Dear Me!

    

    Mummy says I must be sick or something.

You see, I absolutely refused a drink from the faucet this morning. Yes – I, Augustus, Water Connoisseur, turned my nose up at a drink or rather, turned my tail up while resituating my hindquarters.

So Mummy insists something is wrong with me.

I am perfectly fine, however.  The concern should be placed not on my refusal to participate in lapping up tap water on demand but rather on Mummy’s apparent failure to note the obvious – viz. that I simply did not need a drink at that moment.

By way of demonstrating her inability to see what is right beneath her nose, when she passed by the sink at a later time (maybe 15 minutes from the first occurrence or incident) with me sitting in plain view, she absolutely refused to give me a drink from the faucet. What was she thinking? I mean to say, she complains that I don’t drink then denies me drink. What sort of nonsense is this? She decides then to blame the whole thing on my alleged “indecision” and “lack of timing”.

It has not occurred to Mummy that she is the one off schedule (perhaps related to her bizarre Changing Of The Clock incident about which we kits merely whisper so as to avoid upsetting Mummy’s internal balance). I say Mummy should be more in tune with the subtle differences in my every day needs and respond accordingly. In short, what one would like to see is less backchat and more timely providing of the old liquid refreshment, based not on Mummy’s whims but rather…on mine!

Simple and easy to remember, I think one would agree. That would settle whole affair nicely, though achieving this goal may take some doing and is not for the faint of heart.

In the meantime, I must continue to assert my personality if I am to accomplish anything like getting a drink in the next 24 hours. So off I go with paws crossed.

Tally ho and all that sort of stuff!

Christmas Wishes

Dear Santy Claws,

My dearest wish is for Dad to come back to us but Mummy says he cannot. Now we must face our first Christmas alone (er, that is to say, without Dad; we are, in fact, together), and we are all so very sad. But that is no reason to forget our special friends and family who have done so much to encourage us. 

So please bring them all special gifts to remind them that the world is a better place just 'cause they are in it!

While you are doling out the old presents, we kits would like some Pounce treats, something Mummy deprives us of simply 'cause Aspen can't have them without getting sick. I mean to say, what rot is this? Why should the rest of us suffer simply because Aspen can't handle her treats like a cat? 

So I would like one bucket-load of Pounce, please. [Er, let's not tell Mummy, shall we? Else she might not let us enjoy them; then it's back to the old tuna, chicken, ham, lamb, cookies, cake, whipped cream and other meager offerings Mummy purveys. *sigh*]

Also, Mummy keeps misplacing our bouncy balls and fuzzy mice (I frequently catch her retrieving her contraband from beneath the sofa and other odd furniture) so a stocking full of these would be quite handy. Perhaps she will tire of stealing them some day...

AND I would like for Mummy to have a new set of clocks since hers have been broken for a while (she messed them up last month and got the time off on all of them by a whole hour)! We must work to keep order in the home for the new year, say I. To this end, clocks are of the essence!

Otherwise, all I want for Christmas is for everyone to know how much I love them (yes, even Poppet).

Merry Christmas to one and all!

Signed,

Augustus, Chief Fuzzikin

Monster in the Sky

My friends, I am here to relay a most disturbing incident or occurrence – 

to wit, one Mummy was headed for the waterfall [code word: SHOWER] where said Mummy, for reasons inexplicable, loves to stand morning and night, dousing herself with all over bubbles then washing said bubbles down the drain, when she touched a button on the wall, and a most extraordinary event took place.

I must first explain that it was a quiet morning, cozy and peaceful, if a bit chilly. Wandering aimlessly in pursuit of the perfect snoozely spot, I decided to follow Mummy to the “SHOWER” room and ask her opinion on the subject of nap locations. As is typical of a Mummy on a Mission, she ignored my inquiry and prepared for her ablutions. 

Only she touched the button first….

On the wall of said Shower Room, there are buttons. Most of the time, it appears Mummy is just whacking at the wall for the fun of it, though admittedly lights have been known to come on and off when she touches these intriguing wall nubs, purely coincidentally of course. Only the particular button in question is situated on the far wall opposite the door and is rarely, if ever, given notice. But this day, Mummy, as I said, touched this button.

Immediately my head swiveled ‘round in horror as the first strains of groaning, then a roar, emitted from some unknown source. Where had I heard this type of sound before? Could it be…?

Turning quickly this way and that, I soon discovered, if not what it was, at least from whence it came – the sky!

That is correct: something ominous was bleating deafeningly from overhead, and as I gazed upon the apparent source of commotion, my eyes widened in horror to see that this Creature From Above was beginning to glow red in its fury.

It was alive!

I crouched in horror, peeking carefully sideways for a way of escape. This Monster could see me, and there was no place to hide (drat Mummy’s anti-clutter policy!). Making my mind [such as it is] up to retreat to lesser known regions of the house, I twirled wildly and came nose to nose with the blighted door. Mummy had apparently closed this wooden nuisance in a blatant attempt to entrap me with The Monster. What was worse (if it be even slightly possible) – Mummy was busy lathering up and had no thought for my safety. I was sure she had plotted my demise from the start, luring me into the bathroom with promise of a frank discussion on where to catch some Z’s, only to allow me to be eaten by this fire-breathing dragon. Indeed, this thing was now glowing brightly and emitting intense heat from its vengeful breathing. I began to choke, and my life (number 7, I think) passed before my eyes….

I came to and found myself backed into the furthest corner available, cowering beneath the red stare when I heard the waterfall stop. Mummy stepped out onto the plush white rug (note: where I would have been lounging while waiting for our chat had I not been viciously attacked by this brute of a dragon), and as swiftly as it began, the roaring ended. Perhaps it was afraid of Mummy?

