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Cat's Logs - Week 9

GlennaJo's been slaving over the PC all weekend making free stuff to give away to anyone who asks for it.

Free stuff is a concept I'm having a bit of difficulty with. You purr for the person who feeds you, and provide your attendant with a bit of attention now and then so they stay interested in their duties, but that's not really free. And besides you know your attendent; GlennaJo says this stuff is for people who we don't even know and may not ever become our friends!

It's no wonder cats have chosen the human race for their attendants.

Prince, here, reporting from the front. The annual Spring dominance struggle has now officially begun. GlennaJo declared war at 7:45 this morning.

The last couple days I've been less cooperative and affectionate than usual, but GlennaJo just shrugged it off. It took this morning's Boot Territory Offensive for her to figure out what's going on. Just because I marked her favorite 10-year-old snow boots as my own personal property right before she had to step into near-blizzard conditions here in Minnesota, she acts like I did something wrong!

If she can't do better than that "bad kitty" speech counter attack, victory for my side is assured.

Prince here. Today was a quiet day of minor skirmishes with no conclusion in sight.

I initiated some action by leaving hair on the dining table next to the window so GlennaJo would know I was sleeping there. She tried the squirting water next to, but not on, the cat approach, which had no effect at all. My major effort was the Battle of Bald Dresser, which caused GlennaJo to accuse me of being clumsy! Right now we are engaged in a staring contest. I figured I'd won when she looked away to type this article, but now she's staring at me again.

Some people have no class.

The news from the front is grim today. Both sides are licking their wounds and keeping an eye on the other. Sure, we're sitting on the couch by the PC just like usual, but nobody's enjoying it.

My major offensive was to sleep on GlennaJo's new silk blouse. It felt so good against my hair that I just couldn't resist kneading with all four paws. My personal attention transformed it from an ordinary blouse to a piece of art, but it appears art appreciation is not one of GlennaJo's strong suits. Rather than thank me, she launched a counter-offensive that was too horrible to describe. Suffice it to say that my tail is finally dry.

Does anyone have the phone number for the Geneva Convention?

The front can be a cold, unfriendly place, but GlennaJo has turned it into a warm, sticky cocoon.

Making unprecedented inroads behind enemy lines, I got almost to the bottom of the basement stairs tonight! My rival was busy with laundry and not on the watch for sneak attacks. I even managed to mark the next-to-last stair as my own territory!

Preparations for my victory speech were under way when GlennaJo started a guerrilla campaign worthy of Mata Hari. She grabbed me, hugged me, told me I'm cute (gag!) and rubbed her face, with its combination of human smells and chemical odors, all over my side! Of course, I immediately set about restoring my aroma aura, but half an hour later, she did it again. And again, and again.

Can't we just have a nice dignified cold war?

Where is the glory in war and battles? What is the victory in controlling another person?

I feel true maturity is demonstrated by living together cooperatively in peace and harmony. True, this is best accomplished when both individuals involved show great respect for each other's privacy and personal space, but it can still be achieved under less-than-ideal conditions (i.e., those involving humans).

To put this insight into action, I have unilaterally declared peace, hoping the more primative warrior will see the higher way and agree to follow. I mean who would choose to live in a house where the maternal cat dominance move* is put on dignified male cats of mature years, when the higher path of peace, love and joy is open before us?

(No, GlennaJo, this is not surrender, but an offer to you to join me on my higher feline plane.)

[GlennaJo's Corner: *This is NOT holding an adult cat by the scruff of the neck--NEVER hold an adult cat by the scruff of the neck. This involves applying gentle (very gentle) pressure to the back of the cat's nec...] (That's enough!!! Go for the higher plane--don't spread the barbarism.)

It has come to my attention that GlennaJo titled my last entry "capitulation."

I looked this big word up in the dictionary, and it said it's "the act of capitulating," which is the kind of useful definition I have come to expect from humans.

While I'm still unsure exactly what 'pitulation means, my friends all laughed when I suggested it means statesmanlike. Hey! GlennaJo's laughing while she's typing, too.

It means what?!?!@!#$%!

Once again, I want to make it very clear that I did not surrender to GlennaJo in our recent dominance struggle. I demonstrated superiority by unilaterally declaring peace and stopping the messy, undignified and generally irritating skirmishes involved..

Being a prince means never having to say "I surrender."

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