Disappointed L'il Me

This is my disappointed look:

I am expressing my extreme disappointment in Mummy's decision-making criteria.

There I was, silently observing bugs in the lamplight with a view to catching one (and no real idea what I would after that), when Mummy whips out the One-Eyed Creature and starts snapping. So I gave her the stare. You know - the one that says, "I was getting along just fine without having my picture taken, and now you have ruined everything."

I was completely unable to resume my bug-hunting after all that milieu.

So there it is.

Life is unfair.

The good news is that she did not get the picture she wanted - the one of me looking quite dashing, teeth showing and all, gazing upward into the light. 

There is some justice after all!

I T’awt I Taw a…Dog???

I am a civilized cat.

I live in a house.

Since I never, ever venture across the threshold into the Room-Where-Dad-Can’t-Get-The-Air-Conditioning-Adjusted-Properly (commonly referred to by my parents as The Great Outdoors), I see very few strangers. [Unless you count relatives, which are strange indeed. But that is another matter.]

I mention this to drive home a point. 

That point is I was in my own chair by my own window minding my own business this morning when a whacking great creature stepped right up and shoved his nose against the glass. This Creature had big eyes, big ears and very big teeth. I thought to myself, “Self, what big eyes he has! Self, what big ears he has! Self, what big teeth he has!” 

Yipes!

And I have never seen such a snoot!

This creature gave what amounted to a goofy grin, its tongue lolling out the side of its mouth like Dad’s socks dangling over the hamper’s edge.

I was horror stricken and turned immediately for Mummy.

Bless her, Mummy is the bestest – she spied the infernal Creature, referring to it as a Dog (whatever that is), without hesitation opening the door and, with flailing arms and much shouting, scared the bajeezies out of him…er, It. The Beast ran off!

I pondered for a moment the meaning of it all. 

As I was hard pressed to figure it out, I resumed my slumped stance in the chair and promptly fell asleep.

Mummy saved the day.

I am very relieved - another victory for Catkind.

ZZzzzzzzz……

I’ve Been Shot…!

…in the line of duty! 

This morning I was demonstrating to young Mosby, one of the urchin kittens who has apparently decided to stick around the house instead of going out and getting a job or something, what you are NOT supposed to be doing – viz. getting on the kitchen table. 

I am, naturally, of the school of thought that actions speak louder than words, and what better way to demonstrate a no-no than by actively pursuing it? So, making sure he was watching, I squatted down, waggled my rear and made a flying leap at the kitchen table, landing ever so neatly (if not softly) in the middle. I turned to be sure Mosby was still observing – young kids these days are so easily distracted – then proceeded to stroll leisurely along the edge, stopping here and there to sniff for possible food fragments. Nothing, as usual – you’d think just once Mummy would leave some crumbs for me but no. 

Again checking to be sure my young protégé was agog with wonder (naturally he was), I sat down, lifted my back leg over my head and began a nice leisurely bath when I suddenly felt a zap in my hindquarters. 

Oh the pain – the agony! 

They got me this time….oooooooh; 

I‘m dying….this is it……..uuungh….

What is that terrible smell?? 

Death, it is Death come for me!

*sigh*

I should point out here that Mummy has been using certain...er, disciplinary measures of late to keep the urchins Mosby and Morgan off the aforementioned dining table, including a gun (cleverly disguised as a water bottle), to which ammunition (hereby known as water) she adds a certain measure of vinegar.  

Yes – VINEGAR, and boy is it pungent! 

It is this deadly weapon with which I have been shot.

It is insufficient to say that I was surprised, and now I am going to croak just because I was trying [honest!] to teach that rug rat how to behave himself. Well, that’s it – my teaching days are over! 

Mosby can just fend for himself. Call me a coward but I simply do not think teaching someone manners is worth getting shot over. I am off to live my last few minutes in bed where hopefully I can get a good last nap.

And Mummy is most assuredly out of the will. 

If I can just locate the number of my lawyer….

Mummy’s Murderous Mind

Some have labeled me a bit paranoid – 

Dad, Mummy, Aspen, Poppet, Nutmeg, Princess, Tippy, and Nobbie,  to name but a few foul blisters. However, I have much reason to believe Mummy is out to get me at times so I am ever prepared to make a break for it, often dashing off just in the nick of time when my suspicions are aroused by her unseemly behavior. Outlined below are some examples of the obvious attempts she makes on my life, and one can readily see on reflection the evil intentions of one Mummy:

Ex.1 - Mummy walks across the floor in my direction sometimes, very fast.