In the deafening silence, I made no delays heading for the door a second time, shouting at Mummy to let me out of this wicked place. She obligingly released me from my prison, and I jumped frantically to the other side, relieved to be in the free world again. Without explanation, Mummy laughed. And she said I was an old silly for being afraid of Mr. Overhead Heater, the name she gave The Monster In The Sky.

I don’t care who he is, I retorted – he ought not to be allowed to go about the place terrifying innocent kits in such a manner. But she persisted in her theory that I was full of rot and nonsense.

I say! Mummy stands under running water, pouring on niffy bubbly stuff and getting soaked from stem to stern, then has the audacity to say that I am full of rot for being afraid of a red-eyed, fire-breathing monster?

Who is the silly one, I ask you?

That, my friends, is a purely rhetorical question.

Hmmph.

sCArEdY cAt!

There I was, alone in the dark on the bathroom counter facing the shiny wall, waiting for a drink (and hoping it would be on time today), when entered Mummy. She touched the magic button on the wall and on came the lights. Next – one will hardly believe this – a strange fellow appeared before me instanter, making me jump not a little! My back had been to the door so I have no inkling how or when he entered said bathroom but there he was, plain as day, simply staring straight into my eyes.

I was startled not a little and must have jumped 5 inches off the marble tiles. In an odd coincidence, this stranger jumped at precisely the same moment. I was aghast, as he also seemed to be (or was he a ghost?). I took another look at the fellow before me – he was actually quite handsome (for an intruder), and wore a lovely gray coat, full and lush, similar in style to my own. Another amazing coincidence!

Still, I could not help but think, dashing as this apparent apparition was, he simply did not belong. I mean to say, there are laws about this sort of thing, breaking and entering one’s bathroom and boldly staring one down in broad lamplight! I glanced around at Mummy to get her take on it but she seemed to give him no notice whatever.

I was stymied.

At that moment I realized it was up to me to be the decisive one. Shifting my gaze sideways once more in hopes that the Gray Guy had vanished, and seeing him utterly mimicking my every move right down to peeking at me from the corner of his (by now) saucer-sized green eyes, my solution was developed and placed into immediate action. Abandoning all notions of drinks for the moment (one has one’s priorities) I bolted for the open spaces beyond the bathroom door, leaving Mummy to deal with this wild-eyed stranger. The handsome fellow seemed to do the same, if my peripheral vision did not deceive me under such duress, but it no longer mattered what he did. My thoughts were focused on one goal - to run as fast as I could to the living room and dive behind the sofa. At least the worst I could encounter there was a dust bunny or two.

Hey – these guys sort of look like me, too!

Uh oh….

Poor Li'l Me~

I am so misunderstood. 

Mummy yelled at me for “chasing” Tippy and upsetting a vase of flowers along the way. 

I tried to explain that Tippy was already running and as I wanted to tell Tippy something, naturally I followed. Fast. 

First she sped, then I sped up, then the table stepped out in front of us - Tippy ran up onto it, I sort of ran into it, the table shook and the vase fell over. 

That’s the whole story.

But Mummy doesn’t believe me – she thinks I was chasing Tippy just to scare her because I am bigger than she is and she sometimes is mean to me.

So now I am in trouble. 

What is a fellow to do?

*sIgH*

What Do You Mean, “For Decoration Only”???

                                                                             I say!

The blighted weatherman left the air conditioning on outside, and it got all cold last night. So we kits decided to make the most of this dreadful situation and turn it into something constructive, otherwise known as Sleeping In.

Now, everyone [in their right mind] knows that to sleep in properly, one must have all the right elements: viz. a soft but sturdy surface (this can be a bed, sofa, chair or other elevated but comfy locale), an assortment of fluffy pillows (preferably with fuzzy covers), and last but not least, a nice warm blankie (and if there is one thing in ample supply around here, it is comfy surfaces, fuzzy pillows and warm blankies)!

And everyone [who is not waiting on fellows in white coats to carry them off in a plain van] understands that in a situation as desperate as ours (i.e. a household of many kits of varying shapes and sizes), one must nab the best spot as soon as feasibly possible, immediately following breakfast, or one may find said spot pre-occupied.

So it was to this end that I sought, and discovered, a most delightful find – one EMPTY (read: Cat-Free) sofa, piled to the max with pillows in as many shapes and textures as we cats, and to top it all off, the Piece de Resistance, if you will: one singularly attractive (like me), fuzzy (like me) BLANKET!

I was in heaven.

And amazement that I alone had this scene of winter tranquility in which to snooze the day away.

Aaaaaahhhhh……

….turned in to Agggghhhhhh!!!! As Mummy discovered my whereabouts shortly after I had settled in and begun my blissful drift off to dreamland.

Next thing I know, I am being unceremoniously dumped on the ice-cold tiles, wondering who I was, where I was and whodunit! Then she rants about Expensive Wool (never heard of him) and Decoration (I know what this is but am hard pressed to relate it to sleep gear). Not having the clearest head most of the time, in my present half-awakened state I was unable to grasp much of the conversation, catching mere strains of “just for kitties to look at” and other such nonsense (I mean to say, who wants to sit and merely stare at pillows?). Then I found myself being scooped up and toted off like a bag of apples to the bedroom. Once there, Mummy laid me on the [reasonably cozy] down comforter and tucked a [plausibly soft] feather pillow beneath my head. As I drifted off, I felt a warm cotton blankie being pulled over me. Ahhhhhzzzzzzz….

What was I speaking about?

I have completely forgotten.

If it comes to mind, I will most certainly write it down. In the meantime, I am off to the living room to scout out a snoozly spot before dinner time…

Demoted!

Mummy announced today that I am no longer Man of the House.

At least, temporarily.

She says it is because I have taken up a bit of a habit of yelling at her when I don’t get my way, say in getting my drink from the faucet in a timely manner.

Well…what is wrong with having your drinks on time, say I?

And when Mummy fails to be forthcoming with the drinks, what is wrong with a little verbal reminder?

