It Wasn’t Me This Time!

Oo-hoo, Tippy got in big trouble today! 

Remember the time when I got a touch carried away while straightening up the litter boxes? 

Well...

Today Tippy got busted removing new litter from the bucket when Mummy’s back was turned. 

She went in another room just for a minute and heard a dastardly scraping noise. Her immediate assumption, perhaps not unreasonable if a bit rash, was that I was at it again in the freshly cleaned boxes, so naturally MY name was shouted, followed by such a tirade I could barely catch. Snippets of: “prison”,  “gruel for the rest of my natural lives”, and “no more noggin rubs” are the phrases that stood out most. 

I was taken aback in no small measure! 

My eyes widened at the thought of the gruel and unusual punishment I might endure for Tippy’s crime, and all the while Mummy could easily have seen it was Tippy, only for some strange reason, she did not immediately return to the litter box room. So I shot into the room where she was (the brightest idea I have had to date) and stood there so Mummy had to see it wasn’t me – one could still hear the scratch-scritching and the sound of litter flinging across the room.

Seeing me, and convinced (finally) that I was not the culprit, Mummy did her duty and peered ‘round the corner to find Tippy digging in deeply and pulling pawsful of the litter from the bucket, flipping it behind her – she already had a pile of the stuff and was apparently intent on recreating the Rocky Mountains with it. That is, until she saw Mummy staring at her. 

Tippy glanced to the side, litter drizzling from her upturned paw. A tense and silent moment if ever I heard one! Tippy gulped, I am sure of it, then legged it for the bedroom, Mummy hot on her heels. All I can say is that I sure am glad it wasn’t me this time. 

I did NOT like the thought of eating gruel (whatever that is) for the rest of my life.

Some days it pays to just stay in bed.

My Tail’s Tale

My friends will hardly believe it but this day my tail was viciously attacked by a whacking great brute of a kitten named Morgan, or Baby Morgan as Mummy calls him. You know, like Baby-face Nelson and countless others of that squad of vile cretins bent on savagery.

We were in the chair by the window, my tail and I, happily watching the world go by. Or, at least, watching the breeze blow idly through the ivy leaves, cleverly turning them upside down here and there, seemingly bent on a thorough inspection before passing on to whatever activities it had planned down the road….

Where was I?

Oh, yes. It matters not what we were doing but rather what the scoundrel Morgan was up to: viz. making a mad dash from across the room (completely unprovoked, mind you), sliding under the chair like he had hit a homer, then flashing up all teeth and claws to grab my poor, innocent, fluffy (did I mention beautiful?) tail.

At first we pretended not to notice, as we gentle-cats-and-tails do. Not wishing to make a scene, my tail merely flicked at the beast in annoyance, hoping he would go haunt someone else. But after 3 or 4 sessions of grabbing, clawing and, ultimately, biting, I was compelled to intervene on behalf of my down trodden tail.

Being pretty big, not to mention being seen from an ant’s eye view, has its advantages. The next time the Miniature Marauder made his appearance in a final effort to nab my tail and presumably make off with it (he has a tail of his own, confound him; why doesn’t he go and chew on it?), he came face to face with Gussie Grey, the Bold Avenger! I lit into him like a windmill in a tornado and sent his fuzzy self scurrying to Mummy, who said I was right to defend my tail. Somebody had to, she said.

All is peaceful now as I settle back into my evening routine of staring out the window, tail tucked neatly beside me, all ready for a nap. What Morgan was thinking when he began his fell deed I cannot say but he has learned a valuable lesson this day:

Don’t mess with a cat’s tail! 

Take-Charge Checklist

On consideration of my newfound role as Man Of The House, not to mention its innumerable responsibilities, I have decided to follow Dad’s example of making a list so I won’t forget anything. (It didn’t always work for Dad but that is another matter…). To this end, I have compiled a few notes regarding everyday tasks with which I must concern myself, endeavoring to remember all the while that I can only do so much:

-Wake Mummy at 5:00 a.m. using patented Whisker Alarm

-Watch Tippy head to the litter box [note – remember to plug nose. Where is that clothespin?]

-Observe Mummy making breakfast in case she does it wrong, reminding her incessantly that I need a drink from the bathroom faucet, too.

-Eat breakfast [should this be first, do you think? Work on this]

-Sit with Nutmeg on the bathroom sink, overseeing Mummy cleaning litter boxes in next room

-Demand a drink from the sink [again]

-Drink from the sink with Nutmeg

-Check to be sure mouse is in Pool, er, water bowl [red one today, pink tomorrow, I think]

-Sit in chair by window and make a show of straining to see through the as yet closed blinds which Mummy is late opening [again]

-Look mournfully back at Mummy as she passes by

-Stare out of newly opened blinds at the ivy bed, in case a critter shows up [or a burglar – you never know!]