Ex.2 - Mummy picks up a dish towel and pretends to dry dishes (like no one can see through that one!)

Ex. 3 - Mummy polishes the furniture with *gulp* a rag - while I am in the same room!

Ex. 4 - Mummy tries to kiss me on my noggin. Oh, dear!

Ex. 5 - Mummy tries to “pet” me [code for “Murder”].

Ex. 6 - Mummy opens the pantry door when I am sitting nearby, very fast. [Does she think I am blind?]

Ex. 7 – Mummy walks up the stairs when I am lounging on them (she thinks I don’t notice but do I ever see through her subterfuges!).

This is to name but a few of the varied ways in which Mummy Dearest is whittling away at my 9 lives. When I see any of these not-so-well-hidden activities occur I head for the hills. Of course, sometimes these are genuine maneuvers to accomplish some other goal (Mummy does indeed polish the furniture sometimes, for example, and she sometimes pets me just to be nice (as much as a serial cat killer can be nice, I should say…) but it takes a discerning mind to note the difference and be prepared for action. 

Whichever it turns out to be on a given day, Mummy is not going to pull a fast one on me – not if I have anything to say about it!

I will be ready!

Hmmph.

Mummy, Nobbled!

Poor little Mummy is hopping about on one foot today, 

all that is left of her after a vicious attack by a brute of a kitten named Mosby!

There she was in the living room, minding her own business while reading a nice book, her feet dangling over the back of the sofa [which sits conveniently - for a certain kitten - about 6 inches from the wall…], when from nowhere (or rather, from behind the sofa) came terrific sounds of scuffling – irrefutable evidence of the presence of fuzzy little blighters in pursuit of a brawl. 

I happened to be resting along the back of said sofa, thinking of this and that, so got a bird’s eye view of the proceedings. After much tornado-like activity between Morgan and Mosby, the latter decided the sofa needed a lesson in manners as well and began snatching and scratching at the slipcover.

It appeared, from my vantage point, that Mosby mistook Mummy’s foot for an appendage of the sofa (an arm, perhaps, or a pillow?) so gave it a triple-clawed swipe for good measure then went on his merry way.

Mummy yowled not a little, Mosby giving her a questioning glance as he passed from view ‘round the corner. The vile wretch hadn’t a clue about the destruction left in his wake!

So now Mummy is wounded and may not last the night, and we will starve because I am sure Dad does not know how to feed us properly – all because Mosby can’t tell the difference between a sofa arm and Mummy's toes!

Tip Of The Day

cCcRaSsH!

*scamper, scamper, scamper*

Never [wheeze],

ever [wheeze, wheeze]…

tip-toe through the tulips [wheeze]…

if they are in a vase!

*SiGh*

Earth-ShAtTeriNg News

You’re Doing What???

Are you mad?

Kittens? Living here?

We can’t have kittens - they turn into cats!

We already have cats.

When Mummy broke the news that two young blisters of the deck variety were coming to live with us, I rued the day I ever spotted her playing with them out there. I might have known she would pull a sneaky like this. In broad daylight, too!

And Dad had the audacity to be at work at a time like this, the Hound. I tried to warn him that Mummy was up to something but he seems blissfully unaware of her schemes. One might say willfully…

Well, that is it then.

All my hopes of having a quiet future are dashed. And now I must settle into the task of training these little urchins and teaching them the house rules. What a chore.

I think I need a nap.

Project Litter Pan

Change is not something I take lightly. 

I have grown quite accustomed to things in their proper places around here, left untouched until the end of time. Take litter boxes, for example – ours have always been just fine as they sit. They may be different colors, heights and overall dimensions but they serve their purpose, and when something ain’t broke….

Yet Mummy [whom one could easily label Obsessive] suddenly determined that they need to match – color, height and overall dimension. Uniformity – that is the code word of the day for her! Only she didn’t consult with us kitties before taking action on her plan, and as a result, we went into panic mode this afternoon.

We might have been suspicious when Mummy returned from the store with all new pans, only we were under the mistaken impression that these were just a fun place to sit, a nifty assortment of new toy boxes into which we all gathered with our mice and tussled together, carefree, as it were. What fun it was to jump from one shiny new bin to another! How much fun had we, tossing our bouncy balls across the chasms!

 Before long, we noticed Mummy fussing about with our litter boxes – nothing strange about that, except she had already cleaned them this morning. Now what was she up to, we asked ourselves? Did someone, er, mess them up again? Probably Poppet! No, he denies it. Curious, we edged closer to the activity and saw Mummy stacking the boxes up. Very odd, indeed! What, we asked, were we to do if we needed to go? Of course, we tried to be understanding, reasoning amongst ourselves that perhaps Mummy was going to just clean up the floor a bit then put the litter pans back in their rightful places. It sounded reasonable enough but Nutmeg had to chime in with the observation that Mummy was now taking the old bins outside. 