Speaking of time, Mummy had the audacity to change all the clocks in the house this past Sunday, so now we poor little kits are getting our meals an hour LATER! What sort of rot is this? She says it was not she who changed the time but I saw her do it with my own lovely green eyes.

She isn’t fooling me.

So I am forced to be a bit demanding of late, insistent that she not let the standards drop even if she cannot keep time straight. If she wants to change time [and claim it was some invisible third party], that is alright by me, provided she gets up an hour earlier to compensate. To ensure this, I have been practicing my “alarm clock” technique:

Step 1 - Tickle face with whiskers

Step 2 – Whisk tail across face after whiskers are brushed aside

Step 3 – Walk across tummy

Step 4 – Stand on back after Mummy turns over to avoid me walking on tummy

Step 5 – Yowl uncontrollably

Say what she will, this method is extremely effective. She gets up (eventually) and dutifully, if begrudgingly, doles out the foodstuffs. But this morning she said she had had enough of my cantankerousness (talk about the pot calling the kettle black!) and stated emphatically that I was no longer Man of the House until such time as I straightened up my cattitude.

I am sure I don’t know what she means. 

Guardian of The Tray

A[nother] Reminiscence

We were enjoying breakfast in bed, replete with tea and Mummy’s apple pancakes, maple syrup, crisp-tender bacon, buttery eggs with parmesan – YUM! Uh, where was I?  

Oh yes – we were enjoying breakfast in bed when Young Mosby got the bright idea that he was invited to the feast – the hound! Mummy and Dad both told him “No! Get back!” and “This is Augustus’ breakfast!” (Well, they didn’t actually SAY that part - it was implicit) but little Mosby simply would not listen. 

After watching his belligerent behavior (and observing Mummy pushing him back repeatedly with her paw to no avail), I decided to take matters in hand: I rolled over to get into a better position for KP (Kitten Patrol), and as soon as he lunged toward the tray again, I impeded his progress with one of my great paws, thinking surely this was sufficient to teach him a lesson. 

But back he came, repeatedly! 

After several attempts at being nice, I finally had enough of this young squirt! 

I sat up. 

Mosby advanced toward the tea tray one last time….I crouched and made ready. 

He inched forward, keeping one eye cocked my direction but not making any sudden moves. I lowered my head; he reached his teensy foot out, and that was the last straw as They say (who “They” are I don’t know - Mummy speaks of them often). I swooped down, pinning him to the bed.  He squiggled for a bit then lay still. Mummy and Dad said what a good thing I did, guarding the tea tray like that. 

Dad called me a “Fine Furry Fellow!”

 Mosby fell asleep, and I went back to looking cute, waiting for my plate. 

Some kids just need to learn manners.

I s’pose, as official Guardian of the Tray, I should think about getting a uniform. 

I wonder what color? 

Gray, I think. 

Yup, gray it is!

Disappointment

I was so excited - the new apples arrived today, a big bag full of fresh, green, shiny globes! Only, Mummy must have forgotten that I need to practice my decorating skills and instead placed them up high...on the counter...far out of my reach. I am sure it was an oversight, she being busy with work and other PETTY things but still it is disappointing. My fabulous career was just beginning and now this set back. 

Life just isn't fair sometimes.

*sigh*

The Case of the Mysterious Moving Pillows

  

Mummy was cleaning house today, wildly moving things about in her quest to seek out and destroy all living dust bunnies (she was taking no prisoners). 

Now, I tend to look like a dust bunny when viewed from some angles and fear being mistaken for one at some point in my career, thus being swooped up and emptied into the dustbin along with various unidentifiable floor fauna.

So when The Monster comes out and Mummy has rag in hand, I seek refuge in the nearest shelter. 

This time it was the sofa.

On the sofa, there is a mountain of fluffy pillows. Oh so inviting, they can always be relied upon as a cozy spot for a nice nap, and in this instance I determined that they could serve multiple purposes – viz. both a great snoozely spot and the ideal hiding place.  Only, in order to kill two birds, as they say, with one stone…er, pillow…, I must needs be beneath them.

How else to disguise my fluffy self?

So I climbed Mt. Linen, hoping to find a convenient opening and so burrow my way in. Just as I stepped onto the last peak, however, the pillows shifted, causing me to slide down the hill.

Odd, that.

 Perhaps they were just a bit unsteady. I stepped up again and this time the pillows moved in an upward motion. I was astounded – a volcano on the couch!

The snarl of The Monster was getting closer, and these pillows were simply not cooperating.

Now attempting to gain entrance via one end, I started to push past the first pillow when up it came and bopped me on the nose.

This was too much!

I determined to not only secure my place beneath those rotten cotton squares but to tame them as well. Wiggling my lowered backside, I prepared for the Great Leap. As I sailed through the air with an aim to land on the crest of The Mountain, out bobbed the head of The Fiend Poppet! I became distracted by the sudden appearance of this feline in the mix and landed ruefully upside down among the foothills on the other side.

*blink, blink*

Untwisting my legs from my tail and righting myself, I asked Poppet if he, too, had seen the pillows moving. He merely sniffed then bounded off in the opposite direction, narrowly escaping the clutches of The Monster as he exited the room, leaving me to ponder the bizarre incident. Snatched back to reality by the intensified roar, I quickly determined to save myself first and ask questions later.

I made the Mad Dash after Poppet, looking neither to the left nor to the right in my quest for safety.

Perhaps one day I will unravel the Case of The Mysterious Moving Pillows.

In the meantime, I need a nap!

Goin’ Campin’

                                                                     

                                                                      

    We got a tent!

It is a nice tent, too, with two windows and a sun roof (plus, er, an additional window we sort of added impromptu...see photo)! 

All day long we have spent playing in our tent, dashing in and out, bobbing our heads up through the roof to spy what might be going on in the great indoors.