-Take a nap in chair by window

-Eat mid-morning snack after dropping bouncy ball into crunchy bowl [bowl #5 today looks good, try #7 tomorrow]

-Inspect Mummy’s work at her desk, rearrange as necessary for the best layout [I need lots of space for my afternoon nap!]

-          Lunchtime!

-Take nap in chair by window [didn’t I already do this? Oh yes, I do it again post-lunch – forget my own name next!]

-Wake up, blink, remember where I am, jump to floor and do stretches [We must not neglect exercise!]

-Continue nap in bed with everyone else

-Afternoon snack with Princess, first making sure bouncy ball has not been removed by the Mumster or other fell creature

-Locate Mummy and look really cute, pat her face and stare into her eyes until she melts (or tells me to find someone else to haunt ‘cause she’s working)

-Wander through house, inspecting each room for monsters, misbehaving cats and/or burglars (or food, as the case may be)

-Run from Tippy *ERASE, ERASE, ERASE* [remove this from list before posting in diary]

-Lay on stairs with head hanging over and dream of Dad coming home

-Wake up in time to observe Mummy from my aerie as she prepares dinner [Tuna tonight – yay!]

-Dig into the foodstuffs, avoiding sitting next to Mosby who smacks his food really loudly [Must speak to Mummy about this. Hmmph!]

-Evening tea with Mummy [remind her that it is my turn to sit in her lap tonight – set as “recurring”]

-Snooze while Mummy reads and writes

-Wake up to find myself in the fluffy comforter

-Rest

BLAST! I forgot to add bath time…and scolding Tippy for yet another attempt at running away from home (NOTE: give her a very sharp look next time)…and removing contents of kitchen cabinets (what a mess – Mummy really needs to clean in there!)…and…um…

Whoosh! I don’t know how Dad accomplished everything he did - I am tired just writing about it!

I will work on my list later; for now, I am declaring an official break.

Men of the Houses only, of course.

Everyone else, back to work!

It’s After Me!

I was walking along the kitchen counter just now, minding my own business as we Men-Of-The-Houses do, when a gargantuan piece of Super Sticky packing tape attached itself to my leg! I immediately ran from it but the insane thing simply won’t let go - it is hanging on with all claws, determined to become one with my fur.

I ran around the corner and dashed up the stairs thinking this would surely throw it off my trail but when I looked back, it was still there, clicking and swishing over the treads like a fish on a string. I can feel its grip tightening around my ankle! Somewhere along the way we picked up a piece of paper which clacks on the floor with every bump. My eyes are round with horror.

To make things worse, Mummy is now following me, too. As if I haven’t enough to concern myself with, apparently she wants in the action as well so is hot on my heels, grabbing and snatching at my leg for some strange reason. The frenzied noise [and presumably action-packed scene] of me being followed by tape being followed by paper being followed by Mummy has naturally attracted the attention of the other cats who, like Mummy, feel the need to join the game. They are now all in the chase; I am like a wild man, ears laid back and paws scooping the air in front of me in my desperate run to outmaneuver these crazies.

Where to go??

I know – I will hide inside a cabinet in Dad’s study!

*PLUCK, PLUCK*

*SCRaaaPE*

*SLAM*

 I can hear them coming…oooh, when will it end?

Woe is me!

I hate tape.

Wanderer Extraordinaire

Guess who came home last night, after two very worrisome days?

Mummy went out last night to give the outdoor cats their midnight snack when who should come flying around the corner - making a distinctive beeline for the door - but TIPPY!

And do you think she even spoke to Mummy or me or anyone else as she sailed past the frame?

NO. Not a word.

Instead, after carousing for two days amongst deck cats and coyotes and lions and bird and other vicious creatures, Tippy calmly nibbled some crunchies and insisted that we NOT inspect her, moving and rearranging herself to avoid our inquisition while still enjoying her meal.

How rude!

 I mean to say, if you are going to disappear mysteriously for days then remain absent without explanation, what is the point of coming home? And if you aren’t going to reveal your secrets after coming home, it is only fair to let us cats do what we do best – Detect!

That’s right – we are all charter members of the Nosy Parker Detective Agency, and we know when something needs detecting. Tippy had been places and done things that only we cats could discover, using our great detecting skills to cultivate answers.

As previously mentioned, Tippy refused to let us do our job but we were equally insistent. We sniffed and touched noses and inspected up close, craning our necks and turning as necessary to get the full details despite her attempts at putting us off. We finally learned the full truth and felt sufficiently satiated to give her some space.

