November 28, 2003

Yesterday was a very good day. It was like the People finally get it! The Woman spent hours preparing a perfectly wonderful meal, just for me. It damn near drove me nuts, having to be patient and wait through all the smells drifting through the air, and then while the People taste tested everything to make sure it was perfect. Once they were satisfied that the meal was up to par, they both cut up the meat into bite size pieces for me, and even added these slimy (but very tasty) noodles to my plate.

And today! There was more! Again they tasted it first to make sure it was good enough (though I don’t know why—it’s not as if it changed from yesterday); while they ate I stood on my perch and stared at the Man, aiming my thoughts at his head (and worried that his skull might be a tad too dense), mentally chanting “mine, mine, mine.”

Again, it was very tasty. They also ate this orangey-looking thing that smelled like it was something I would want, but neither offered any to me. That was okay—this time. I was quite stuffed from the turkey and noodles.

Now I wonder what’s on the menu for tomorrow. It’s about time that they finally started giving me the sustenance I deserve.

November 26, 2003

How’s this for unfair? The Bipeds cooked this dinner last night that smelled like it should be mine. Very meaty, the aroma was all over the house. But did I get any?

Hell no.

The woman looks down at me and apologizes, saying that if I ate any in ten minutes I’d have flames shooting out my ass.

So what?

I don’t know what onions are and I don’t care, but goddammit if you’re going to cook something that smells like that, you better give me some. I mean it. Next time, you better give me some, or I really am going to poop on your pillow.

November 23, 2003



What, you expected me to blog every day?

November 18, 2003

She thinks she's spoiling me. She insinuated it in a sacarcastic sort of way, in any case. I was sitting on the ottoman, waiting (patiently, I might add, no matter what she thinks about the 15 times I tried to crawl into her lap, stick my head up her pants legs, and head butt her thigh) for her to get up and go into the other room--it was time, after all; I always get to sleep in the chair after the news is over--when she did actually did stand up and then lifted me from where I was at to the seat she had so considerately warmed for me.

Her comment? "I don't spoli you, do I?"

Hey, I'm not stupid. I know a snotty rhetorical question when I hear one. It's right up there with "Are you hungry?" first thing in the morning.

Hey, lady, how about a nice "Well, duh!"


November 13, 2003

My People were up very, very early today; it wasn’t terribly early for the Man, but it was Way Too Early for the Woman. And no matter what they tell you, it wasn’t my fault. I kept my mouth shut this morning, I didn’t sing for them, and I didn’t stand in the middle of her chest trying to smell the inside of her nose (though I really would like to, as it smells especially obnoxious today.)

No, they were up, I think, because there was no electricity. The Woman can’t sleep without a fan going, and this thing in the hallway kept chirping. It was loud, annoying, and hurt my ears.

He walked out the front door, yelling back something about wind and freaking cold, and she provided a warm lap for me, which truth be told I appreciated because it really was getting cold. I let her read the comics by flashlight, and when it was light outside, she fed me early, very early, and went back to bed.

Of course, the phone rang just a little while later and woke her up, but by then I was full and sleepy, all curled up in the blankets on her bed, so what do I care?

She even gave me my dinner early.

That means I can start bugging her for breakfast at 6 a.m. tomorrow.

November 10, 2003

You know, I try to be helpful. As annoying as humans are, they feed me (and yeah, as hard as it is to admit, they feed me well), and change the litterbox with acceptable frequency. So I try to do my bit, but do they appreciate it in return?

Hell no.

Take this morning. The Man gets up early most mornings and wanders off for the better part of the day. I know he hates it when the alarm clock goes off, so I try to get up the stairs a little before that happens, and I sing for my people. It’s better to wake to music, isn’t it?

Do they like it?

Hell no.

I stood out there in the hall, singing at the top of my lungs, and what did I get?

“Stop it, Max.”
“Be quiet Max.”
“Dammit, Max, shut up.

He did get up, and he did make it out the door at his usual time, but do I get any thanks?

Hell no.


November 08, 2003

Ok. You come home, I jump in your lap, you pet me, and then remark "Damn, your fur is cold."

Doesn't that inspire a lightbulb moment for you?

Turn up the freaking heat! Just because I have a fur coat, that doesn't mean I want icycles hanging off my already-useless nipples!

November 06, 2003

Well, I tried. I had my chance this morning to get even with the Man for taking me outside, but it didn’t quite work. I had him on the stairs at 4:30 in the morning, and wound between his legs, even stood on my back legs and pawed at him, but he kept his balance.