Because we have had so much fun in our alternate abode, Mummy is letting us have a camp out tonight replete with marshmallows, popcorn and hot chocolate. Yum!

To that end, I have written a little jingle to describe our first night under the stars:

It is called Campin’ Out.

(sung to the tune of Jingle Bells – I am getting excited about Christmas, can you tell?)

Campin’ out,

Campin’ out,

In the kitchen overnight.

Everthing was goin’ swell

‘Til Mummy turned out the lights!

Hey!

Come right back!

Turn on the lights!

It’s awfully dark in here!

I think I’ll go

To bed just now

And camp again next year.

Hey!

Mummy! Wait for me!

*scamper, scamper, scamper*

Fall Decorating

Today I helped Mummy get the house ready for the new season!

 While she was upstairs cleaning out cabinets in Dad’s study (I won’t go into the inconsistency of the rules that say she gets to rummage in there but I don’t), I tackled the basket full of shiny green apples she recently placed in the floor for my convenience. I began the job by pulling the brilliant orbs one at a time onto the floor then rolling them around while clawing and scrabbling with them. But that was taking too long so I finally got smart and just tipped the basket over (I knew that handle had to have a purpose).

With so many fresh smelling apples all over the floor, I couldn’t decide which to work on first so I just rolled them around and chewed on them for a bit. I discovered that if you poke holes in them, juice seeps out, and my paws did get a bit sticky; otherwise, it was much fun.  I got all the apples just where I wanted them - some against the baseboards, others wedged beneath the console. Still others were scattered upside down at odd intervals over the stone tile.

The bruises and puncture marks added instant character, I thought.

Excited for Mummy to see my handiwork, I lay down amongst the Granny Smiths and rested until she (Mummy, not Granny Smith) came back downstairs. As she approached my display, I was bursting with joy at the thought of how pleased she must be that she did not need to worry about decorating the dining room - it was already done! 

At first, Mummy was so astonished all she could say was, “I don’t believe it!” [I know what she means – it really is a masterpiece.] Then she said, in a notably excited tone, that now she was going to have to buy more apples. It appears she really appreciates my decorating skills and is planning on getting me more materials to work with!

I think I have found my calling – Augustus, Decorator Extraordinaire.

Hide and Speak

Does anyone know the rules of that thrilling game of intrigue known as Hide & Seek? 

I am wondering because Mummy says I haven’t quite got the hang of it. 

She says it is a game of secrecy which involves being quiet. I am sure I don’t know what she is talking about. 

Every now and then, Mummy will playfully chase me through the house until I discover a place I just know will be the ultimate hiding spot. Problem is Mummy always finds me! 

I can’t think how she does it. 

Take today for an instance:  

Running fast as I could away from Mummy, I slipped ‘round the corner into the guest bath and dove behind the shower curtain, glowing with confidence because she would never think to look for me in there. And as it seemed to be taking her forever [even better!], I began trilling to myself to pass the time. Next thing I know, she flings the shower curtain back and exposes me! 

I was astonished.

Is she, perhaps, using hidden cameras? Is she psychotic...er, psychic?

 I must get to the bottom of this if I am to win the game someday. 

I must discover her secret! 

I am going to ponder this deep mystery.

“Hum-de-hum-hum-de-hum tum tum…”

JuSh’ a Li'l ‘niP’ll dO Ya!

*sniff…sniff*

*snifF…SniFF…sNIFF**

*SNIIIIIIFFFFFFF*

Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh…

Those wonderful dried herbs, those delightful crushed leaves from heaven~

I am a mad cat, running around in all directions – a positive Feline Frenzy!

Away I go, under the table…

*Screeeeech*

Did that chair just say something to me?

Take that!

*scratch, scuffle, scuffle*

Around the dining room, into the hall, back under the table like a flash I go…

I am falling over, kicking the air, scrAbblinG at a paSsing cat…Wazhn’t therE a CaT? My MishhtAke…

*hiccup*

I am suddenly relaxed, ovErwhelmed by a stRange sense of calM serEnity (izh that redUndant?)

RedoNe-whAt?

*giggle*

Rolling over, I sEe Other cats…thEy are uPsssHide down! I pAw At them lightly bUt tHey aRe sHo fAr…

mUmMy? wHy izH aShpEn pInK?

*SNIFF*

hoO-HOo…

~THisH ish grReEat sHtuff~

*hIcCup*

Evidence!

Mummy is so busted!

She has been sneaking out onto the deck this past couple of weeks and spending too much time with Mithril, one of the outdoor cats. She thinks I don't notice but Mummy has also been spied carrying the One-Eyed Monster (aka digital camera) along for the excursions, and I, being the clever fellow that I am, have rummaged through her office and found the evidence of what I knew to be another disaster in the making –

viz. KITTENS!

Yep, we have newborn kittens in the vicinity, and I am hereby exposing Mummy's fell deeds of oohing and aahing over the little blighters on a consistent basis with intent to upset our happy home life.

Presenting Exhibit A, Mithril and Kits, born August 16, 2012.

As if Mosby and Morgan weren't bad enough....

Fuzzy intruders!

ThWaCk!

Down came the rolled-up magazine immediately behind, causing me to jump not a little and loosening my moorings from the marble tile. I gave Mummy a “What the devil?” look then turned in a circle to get a view of the crash site.

There must be some explanation, I thought. The obvious one aside (Mummy has gone mad) and desiring to extend the benefit of the doubt, surely there was some just cause for her paper-wielding outburst.

What I observed as Mummy raised the homemade swatter was a dazed but menacing-looking eight-legged creature who had apparently been stalking me unawares and who appeared still intent on his evil deed, providing he could first catch the license number of that truck.

 I was astonished!

To think that if Mummy had not been hanging around idly rolling up papers, I might have been an Arachnid Breakfast.

Or at the very least, my wild fur would have become a home for wayward spiders.

*sHudDeR*  

The Great Never-Escape!

