THE RULES FOR CATS
I wrote to a vet friend of mine from an online language forum: “I need for you to write a letter to my cats, on official stationery, with all your degrees and honors listed, to set out the Rules for Cats, because they won't listen to me.”
He didn’t comply, just posted a few jokes, so I’ll have to do it myself:
1. Gourmet cat food is not an entitlement.
2. It's MY bed. You are not entitled to more than half of it, no matter how much you can stretch out.
3. Synchronized washing of one another's faces is cute. Synchronized hacking up of hairballs is not.
4. Wait till the human's back is turned before you lick your sister's butt.
5. My food is not for cats. My drink is not for cats. My meds are not for cats.
6. Don't make nice when the cat from next door comes to the back window. He's a homosexual rapist.
7. Stop being nicer to Bruce than you are to me, just because he's the one who delivers the bags of cat food.
8. Plaintive Siamese meows are just plain distracting.
Please print your messages, on one side of the paper only, if you have something you must say.
9. Stop staring at me when I'm on the john. I don't come and stare at you when you're in the litter box.
10. GET THE HELL OUT OF THE WASTEBASKET!
11. When I am trying to take a nap, or deeply asleep, it is not the time for cat rugby, feet-eating, or “I’m going to yowl at you till you toss the toy for me.”
12. Honestly, it really IS possible to play with a toy without ripping all the feathers off it and chewing them to bits.
13. I appreciate the sentiment, really I do; but it is unnecessary to deposit any more Styrofoam pellets on my bed. If I wanted to sleep among Styrofoam pellets, I’d be living in a cardboard box.
14. You might try exerting yourself occasionally to CATCH the bug, instead of just staring at it in a bemused manner.
15. If you keep making phone calls by stepping on the speakerphone button, you’re going to have to pay for them yourselves.
16. When you yowl for people food like chicken or cheese, and I give you some, you do NOT walk away and leave it crudding up the dish.
17. Don't go after the people food while the people are still eating it!
18. The yard guy and the pool guy are not your long-lost relatives and do not need to be greeted as such. They are outdoor people; you are indoor cats.
19. If you’re going to make yourself comfortable on the desk in front of the monitor, LIE DOWN! I need to be able to see what I’m writing.
20. To quote an old cartoon, never, never, never think outside the box.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Monday, June 19, 2006
Dueling Felines
Dueling Felines
My cats fought a duel last night on the foot of my bed.
I don’t know what else you’d call it. It certainly wasn’t a real catfight; nobody yowled, hissed, or growled; and as far as I could tell (which wasn’t very), nobody’s fur stood on end. Aliera didn’t even have her ears laid back, though Sethra did. Everything was very formal, almost ritualistic.
It started with Aliera lying down, and Sethra sitting in front of her. Sethra raised her paw, very slowly and tentatively, then slapped Aliera in the face. Aliera retaliated with a double-pawed cheek slap (I think there’s a name for this in pro wrestling). This was repeated about three times; then Sethra hurled herself on top of Aliera and things got a lot rougher—though, as I said before, nobody screamed, so I gather the hind claws didn’t come out, despite the biting. They rolled around for a bit, and then both flung themselves off the bed in opposite directions. Usually Aliera is the winner of these little encounters, but this time she ran off. Sethra returned to the bed, but by invitation; I coaxed her.
I really don’t understand these guys. Very occasionally they cuddle together (usually in cold weather). Most of the time they tend to ignore each other, except for the occasional perfunctory duel, and fairly frequent mutual or combat washing; earlier the same day, Sethra had been licking Aliera’s face while Aliera licked Sethra’s paws. Aliera also licks Sethra’s butt; I don’t know if this signifies anything like what it would signify for a human, or if it’s just little sister making nice with big sister.
I hope someday Bruce blogs about the relationships and interactions of the six cats over there—it’s much more interesting and complex, as none of them are contemporaries, there are three males and three females, two have been outdoor cats, and only one still has claws. I’m sure the situation is worthy of a sociological study and makes my mere sibling rivalry look simple by comparison.
My cats fought a duel last night on the foot of my bed.
I don’t know what else you’d call it. It certainly wasn’t a real catfight; nobody yowled, hissed, or growled; and as far as I could tell (which wasn’t very), nobody’s fur stood on end. Aliera didn’t even have her ears laid back, though Sethra did. Everything was very formal, almost ritualistic.
It started with Aliera lying down, and Sethra sitting in front of her. Sethra raised her paw, very slowly and tentatively, then slapped Aliera in the face. Aliera retaliated with a double-pawed cheek slap (I think there’s a name for this in pro wrestling). This was repeated about three times; then Sethra hurled herself on top of Aliera and things got a lot rougher—though, as I said before, nobody screamed, so I gather the hind claws didn’t come out, despite the biting. They rolled around for a bit, and then both flung themselves off the bed in opposite directions. Usually Aliera is the winner of these little encounters, but this time she ran off. Sethra returned to the bed, but by invitation; I coaxed her.
