Last Week
June Entries
1999 Entries

Cat Quiz
Cat's Log
Cat-Tune Cookie
ESFe
Prince's Page
Webrings

Stretch Kelley
17 in x 13 in
Buy This Print

The Cat's Pet
16 in x 24 in
Buy This Print

Cat's Logs - Week 24

Then there's being kissed.

Aside from the dreaded human kiss fever and other sanitation issues, kissing is either pointless activity or proof that humans' grooming skills are woefully inadequate.

My attendant, in particular, seems to wait for me to fall into a deep sleep and reach the middle of an exciting dream before kissing me.

Here I am, sneaking up on the 10-foot rat, knowing I have one chance to disable it before it kills me. It requires vast strength and perfect reflexes, but I am up to the task. I crouch ... prepare to spring ... feel a huge hand grasp my body ...

pry my claws from the ceiling.

I had hoped that typing my daily log was giving GlennaJo insight into the feline mystique and that she would as a result demonstrate a greater understanding of my actions.

But I was sorely disappointed this morning when I placed a present outside her bedroom door for her to find in the morning.

Why, exactly, is it that human females always say "eeeeeeeeeeeeek" when confronted with a mouse? It's never even "aieieieieie," or "aiiiiiiiiiiii," but always "eeeeeeeeeeeeeek."

And talk about lack of appreciation, she not only threw my conquest away, but she chewed me out into the bargain.

Didn't anyone ever tell her not to look a gift mouse in the mouth?

Monday, June 22, 1999

Sometimes human language deficiencies can be downright funny.

This morning I indulged in one of my more basic pasttimes--calling GlennaJo names in a tone that makes her think I'm saying nice things.

For example, I jumped up on the bed this morning a few hours before she was ready to get up and began nudging her hand. When she finally responded to me, I mewed, "GlennaJo's a big dumb human," while looking at her earnestly and presenting my neck to be scritched.

She said I was the sweetest cat ever.Naiveté is the spice of life.

Wednesday, June 23, 1999

As you know, playing is an important way to strengthen the bond with your attendant.

Granted, some human games are extremely tedious, but the bonded attendant is more likely to provide daily liver treats.

One game that is not tedious is the silent prey. It is very similar to human video games: as soon as I put my paw on the glowing dot, I'm bounced up to the next level and the prey is racing away again.

In a typical scenario, a hostile light-based species has invaded our planet, and I alone can save us. Undaunted, I risk my life over and over in selfless acts of courage until, vanquished, the light-people disappear, their invasion abandoned

... until the next game.

Lower tech and far more tedious there's the bouncing feather.

One look at this feather and you know it came from a sizable bird. But that's no deterrent to me. Into the fray I rush abandoning all thoughts of safety. I brace myself and then attack. My paw passes through the enemy--a true lightweight.

But the enemy arises to fight again. I pin it to the ground--it pulls itself free. I pin it again.

I fly from the room and race around the house to alleviate the boredom.

I nap.

GlennaJo's a major crab tonight because she can't get a good Internet connection.

True, if she can't get her files uploaded you lose the pleasure of a fresh sample of my sparkling personality. But it really doesn't seem to be a major emergency.

From the feline point of view, emergencies are very straightforward: earthquakes, fires, floods, vacuum cleaners. These require immediate evasive action.

But humans seem to delight in escalating every event into a major emergency. They stress their cardiovascular systems over little things like being late for work and their blood pressure soars when they're in a hurry and have to stand in line.

The feline solution to these problems is very basic--take a nap.

My attendant's worried that something's wrong with me and plying me with treats to see if I'll liven up--I love this gig!

With a coat that's rated for a 20° below zero Minnesota Winter, Summer is not my most energetic season.

Sure, we have air conditioning (an important feline environmental requirement: attendants take note), but when the world is humid, so is my hair. Yuck!

And when she should be comforting me by providing hourly liver treats to ease my misery, GlennaJo keeps patting me, finding mats and brushing them out--with a vengeance.

My solution? I act limp enough to worry her so she takes pity and leaves my hair alone.

Sometimes illness is in the eye of the beholder.

Chats
20 in x 24 in
Buy This Print

Squirt
18 in x 24 in
Buy This Print