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.