A Reminiscence

A few months ago, before our Dear Dad went to heaven, there was an incident recorded in the annals of cat history. Only it never made it into my diary because a certain Mummy failed to do her job. 

Never fear, dear friends, I have dredged up the past and posted it here for your perusal, in the hopes that we may all learn a valuable lesson.

[Or at least get a good laugh!]

So here it is:

Morgan and I were partners in crime this day, and it was delicious fun.

The weather was lovely, what with clear skies and sunshine and a light, fluffy breeze – oh, and there was a bird chirping. So Mummy opened the windows…

In our bedroom (the one we let Mummy and Dad share with us), there are windows.

On the outside of what we will call Window #1 is a screen.

Did you know (we didn’t…er, that is until we did) that when you push your nose up against this screen in collusion with a junior fellow (in this case Baby Morgan), the screen of the second part will fall out of said Window (#1)?

And did you further know that there is a whacking great chasm below Window #1, at the bottom of which lies a rose bush with all over prickles?

Well, there is.

Thankfully, before one gets to the chasm part there is a nice brick ledge, and it is onto this we ventured to step. Looking ‘round for unseen Mummy’s, we delighted in our new-found freedom – smelling the Great Outdoors, the fragrances on the breeze, the roses…

Being the grand adventurers we gray fellows are well-reputed to be, we dared to get nearly half our bodies onto that ledge (I know – many would not dare go half so far), creeping slowly so as not to slip and land on a thorn.  About the time we were settling into our big feat of escape, who would spy us staring down into the chasm from outside, of all directions, but Mummy! That’s right - so far from a rear attack, she outmaneuvered us and came up on our flank. 

Well, Morgan’s actually, because I was on the other side of him.

Still, the salient point is that just as we were mere seconds from pulling off the prison break of the century, Mummy pointed at us and demanded our immediate withdrawal into the house. I duly made a U-turn back to the dreary confines of home life while Morgan, being young and inexperienced, hesitated, uncertain if Mummy meant him, too. Based on her reaction to his apparent belligerence, Morgan realized that she did, indeed, mean him, too.

What she did not know, what she was vapidly uninformed about, was that there was in fact another escapee in our party – one Poppet, hereby known as The Spotted Bloke.

After our capture and arrest, Morgan and I went about the business of settling in for a long Spring’s nap, dreaming of ledge-walking and other feats of derring-do. Dad would not be home from his weekly business trip for several hours, and Mummy was busy at her desk.

All was quiet.

Finally Dad arrived, well after dark, and the household sprang to life - everyone excited to check out the new smells Dad always brings back with him. All except Mummy, who doesn’t seem to be interested in smells.

Anyway…

After pawing at Dad and getting my daily drink (which, once again, I went without for several days), we all collected on the sofa to listen to Mummy and Dad talk. Oh, the joy of hearing your parents’ voices, the soothing calm of knowing all is right with the world.

Until, of course, Dad asked the burning question, “Where is Poppet?”

Mummy gave a blank stare. Morgan and I gave each other a knowing look then pretended to wash our faces. Humdy, humdy, hum…

It occurred to Mummy at that moment what had transpired in the Great Window Escapade: 

Augustus and Morgan were mere decoys, allowing The Spotted Bloke to make his getaway undetected. 

No wonder we were looking downward into the chasm when she spied us, she declared.

Immediately our parents were outside with flashlights, hollering his name everywhere:

“Poppet!”

Poppppee-eeettt!”

“Poppett?”

[Side note: perhaps, on reflection, it would have been wiser to name him Fluffy or something – who could have known THAT name would have to shouted into the echoing darkness one April evening? How embarrassing!]

They returned, discussing a Spotted Bloke sighting – he had darted from the shrubbery (his apparent new lair) for fear of his life on seeing dark figures with headlights coming at him and calling his name. 

Now he was impossible to catch, disappearing in and out of the hedges as they pursued him. After several jaunts out of various doors, Mummy and Dad determined to call it quits for the night since The Spotted Bloke was an apparent nitwit that hadn’t a clue you go TOWARD your rescuers instead of away from them.

 

So off to bed we all went, I a bit gloatish that the center of the bed would now be Poppet-less and therefore free pickings! I stretched out luxuriously, settling into the down comforter with a sigh. This was going to be a lovely night.

Just about the time we dozed off came a *SPLAT* against the very window – you guessed it - from which we made our earlier escape! Mummy glanced over in time to see Poppet sliding down the pane, his face squashed against the glass, onto the brick ledge beneath. She jumped to the window and opened it as Poppet dangled from the ledge with his front claws, groping to get an extra leg or two back up there. He lost the struggle and fell to the ground, barely missing that prickly rose bush. Mummy called to him but he was certain it was all her fault so ran like mad around the deck to get away from that Crazy Person in the Window (his remarks, not mine).

Back outside went the flashlights, trailing a sleepy Dad and Mummy in their wake, but no sign of The Spotted Bloke was to be seen anywhere. Dad made an executive decision to let The Spotted Bloke stay out if he wished. After all, he is a grown cat, 4 years old, and can make his own decisions, said he.

Such excitement made it hard to get back to sleep but after many minutes, I was able to doze, if fitfully (worry that I might have to give up my extra legroom in the bed should The Spotted Bloke return made it impossible to sleep deeply). 

Eventually the house became a quiet symphony of snoring cats.

Then…

*scratch*

ScRatCh*

*SCRAaaTCH!!!!*

Beyond a doubt The Spotted Bloke had made his return, this time attempting a more civil route – the back door. It was nearly 4:30 a.m.; Mummy dragged her sleepy self into the kitchen, opened the door and called him in. After a few dizzying bobs of his head, as if to confirm that there was not an invisible pane of glass there as well, The Spotted Bloke dashed over the threshold and scurried into the opposite end of the house, looking neither to the right nor the left but steadfast in his determination to get as far away as possible from any openings into the Wild World beyond.