Outside?! 

We can’t go potty OUTSIDE! We are civilized cats!

Well, I am anyway.

We gazed in the direction of the now empty mat, noting with sadness that a tiny sprinkling of litter from someone’s last potty foray was all that remained of our beloved latrines and would be insufficient to, er, cover the situation, if I make my meaning clear. Suddenly I felt the urge to go really bad. After scouting for options, I spied the new pans and stepped into one out of desperation, at that moment making a faint connection between the two disparate points. 

But, alas, no litter! Whatever would we do?

Mummy returned to the scene of her crime, finished cleaning, dumped me from the sleek new pan in which I stood then gathered the new white pans and carried them to The Place Where The Old Bins Once Stood. (May they rest in peace.)

 Arranging all three in a neat little row, she poured fresh litter into each one then topped it off with a dousing of that wonderful Arm & Hammer Pet Fresh stuff which keeps our boxes smelling so nice.

 Now that was a little more like it!

Excited at the prospect of all that new litter, I jumped in and proceeded to scritch and scratch and toss and scatter to my little heart’s content. Others joined in the fray, and we had a grand ol’ time, clean forgetting about the old…
er, what was I talking about?  

Gone Fishin’

In case Mummy inquires as to why there is water all over the floor surrounding the toilet in the guest bath, anyone who sees her can let her know that a certain well-intentioned fellow wearing a grey coat sort of accidentally dropped his mouse into the bowl and had to retrieve it.

It was not easy.

She will be pleased to know as well, I am sure, that the mouse is in excellent health and recuperating nicely on the bedroom rug. Augustus, er, that is, the Fellow With The Grey Coat, is a bit soaked but otherwise unharmed. One can also tell Mummy there is no need to search for the grey-cloaked guy as he is nowhere she has ever heard of and unlikely to be seen again this century.

Or at least until dinner…

Thanks for your help, whoever deigns to intervene, er, explain!

Retribution On A Name

I am so embarrassed!

Mummy just posted one of my baby pictures, and as if that wasn’t humiliating enough, she hath revealed to the entire world my baby nickname! (If you have not seen the picture, bless you - I will not mention the sordid nickname here; if you have, then you already know it so there is no point repeating it, if you understand my meaning. I repeat, there is no point repeating it…).

In full retribution for this dastardly act on the part of one Mummy, I am hereby revealing her baby nickname (hee, hee, hee...):

“CHARMIN”

What is that, you ask? I will tell you!

The story is that back in The Day, about the time Dad was alighting from The Ark with his good friend Noah, Mummy was born, and her mother and father [yes, she has parents, too. I ALMOST feel sorry for her…] decided she was “squeezably soft”, an indirect reference to a Television Commercial (whatever that is) in which some bounder named Whiffle, Sniffle, Piffle, whatever, went about the place flailing his arms and shouting “Please don’t squeeze the Charmin!”. So somehow Mummy became associated with this charmin stuff, and it stuck. Of course, no one calls her that anymore but still…

Now you know Mummy’s sordid past.

And all because I was sort of chubby when I was a kitten, with short legs and lots of fluff and stuff. AND I would lay across Mummy’s shoulder with my chubby little legs sticking straight out. AND I was frightfully cute, according to Mummy and Dad (I have never frightened anyone that I am aware of, honest!).
And Mummy had the unmitigated gall to tell the world my secret!

Thankfully I have outgrown all that fluff and cuteness. Pah!

Lend Me A Hand!

I am a cat.

I like noggin rubbings!

I am all for anyone at any time ceasing their current activities in favor of scratching my ears. At no time do I discriminate regarding whose hand it is that massages my forehead or what task they purport to be at, whether chores, work or leisure.

Take last night, for an instance –

I conveniently stole, er, borrowed Nobbie’s spot on the bed next to Mummy in hopes that said Mummy would be congenial and take the hint. So far from being forthcoming with the good ol’ Noggin Rubbing, she instead appeared to be trying to sleep! How very un-thoughtful.

However, just as I was growing discouraged after tickling Mummy with my whiskers elicited no response, Dad’s hand flopped across Mummy’s tummy conveniently in line with my head.

Well, I am never one to let opportunity pass me by!