I was nicer to the Woman; she was still sleeping when my stomach started growling, so I just jumped up on the bed and waited, patiently, curled up on her back. It didn’t take long, and she was duly grateful for the extra few minutes of snoozing. She didn’t take too long getting down the stairs and fed me right off the bat.

She did scowl at me later—the Man phoned home and tattled on me, told her I’d tried to kill him on the stairs. Phfft. If I’d really wanted him dead … She reminded me that he’s the one who pays for my food, especially the Good Stuff.

Well, fine. I won’t try to kill him, but I’m not going to curl up and kiss his a$$, either. At some point he’ll figure out that feeding me is his honor.

One can hope.

November 05, 2003

He took me outside! The Man picked me up and took me out the front door, where he (with the help of the Woman, I'll remember that) allowed one of those sticky little people to come up to me. While he held me tight he told the kid that he could touch me! Holy freaking overflowing litterbox!

When he's not looking, I am going to poop on his pillow.

November 04, 2003

We used to have a dog. He was there when the Younger Human (where the hell did he go, anyway?) brought me home; I admit, at first I was terrified of him, but he made it clear right from the bat that he didn’t intend to turn me into kitty cacciatore, so we kept our separate peace. He fulfilled his position of being the family gas bag, and since they were so absorbed in the vast quantities of fur he shed all over the place, they rarely noticed how much I was leaving on their clothes and furniture. He left me alone, so all in all he was alright for a dog.

No, cats and dogs don’t always hate each other. We can co-exist, and I understand that my feline predecessor treated the dog as if he was her own child. A little weird, but whatever.

He’s gone, too, now, though I’m pretty sure he’s not off with the Younger Human; my People can talk about the Younger Human in the present tense, but they talk about the dog with sadness tinged voices.

This afternoon the Woman was looking at a picture of herself and the dog while I bathed on the window perch in her office. She glanced over at me and said “I still miss my Booger Bear, Max.”

I could point out that she has her species a little mixed up, but I won’t; she did seem genuinely sad and in need of something. I can never be sure what ‘something’ it is that humans need, but they seem to enjoy it if I spend a few minutes on their laps, so I abandoned the bath and jumped up in her lap and did the cute thing—you know, standing up on my back legs and rubbing my face against hers. It’s demeaning, but what the hell, it does seem to make her happy.

I gave a little purr and let her pet me a little, and didn’t bite when she rubbed my tummy (people, get a clue, we bite because we hate that…)

She seemed happier after that.
I even got fed my dinner 45 minutes early.

It’s something to remember; tolerate a little of their fawning in exchange for food.
Works for me.
But I don’t love them.
You know, in spite of what the People say, I’m not really a wuss. Yes, I enjoy lying in on my special window seats and staring at everything going on outside, but that doesn’t mean I want to go outside. Why would I? There are sticky little people outside, little creatures who would pull my tail and grab at my fur, while shrieking and screaming, and I have no desire to be that close to them.

There are also DOGS out there. I see them—the dog across the street, that white furry thing everyone calls “Lucky.” You might think he’s trained and well behaved, but if I put a shock collar on you, you’d do whatever I wanted, too. And face it, shock collar or not, if he wanted to take a bite out of me, he would.

And I’ve seen those birds. Those suckers are huge. We’re not talking dainty little sparrows here, we’re talking football sized crows. You have to respect a bird that could lift up one of those small sticky people and carry it off. They outweigh me. I see the odds.

But that doesn’t mean I’m a wuss, or chicken, or a ‘fraidy cat. It means I have brain, for Pete’s sake. Inside I have food almost on demand, several warm beds, several window seats, two laps to choose from, and a litter box that’s cleaned on an almost regular basis. Why would I want to go out there when I have all this in here?

November 02, 2003

Felines have very sensitive hearing; this isn't just a personal affliction, it's a scientific fact. We hear better than humans do, and certain noises are not only unpleasant, they're downright painful.

Bearing this in mind, people, please stop singing.
You don't sound half as good as you think.
In fact, you don't sound good at all.

So, stop. Just stop.

November 01, 2003

Attention, fellow felines … if you live in a house with stairs (the more the better) this is a must-do:

Take a golf ball, or some other hard rolling object, and carry it to the topmost stair. Set it down, and push it over the edge. Listen as it loudly bounces down the stairsthunk-thunk-thunk-thunk and then a nice whirrrrrr as it rolls across the floor at the bottom.

Run down stairs, as heavy footed as you can, get the ball, and run back up.

Repeat the process.

Trust me, your People will love this.