The Spotted Bloke finally worked his way into the bedroom and settled into bed with us, me half-grudgingly giving back my short-lived extra space (I was, after all, glad he wasn’t eaten by some Creature of the Night – that would not have been pleasant, I am sure). About 5 minutes later it was time to get up and start another day.

Taken all in all, we had quite an adventure but I think from now on we will stick to hanging over the stair ledges instead of the window ledge.  And for some reason, The Spotted Bloke has been avoiding bedroom Window #1. I invited him to sit with me there to watch the blue jay in the pear tree this morning but he turned and ran.

Strange fellow.

Yet we do have a fun memory of the time we almost escaped! Won’t it be something to tell the old grandkids one day?

Except, of course, I haven’t any grandkids.

Still, great fun though!

Breaking and Entrying

Tumty-tum-tee….Hmmm??

What’s this? New entries? Half a second….Someone has been in my diary!

I can’t believe it!! I must tell Mummy….

Mummy!

Yes, Augustus, dear?

Someone with very bad grammar has been writing in my diary!

Oh, my! I wonder who it was, Precious?

Lemme see…hey, wait a minute! It was Mosby and Morgan, the little Squirts! They have been mucking about and writing all over everything! Do something!

What shall I do about it, Gussie, darling?

Lemme think.…I know! Shoot them with the Vinegar Water Gun!  That would teach them…

Now, Augustus – is it really as bad as all that? Perhaps they just wanted to meet your friends. After all, your friends are so very nice, and you did tell Mosby and Morgan all about them. What do your friends have to say about the extra entries?

Welll…they…er..um, well, they agree with me – Mosby and Morgan need to be sent to bed without any dinner!

Did they really say that? I can’t imagine any of your friends saying such a harsh thing. Let me read what the little darlings wrote….Hmmm…oh…Ha, ha, ha – isn’t that cute, Augustus? They are such clever little fellows, and just look how they brag about you!

*blink, blink* Well…I s’pose it is kinda cute…”meetloaf”, hee, hee, hee! Hmm...I guess it’s okay. But Mummy…

Yes, Sweets?

Are they going to get a diary of their own?

I don’t know about that – they are still a bit young. Why do you ask?

Because their writing is atroshus! 

That’s “ATROCIOUS”, dear one.

Oh…um, er…that is what I said….isn’t it? 

Demise Of A Gift

Yesterday was Mummy’s birthday, and, in celebration, some very thoughtful soul brought her an intriguing-looking red bag with neat little raffia handles and brightly colored tissue paper sticking out at the top.

Did I ever mention I love tissue paper?

It is akin to the tidy rolls of stuff in the bathroom [from which I am permanently banned], only it is bigger and easier to tote through the house.

It shreds nicely, too.

About this red bag…

On Mummy’s return home, she placed the RB in plain view (translate: A cat could not miss it) on the kitchen counter then set about doing her afternoon chores. Naturally, we assumed there was more to this bag than meets the eye; however, we preferred not to meet Mummy’s eye so openly avoided the bag and its mystery contents, rightly considering it something to be dealt with at a later, more discreet time.

The time came!

Mummy completed her chores, fed us all a nice luncheon of tuna pate with salmon-filled crunchies on the side. Deeelish! *SMACK* Then she settled in at her desk and began writing. I was bored, and so was Mosby, Morgan, Princess, Tippy, Nobbie, and Poppet (Aspen had better things to do, and Nutmeg is permanently bored so finds no excitement in intrigue). We had, after all, been snoozing all morning and were ready for adventure. And a brightly colored bag-and-tissue-and-mystery contents arrangement does not come along every day. Soooo…

I led the pack, deftly alighting on the marble tiles, followed by the rest of the posse. Sidling up to that seemingly docile package, I took a nibble at the tissue to see if would give any trouble but it appeared as innocuous as the bag, and what is more, it slid out of said bag with buttery ease. I yanked the first layer of striped paper out and tossed it over the counter’s edge, creating an aerial show for my spectators who were now moving in to view the interior of the parcel.

Stand back, I warned the audience.

I am going in!

So in I dove, nose first, right through the tightly twisted handle on the near side. A quick glance revealed nothing more than a small box with a pretty picture of some shiny object or other on it, not at all interesting to me.

Nothing in here, I shouted, and up my head came, fully intending to move along to the next venture of the day.

Only my head was on the other side of that blighted handle!

In an instant, I was all legs, scrambling to be free of my newfound prison. I might have known - Mummy had set another trap! This was no gift but merely a ploy to catch innocent kittens that were performing their rightful duty as Inspectors General, ridding the home of any [potentially] unwanted gift items.

This, however, did not alter the fact that I was currently imbroglioed with the Dratted Bag. I did not know what to do or which way to turn, so I tried every direction imaginable, finally making a mad dash off the counter and across the kitchen floor. Then I simply ran, bumping and crashing into everything – I was running blindly, seeing only red, finally alighting beneath the bed. I remained huddled there, gasping and wheezing, listening for the inevitable “What the blazes was all that?”

Mummy could but follow the trail from the origin of sound. She tracked torn bits of tissue paper, a card, the OTHER handle (naturally not the one I was entangled with), the small box that, on reflection of the sound it made when tumbling out of the bag must, indeed, contain something of a breakable nature, and finally, the red sack with me, Augustus The Humble, all wrapped up inside.

She laughed (surprise!). Hmmph.

The she dragged me and my sack out from beneath the bed, unwrapped me and set me free. I started to run but thought better of it. After all, she did rescue me, and it IS her birthday. So I gave her a kiss on the nose. She forgave me for getting into her birthday gift, saying that she had me and that was enough.

Whew! That was a close one.