I deftly slid my head up under Dad’s hand and proceeded to chirrup softly by way of saying thanks for thinking of me. He very kindly responded with a couple of scratches, then nothing.

All was quiet.

I stuck my head under his hand once more to remind Dad he was slacking in his duty. He graciously picked up where he left off then stopped again. I looked quickly around to see what the devil was going on but his hand had disappeared! Turning this way and that, I diligently searched the bed but to no avail – that hand was gone!

So I began to dig. I scrabbled and clawed and plucked my way beneath the covers (something anyone who knows me asserts I never do). That hand had to be somewhere, and I was determined to find it. Poking my nose along in the fluffy darkness, I found The Hand, lounging there as if it hadn’t a care in the world.

This nonsense could not be tolerated – I wanted a noggin rubbing, and I wanted it now! Er, then!

I stuck my noggin back up under his hand and demanded (much more noisily this time) a full and complete ear scratching, replete with a nice massage between the eyes. For some odd reason, Dad and Mummy (who was allegedly asleep all this while, blast her) began laughing at me. Never mind that! Dad had responsibilities, and I aimed to help him see them through.

He did his duty, and I finally fell asleep knowing order was kept in the house once again.

But tomorrow is another day, and without doubt I will likely have to demand a noggin rubbing before it is over.

Still, there it is.

This Nuisance Must Now Cease!

Kittens – everywhere!
Clambering all over the deck with their big eyes, big ears, big feet and tummies that rival mine, eating us out of tuna and crunchies.…
Mummy actually brought them in the house today under the auspices of teaching them to use the litter box.
I raised a paw:
“Er…Whose litter box?”
“Well, yours, I thought”, said the Mumster.

Rats! That’s all I need – munchkins in the litter.
And I had everything sorted just right in each box - been working on it for several minutes.

 But it doesn’t stop there; no, not by a long shot.
These urchins had the unmitigated nerve to attack the crunchy bowls, devouring foodstuffs as if they had not eaten for days (judging by those stomachs, I would say minutes).
Then one of those bounders ran straight to me, stuck its little pink nose in my face and snuffled! I properly hissed at him, just to show him who the big chief is around here.

Speaking of Mummy, I am going to have to do a lot of complaining to Dad when he gets home about her encouragement of these activities. He’ll put a stop to it, I am sure!
Kittens flinging litter carelessly about like animals…tchah!

Augustus, The Apparition

I pride myself on the fact that many people do not believe I exist simply because they have never seen me when they come to visit. They think I am a figment of Mummy’s and Dad’s imagination.
I derive much pleasure from listening to The Parents describe my quirks, charms and, well…no, not the indiscretions. That isn’t much fun. But everything else is hilarious!
You see, I have radar that lets me know when strangers are within 50 miles of the house, and I ‘head for the hills’, as they say, until my radar blows the all-clear. Most times people ask where I am (because Mummy and Dad can’t help talking about me), and the answer is always the same….

Like the other night when Grandma came over, and Dad was talking about how I had gained a pound, (per Vet’s very off-caliber scales), leaving me at a pretty substantial figure.

 “My, he must be huge!” Grandma said.

DAD: “Oh, yes, Augustus is a big boy. “

Grandma: “Can I see him? Where is he?”

DAD: “Under the bathtub.”

Grandma: “Oh, I see.”

Hmmm.  Not very convincing, is it, Grandma?
Mummy quickly added several things to vilify Dad and offer further proof that I am real, such as pointing out the whacking great dust kittens in the corner and mentioning the 56 (count them!) cans of fish they have to purchase every week along with 32 pounds of Cat Chow crunchies and 32 pounds of Tidy Cat litter (not all for me, thanks very much, Mummy).  Dad pointed out the three litter pans (again, not all for me), as added inducement to believe I am not of fairy tale stuff (though I am handsome!).

Nevertheless, as she was leaving, Grandma let fall a loose comment about having grand-cats she has ‘never laid eyes on, except in pictures which anyone can produce from a dozen sources’.
As soon as the door closed I slid out of my lair and glided into the living room, ready for a relaxing evening. Dad demanded an explanation of how I can know when someone has departed seeing as I was under the bathtub on the other side of the house.
I shrugged my fluffy shoulders, hopped onto the sofa and said, “Oh, just a knack.”

Mummy’s Spice Island

Hee, hee, hee, hohoho…
Mummy is so funny!
She got the bright idea that she could keep cats off the top of the refrigerator by sprinkling a niffy concoction of cinnamon and chili powder on top! Ha, ha, ha…that hasn’t stopped me – no, sir!

And the best part?

