy me more cans of the Stinky Goodness? There are a lot of “what-ifs” involved, so I make the effort to wake him up. Or wake her up, so she can get him up. It’s simply pure consideration on my part.
Do they even understand this?
Phffft. I do my best and what I get in return is “Stop it, Max. Shut up, Max. I’m going to wrap your tail around your neck and make you be quiet, Max.” (Ok, honestly, no one has ever said that, but I’m pretty sure they’re thinking it.)
I swear, if they didn’t have those opposable thumbs, I’d let them rot their lives away in bed.
I am so ashamed. I let one of the Sticky Little People touch me last night. Even worse, I let the Woman pick me up and take me outside so that the Sticky Person could do just that. I don’t know why I allowed this to happen; it’s just that the People were outside with the Other People all afternoon and evening, and I was in here all alone…It wasn’t too bad, though. The Sticky One didn’t shriek at me or tug or poke, she just touched a finger to my fur. And she tried to say my name, though it sounds more like “Math” than “Max.”
No, I am not getting soft. It was just a momentary lapse in judgment.
You left the laundry basket filled with clean clothes in the living room. You know that I’m going to curl up on the clean clothes. So it’s your fault that there’s cat barf on your favorite sweatshirt, not mine.
You know, when I was standing on the Woman’s lap this evening, trying to decide if I wanted to plop down or just annoy her, I really didn’t intend to cut loose a mighty fart with my tail end towards her face.
Really, I didn’t.
It was just a bonus.
Happy Easter my ass. You know how I celebrated? Do you?
It started out with the Woman, in all her glorious stupidity, locking me in the closet again! She opened it to get some clothes out, and you’d think by now she’d know that I like to go in and curl up on the blanket in there. But nooooo…she closed the freaking door and it took two hours before she realized I was in there.
To make matters worse, the People disappeared for most of the day, and she was late in getting my dinner. Oh, she said she was sorry, but I don’t believe it. No way. She ran in the front door, saying how sorry she was, and she fed me, but then she turned around and left again for at least another hour.
After they came home to stay, she was in the kitchen puttering around, and I went in there to munch on the mostly-acceptable dry food, and what happens? She stepped on me! This wasn’t a little pinch to my tail—she stomped on my entire foot with her entire foot. Like, about a ton of Stomping Human Femaleness. Yeah, well, I hollered a good one—because that makes her feel bad—and ran upstairs. The Man followed me up and picked me up. As if I wasn’t pissed off enough, he picked me up and took me back into the freaking kitchen.
All right, he took me back so that the Woman could give me a treat or two or fifteen, but still.
These People never learn. Never.
I’ve got the Woman right where I want her, and she doesn’t even know it. Like this afternoon—I was hungry and let her know it, but she just scratched my head and said “I’m not feeding you. It’s only four o’clock and you have to wait until five.”
Not good enough.
I meowed and crawled all over her lap, stretched up and nibbled at her hair, got in her face—I was not going to give up, not until she was frustrated enough to just get up and give me the second half of my can of Stinky Goodness.
And it worked!
It only took an hour, but she finally got tired of it, and get up to feed me.
Oh man, I hit the Trifecta of Pissing The Woman Off this morning. I didn’t start too early—I waited until her normal time to get up, but she was being pretty lazy about getting up, so I didn’t have a whole lot of choice.
I started off with a fairly gentle body slam into her stomach, but all that did was make her grunt and push me aside, then roll over. I waited, hoping she would sit up, but she didn’t, she just went right back to sleep.
So, I had to up the ante, so to speak. I carefully crawled up the bed, onto her pillow, and dropped like a dead weight onto her head. That got me a “Dammit, stop it,” but she still didn’t get up.
I had no choice.
I went for the glasses.
I sent those suckers flying, and she knew it. She reached out and grabbed me, tossing me across the bed, but she still didn’t get up. Every time I tried to climb over her, she shoved me away. Like I would give up.
Eventually she did finally get up, and boy was she mad. She was down on her hands and knees looking for her glasses, saying words that I know I’m too young to hear. Even a threat: “I’m not f$@#ing feeding you right now, you little shit.”
She found the glasses, went to the giant litter box, got dressed, and what did she do?
She fed me.
Change my litter box.
Or you know what will happen.
What is wrong with these People? They run around the house, going in and out, leaving me alone most of the day with only dry food and filtered water to subsist on, and when they come home, what do they do?
They open a door, so of course I have to investigate, and once I go through, they shut the freaking door! She locked me in the frigging closet again!
Really, once is a mistake. Twice is a sign of senility. But this—this has to be intentional. She said she was sorry, but she was laughing when she said it, so I don’t think so.
Yeah, lady, if you’re reading this, what I’m thinking rhymes with “witch.”
I think they’re mad at me again, but I don’t know why. The Man came home and chased me around the house with that horrible stick he rubs all over my teeth, and he managed to corner me on my window perch and did it while all the birds outside could see. And they were mocking me, I know they were! I could hear them chirping away, laughing at the poor bastard feline being molested by the much larger human.
Then the Woman comes home and she has this thing in a shiny purple bag, and on the bag are these bright ribbony things. It was pretty, and I wanted to see what was in it. But would she let me stick my head in the bag to see? Hell, no. First she chased me off the table, and when I went back (thinking she wasn’t looking) she caught me and then took the shiny purple bag and hid it in the pantry, where I can’t get to it.
I just want to see what’s in the bag! But nooooo, it’s “not for the kitty.” It’s “a present for someone else.”
When do I get a present?
I discovered something new and annoying this morning.
When the People won't get up, stick your cold, wet nose up against one of their closed eyelids.
You'll wind up being bounced onto the nbed, but it's worth it.