I have decided, moving forward, to limit my inspection of all packages mysterious to those of a handle-less nature. Experience does bring wisdom!

heE, hEe, hee…

WaT’s this do?

lEt mE shOw You…pUsh tHeEz butTons hEre…

okay mOsby i caN dO it. I’m bIg! MumMy sEd so.

uncle GusSie sEz therE are pEeple whO can rEad whAt we tYpe.

reElly?

yAh!

NeEt! wHo are tHey?

I dOn’t kNow…mAybeE they will sEnd Us a message. He sEzs they Are hiS frIends so wE cAn be tHeir friEnds tOo…sAy hello, MorGan...

helLo evryBody! hEe, hee…mY nAme is MoRgan and MosBy is mY brOther…thIs is fUn! wEe had mEetloaf fOr dInner and shortbread coOkies wiTh tEa. *yawn* I’m sleepy…

OkAy…We bedDer gO noW ‘cAuse uNcle GuSsie is cOming ‘rOund tHe coRner….gOodnigHt to eVeryOne!

signed MosBy anD MorGan

Shhh!!!

Er...hEllO?

I’m noT shur hOw this wUrks…let’s sEe…

hellO, I’m Mosby! Uncle GuSsie doEs not knOw tHaT I’m in hiS diary. 

I’m liTtle bUt I’m gOing tO be BiG one day…EvEryOne ‘rouNd heRe is biG…Uncle Gussie is HOOJ!  AuNtie PrinceSs is veRy Big and sCary…she sWats me a lot…Auntie TipPy is fun tO plaY with…we cHase each Other anD she letS me cAtch her…MorGan iS mY bRoTher…he Is liTtle but Vet (crEepy gUy wIth gRay fUr on hiS hEad) sez Morgan will geT BiG toO! DaD sed I hAve biG feet…MuMmy cAllS me miStEr LOng LegS…heE, hEe…I like MUmMy and tRy to kEep her whEre I cAn see hEr…she moOvs aroUnd a Lot!

I beDdEr go bEefore UnCle GuSsie caTches mE! 

If aNyOne is thEre theN I am glAd to mEet yOu!

Bargain Cat

I am so embarrassed – during a recent grooming session, Mummy discovered a whacking great piece of sticky paper wadded up in my tummy curls. I have no explanation for how it got there (or how long it had been there since it has been a couple of weeks since I had a decent brushing. *ahem*) but I am convinced it is unrelated to the Tape Incident. 
This was paper of a different nature: it appeared to be some sort of label or price tag. It was difficult to make out the wording; the only things legible were “reduced” and “.00.”

Mummy, of course, read that aloud to everyone, causing quite a stir of snickers about me being for sale on the cheap.

Such comedians.

I s’pose we should go over to the nursing home next and wax the steps…

Hmmph!

I Lost My Noodle!

Mummy, who loves to cook, has not been much of one since our dear Dad passed away. She says she has no inspiration. I say, what do we look like – chopped liver?

At least she does feed us (thank God for prepackaged food) but there are times when we kits like to add variety to our diet. When Dad was here, he always gave of his plenty, ensuring we were never without a sideline meal. These days we are fortunate to find a crumb so one can imagine my surprise when Mummy got out the old skillet last evening and prepared a real meal!

It was a good one, too – little pieces of chicken, finely breaded and fried ‘til golden then mixed with a light sauce of diced tomato and olive oil, seasoned with fragrant Italian herbs. All of this was layered onto a steaming bed of pasta then dredged with mozzarella and popped in the oven until that blessed mountain of cheese melted into an ooey-gooey puddle on top. Mmmmmmm…

Where was I?

Oh, yes…

Mummy made herself a serving of this scrumptious-looking dish, all the while I, being Man of the House, supervising from a [discreet] corner of the counter. Mummy made for the table, dinner plate and fork in hand, and I deftly moved in to investigate the remains. What I discovered was a beautiful pasta tube that had rolled off of Mummy’s plate and landed on the marble tile, still intact and coated with that delectable sauce with just the right amount of cheese attached here and there.

I was ecstatic - a whole noodle all to myself!

Glancing quickly around to be sure I was alone (no problem there – everyone had followed Mummy to the table in hopes of a handout. Silly children), I eased closer to get a view of this delightful culinary surprise.

Sniffing around its edge, I detected the delicate aroma of oregano, and *sniff, sniff* was that basil?

Ahhhh…

I nudged the edge and gave it a tiny nibble. Delicious!

I sat back and stared at my prize in wonder.

I was proud of my noodle.

Craning my neck forward to take another bite, it disappointed me to find that I could not get my teeth around it. The poor thing had simply gotten cold and stuck to the counter. I pushed with my nose again but it would not budge. Sitting back and shifting to get a better view, I determined that it might work if I came at it from a different angle. Circling around, I seated myself on the other side and attempted another bite. No good – the thing seem positively glued down! I dismissed a flickering thought that it might be Mummy’s idea of a practical joke (since she isn’t much good at that sort of thing) and figured I better take serious action if I was to ever enjoy my treat.

Sitting back once more and taking aim, I gave the tiny tube a whack with my great furry paw and sent it tumbling across the counter…

to the edge…

over the edge…

My noodle had left me!

I raced to the other side of the island and peered over, scanning from left to right and back again but there was no pasta in sight. I spotted young Mosby The Roving Stomach busily chewing on something (and rather enjoying it, from all appearance) but no pasta was to be seen. I glance at Mummy who had apparently watched the whole gruesome spectacle with sheer enjoyment – her face bore a smirk a mile wide yet I could hardly see the humor in the situation myself.

My rigatoni was gone.

I can’t imagine what became of it but at least Mummy did the square thing and gave me some of her plenty. She even said she felt sorry for me though I question the sincerity of a mother who allows pastas to make great escapes from kits who found them outright.

Still, there it is.

Drink Impediment

It is decided.

As Man Of The House, I must speak to the management about Mummy.