She will never know I have been up there. I mean to say, what kind of evidence points…to…

Um...does anyone notice that trail of grainy stuff behind me? I say…where is it coming from? I think it is following me - there are whacking great footprints in my wake!

Is it a Phantom?

And why is Mummy looking at me in that gloating fashion?

Was it something I said? 

Doing Laundry

Mummy was working away on the laundry this morning, and as I recently gained some appreciation for the task via the armoire drawer, I thought it might be nice to help her out.
You know, ease the burden and whatnot.
So I observed for a bit, just to get the hang of it (it is never good to just jump into the middle of something without some inkling of what you are doing).

It seemed pretty easy: Mummy gathered a huge pile of Dad’s underwear, socks and other niffy stuff then began the trek from bedroom to laundry room. I walked along to keep her company, occasionally darting in front of her, though I readily discovered that was a dangerous maneuver because she doesn’t look where she is going - she tripped over me I don’t know how many times!  

She then deposited the clothes on the floor in front of the Washing Machine (and a few on top of me, again not looking) and began moving them around in different piles. This looked like fun!
I skipped around with her, dashing first under the clothes as she sorted, then jumping on top of a pile (to help tamp it down, of course – those clothes weren’t going anywhere if I could help it!).

 Next, we moved to the Washing Machine – Mummy pulled on its nose to wake it up, and I jumped on the edge [whoooa, nearly fell in!]. It began spewing water inside - oops, I think Mummy messed it up and now the Washing Machine has a leak!

However, she took her time, pouring in some liquid stuff called Detergent and being very cool about the whole leak thing; she then quickly tossed in the soiled goods and closed the lid. I could hear the water still running but I guess she thought those clothes would hold it off. 

Oh, well – if she isn’t worried that water will flood the house, neither am I. 

Next step – the Dryer!

I leaped from the Washing Machine to the Dryer, landing neatly in the laundry basket piled high with [did I mention very soft?] bath towels, got peremptorily removed from said basket and discourteously placed on the floor. She opened the dryer door and…uh oh, break for the ‘phone……

With Mummy busy talking, I determined not to waste time just sitting around. We must have efficiency, else Dad’s socks will continue to niff! The warm aroma of lavender was gently wafting from the open Dryer, so I knew there must be freshly cleaned linens in there.  Assuming [logically] that Mummy would be occupied for a while, I edged a bit closer to the dryer then stood up and peered into the opening.

Yep – fresh sheets and pillowcases!

This is where I knew I could really help. Naturally assuming the next phase of the Laundering Process, as we professionals call it, was to pull those sheets out, I immediately jumped in, landing softly on the aromatic pile. Turning around in order to see how to go about this business of removing them from their den, I began sinking into the softness, each step drawing me deeper into the folds.  Hmm…very cozy.  Mummy could be a while; perhaps I will just rest here for a bit…..Zzzzzzz….

I am surrounded by clouds of billowy softness,
great folds of sheets and things gathered around me,
lifting me into the soft air,
I am falling deeper into the luxurious...
floor?    

It was awfully cold after being ousted from the delicious warmth of the dryer (very opprobriously, I might add). I explained that it was my strict sense of work ethic that compelled me to help with the sheets while she loitered about with telephone calls but Mummy said I shouldn’t have been in the dryer and that I was a wastrel, just looking for a place to snooze. I was then informed my help was no longer required and unjustifiably tossed out of the laundry area.

Dusting myself off, I walked away in a marked manner, my only consolation knowing that Dad will be none too pleased when he finds out she used his underwear to fix a leak!

Urchin Alert!

It was such a pleasant morning...

Dad and Mummy both home - breakfast at the usual hour, sun shining brightly through the kitchen window. 

I thought I would sit there for a while, catching some rays and enjoying the peace and quiet, 

so I jumped onto the sill - no Tippy in sight - and I got myself situated just right with a view to the deck when I noticed it, or rather, THEM. 

It is too awful to describe, too gut-wrenching to repeat but I must tell: there were in fact gobs of those little fuzzy things ALL OVER THE DECK again! 

You know, the little critters I recently caught Mummy playing with?

 Well, they are everywhere, prancing about like they own the place.

I've been thinking about this - this is MY home, MY deck, MY Mummy - where do these urchins get off invading the place like this? Curiously, they are bigger than before - they are fuzzier and much fatter which means they are getting food from somewhere...Hmmm.

I tried to get Mummy's attention so she could call the exterminator or something but she didn't seem to notice. Something isn't right!

I think there is a conspiracy, and I am going to get to the bottom of this!

Right after I finish my nap...Zzzzzz...