Of course, our professional work requires discretion so we are not at liberty to divulge where Tippy went or what she did on the nights in question – we can’t even tell Mummy (it would upset her, anyway, so it is probably for the best).

Mummy is so happy to see Tippy returned safely home that she doesn't seem too interested in her latent activities anyway. Suffice it to say that every time Mummy has opened the door today, Tippy has run the opposite direction.

And let that be a lesson to her, say I!

Tippy, AWOL!

It is my first week on the job as Man Of The House, and I have already lost a cat!

Two days ago, Mummy opened the door to take out the trash, and Tippy shot past her in a wild frenzy, looking neither to the right nor to the left. She disappeared ‘round the corner and refused to come when Mummy called. Mummy has spent the past two days searching beneath, around, behind and on top of everything in sight but no Tippy is nowhere to be found. If Dad knew about this he would be most upset – Tippy is Dad’s special girl. Mummy is beside herself with worry and has not slept a wink.

I have no idea where Tippy has gone – presumably to look for Dad. I certainly do not understand it all but wish Tippy would just believe Mummy when she says Dad is in Heaven. That is a long way away, and you simply can’t just walk there! What was she thinking? She did not even pack any fish or her toothbrush or skivvies or anything.

And I am responsible. If only I had paid better attention to Dad, maybe I would know how to handle the situation but rest assured that I will keep trying to figure out how to get Tippy back. Otherwise, I am going to be in a lot of trouble with Dad when I get to heaven.

Sheesh!

The Saddest News

My precious Dad passed away just four weeks ago. We kitties and Mummy have been so very sad, and though we hardly feel like doing anything (writing in my diary, for instance), Mummy says we mustn’t neglect our friends who have been so kind and thoughtful during this time of grief. To that end, I want to thank you all for the loveliest thoughts and prayers that have gone up for us. They have meant so much and, Mummy says, have helped us keep our sanity.

[I am certain she meant “us” in the singular. I am perfectly sane.]

Mummy also says that I am now Man Of The House.

I said, Who? Me?

She said, Yes. You.

But, I protested, no one listens to me!

Fat lot of good it did to tell her though. Mummy says since I am the oldest fellow, I must now look after everyone and keep them in line - without an instruction book. So I am trying to take on the role with dignity, authority and what-do-you-call-it and will be chronicling my charge, in case anyone is interested.

Did somebody snicker? I thought I heard something…

We have looked all over the house for Dad, wondering if he got locked in the upstairs bedroom or perhaps even outside again. Together, we kitties have scoured every nook and cranny in hopes of a discovery. Wouldn’t it be swell if I opened a kitchen cabinet and located Dad in the back corner, lost but none the worse for wear? Wouldn’t Mummy be so happy and proud of me?

Yesterday Mummy was cleaning in the bedroom and opened one of Dad’s armoire drawers. We kitties all gathered round immediately, peering in and sniffing deeply as the air suddenly reminded us of Dad. I was certain he was in that drawer somewhere (after all, Mummy did shut me in there once) so I began snatching and digging at his shirts. I mean to say, if she can get him in that little black box, she can definitely squeeze Dad into a drawer! But no matter how many shirts I upturned, Dad was nowhere to be found. I was disappointed. Mummy straightened everything then closed the drawer.

Still, I do not forget lightly and have every intention of checking back there again, very soon.

Our hermit habits have changed somewhat since Dad left us. Every time a man enters the house now, so far from running and hiding in various locales, we are all over the poor fellow just in case it is Dad [albeit wearing different clothes and after shave]. So far they have all been duds (instead if Dad) but we figure it can’t hurt to give them a toothy kiss and smell their shoes and even sit in their laps while we are already there. And it has been a rousing success in terms of getting unsolicited noggin scratchings and tummy rubs and back massages. If only we had discovered this sooner, we might have been able to enjoy the simple pleasures of company instead of fearing them. It is sad that Dad had to leave us before we would figure it out. We should have listened to him, says Mummy.

Speaking of Mummy, my first order of business in my new role as Head Of The House has been to make sure she stays on schedule with sink drinks and meals and litter box changes and noggin rubbings and the like. So far, she has done pretty well, though I have had to remind her a bit loudly (she loses focus a bit these days).

All in all, I would say she is coming right along. Only this morning she gave me a drink AND scratched my ears on the way to the shower without me having to grab her arm with my oversized paw.

She mumbled something about needing to trim a certain party’s claws.

Whose claws, I wonder?

I will be back as soon as possible with updates on my new career.
Thank you again for being such loving, thoughtful friends. Who could ask for anything more?

Except for our Dad to come back to us, I mean.