Just this morning I was sitting on the bathroom counter, waiting (patiently, I might add) with Nutmeg for Mummy to finish her morning chores so we could get our drink from the faucet.

Well.

In comes Mummy after much brisk action, wedging her paws between us to turn on the faucet. Naturally, we assume this means we can have a drink so in we dive, tongues hanging out, but no, Mummy must first wash her hands. And that requires soap, which Mummy keeps in a bottle near the sink.

Well.

The bottle was getting a bit low, though it obviously had sufficient of the bubbly stuff to manage a wash or two, yet Mummy, being of the Paranoid-About-Running-Out-Of-Something variety, decided to retreat to the linen closet and fetch a new bottle of soap. So we sat back and waited. Again.

Well.

That is okay, I s’pose, except when she returned, she set the new bottle right next to me, continuing her wash up and preparing to dish out drinks.

Only I could not drink.

You see, there was this bottle, and it was on my side of the sink. And it was in my way.

I gave it a look.

I gave Mummy a look.

She gave me a look, then asked if I wasn’t going to drink.

I said, How can I drink with this bottle standing here?

I am trying to sit here next to the sink, and this bottle is right where I need to be.

And it has a dastardly look about it, if you ask me.

Only she didn’t ask me.

She gave Nutmeg a drink while I fidgeted and turned around and glowered at the soap. Then she shut off the life-saving tap and absolutely walked away.

And I did not get my drink.

If Dad was here, he would never allow soap bottles to loiter about the place like so many cats. And he most certainly would have given me my drink.

I think I am going to faint.

Scorpion Queen

Last night was one for the books!

It was bedtime, and Mummy gave us our midnight snacks (midnight comes early ‘round here), and while we grazed she stood under the waterfall (AKA Shower) and got drenched, as parents will do.

After she pronounced herself squeaky clean, she brushed her teeth (silly Mummy – everyone knows brushes are for fluffy tails!) and hopped into bed, fully expecting to wriggle her way in amongst a sea of fuzzy creatures.

Only we weren’t in the bed!

She called to us but no one came so naturally she grew suspicious. She slid out from under the comforter and padded her way toward the bedroom door.

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen…

Young Mosby and Morgan, AKA The Brothers Grim, had been scuffling and tussling along the kitchen floor, stopping every few inches to remove a dust bunny or two from below the cabinet base. [Side note: Mummy is truly appreciative of our continued efforts to help clean up. She often remarks on our ability to produce dust bunnies from nowhere.] Naturally we all sat around and watched to see who would win this round of sparring, inching ever closer to get the best view.

Well, somewhere along the fighting path there was this one dust bunny, whom we will call Sherman, that, on finding himself awakened at such an unfashionable hour and bunged out of his warm bed, began walking in a rather menacing manner. Now I have seen dust bunnies jump and roll, flinging themselves carelessly onto the nearest passerby without batting an eye but never have I seen one stand up erect and march on eight legs.

Not only did Sherman begin a brisk gait immediately on finding himself removed from his comfy hiding place but he also pulled out a sword and began waving it wildly about! He held it at a funny angle, sort of from behind, but I was convinced nonetheless that he meant business, and I was not about to question his method or fighting stance. I figured Sherman knew what worked best for him.

Young Mosby, on the other paw, decided he wasn’t scared to tackle this armored brute; abandoning his opponent Morgan for the time being, he marched right up to Sherman and bopped him on the noggin. Sherman retaliated with a quick jab of his sword, barely missing Mosby’s foot. I backed off so as to, er, get a better view of the proceedings and found myself sitting on Mummy’s toes. This startled me not a little; I must have set a new record for the sitting high jump, raising myself fully 12 inches from the floor before coming back to terra firma. Or is that terra cotta?

At any rate, regardless of where I eventually landed, Mosby continued his noggin-bopping and Sherman faithfully rebounded with the sword, a sort of give and take, if you understand my meaning. Like a fine dance routine, if a bit clumsy. Sherman wasn’t the greatest dancer but I thought it not the best time to point that out; he seemed in too poor a temper for constructive criticism. Perhaps being oft crowned by an overgrown kitten had him riled beyond his usual pleasant demeanor.

While all this is going on, I noticed that Mummy, so far from being interested in the bop-and-jab routine, began fumbling about in the cabinet below the kitchen sink. It must be something about the midnight air that makes one desire to explore kitchen cabinets. However, I get in trouble for that sort of thing. Life is unfair.

Where was I?

Oh, yes, Bop and Jab…

Mosby bounded forward, bopped, bounded backward, repeated. We continued to watch, from a safe distance, of course. Only it seemed Sherman was gaining ground and moving perilously closer to my location. Mummy was still clinking away in the cabinet, and I grew anxious, sliding closer to her. Sherman was out for vengeance, and it seemed he was willing to attack anything remotely resembling a cat. It is times like this when I wish I could hide my tail!

By now, Mosby began to see that Sherman was serious so that even he decided to back off a bit.

It was this point that Mummy, The Avenger, stepped in (or up, as she had been squatting), armed with her anti-spider/ant/scorpion/and anything-that-crawls gun [cleverly disguised as an aerosol spray can and fondly named Raid]. She deftly swept the battlefield clean of cats and loomed over Sherman, looking far more menacing than he ever thought to. If he had additional plans for the evening, they were shot. I could not bear to watch his demise, he fought so bravely.

It was after the remains of battle had been swept away and all traces of Mummy’s liquid ammunition cleaned from the floor that we learned Sherman was a different kind of dust bunny, known as a Scorpion. We further learned that their swords, though wielded wildly, give a nasty blow to any who find themselves in their path so it is best to avoid them. I gave Mosby a knowing look.

I could have told him there was something not quite right about Dust Bunny Sherman. But kittens will be kittens, taking risks because they haven’t the good sense to run to Mummy instead, unlike me.

And Mummy saved the day.

Three cheers for our Scorpion Queen!