I really don’t understand these guys. Very occasionally they cuddle together (usually in cold weather). Most of the time they tend to ignore each other, except for the occasional perfunctory duel, and fairly frequent mutual or combat washing; earlier the same day, Sethra had been licking Aliera’s face while Aliera licked Sethra’s paws. Aliera also licks Sethra’s butt; I don’t know if this signifies anything like what it would signify for a human, or if it’s just little sister making nice with big sister.
I hope someday Bruce blogs about the relationships and interactions of the six cats over there—it’s much more interesting and complex, as none of them are contemporaries, there are three males and three females, two have been outdoor cats, and only one still has claws. I’m sure the situation is worthy of a sociological study and makes my mere sibling rivalry look simple by comparison.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Little Cat Feetnotes
Little Cat Feetnotes
I combed the fluffy cat last night, and got enough loose fur to knit a small kitten.
Ever since I started leaving the bathroom door open all the time, because otherwise there’s no air circulation in there and it’s like an oven, the cats like to hang out in there. Unlike most cats, they show little or no interest in curling up in the sink. They much prefer the stack of clean underwear I keep on a shelf so I can get partially dressed before doing things to my face and hair, then finish the job without getting makeup on my blouse/dress. I just hope I don’t get hit by a bus, because I don’t know what the ER personnel would make of furry underwear.
The most disconcerting thing is that they like to stare at me when I’m on the loo. This is just not right. After all, I don’t come and stare at them when they are using the litter box, do I?
Now that it’s so hot (112° today, a new record), Aliera prefers to nap on top of the filing cabinet in the office closet. I don’t know where Sethra naps—she seems to be able to dematerialize at will, a skill I envy her. Where DO cats go when they walk through walls? And why do they have to take my good sunglasses with them?
On one of my discussion boards, we are talking about our favorite Discworld characters. I had named the Patrician of Ankh-Morporkh as mine, but it’s a very close tie with Death, and I may change my vote. Especially since although he doesn’t like people much, Death is very fond of cats. In The Last Hero, which has so many illustrations it’s practically a graphic novel, there’s a wonderful picture of him with a kitten on his skeletal lap, and another of the same kitten chasing the Death of Rats, an equally skeletal rat.
I have a new catalogue from Drs. Foster and Smith, and the cats are going to make out like bandits. Cat toys, cat treats, and a laser-pointer toy for under ten bucks!
Wonder when they are going to present ME with anything? Other than hairballs, that is.
I combed the fluffy cat last night, and got enough loose fur to knit a small kitten.
Ever since I started leaving the bathroom door open all the time, because otherwise there’s no air circulation in there and it’s like an oven, the cats like to hang out in there. Unlike most cats, they show little or no interest in curling up in the sink. They much prefer the stack of clean underwear I keep on a shelf so I can get partially dressed before doing things to my face and hair, then finish the job without getting makeup on my blouse/dress. I just hope I don’t get hit by a bus, because I don’t know what the ER personnel would make of furry underwear.
The most disconcerting thing is that they like to stare at me when I’m on the loo. This is just not right. After all, I don’t come and stare at them when they are using the litter box, do I?
Now that it’s so hot (112° today, a new record), Aliera prefers to nap on top of the filing cabinet in the office closet. I don’t know where Sethra naps—she seems to be able to dematerialize at will, a skill I envy her. Where DO cats go when they walk through walls? And why do they have to take my good sunglasses with them?
On one of my discussion boards, we are talking about our favorite Discworld characters. I had named the Patrician of Ankh-Morporkh as mine, but it’s a very close tie with Death, and I may change my vote. Especially since although he doesn’t like people much, Death is very fond of cats. In The Last Hero, which has so many illustrations it’s practically a graphic novel, there’s a wonderful picture of him with a kitten on his skeletal lap, and another of the same kitten chasing the Death of Rats, an equally skeletal rat.
I have a new catalogue from Drs. Foster and Smith, and the cats are going to make out like bandits. Cat toys, cat treats, and a laser-pointer toy for under ten bucks!
Wonder when they are going to present ME with anything? Other than hairballs, that is.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Domestication
Domestication
Felis domesticus isn’t all that domestic, really, despite the scientific classification. Cats aren’t domesticated in the sense that livestock, or even dogs, which also live with us, are. I’m sure that if asked, they would deny they are domestic animals, or even pets—they’d probably go for some term like “independent contractor” or even “unindicted co-conspirator.”
It’s no mystery how cats and people got together. It happened in ancient Egypt, one of the places humans first invented agriculture, which meant that they grew more than they needed for immediate consumption. Which meant that they had to invent grain storage. Which meant that they had a rodent problem.
Meanwhile, Felis silvestris lybica was lurking in the bushes, wondering where its next meal was coming from.
It didn’t take long for F. lybica, the African desert cat, to realize that hanging around the granaries and barns and stables was a good career move. And the Ancient Egyptian, being no fool, was quick to note that these rather pretty little critters, which were no trouble, really, and didn’t make that good eating, were damned useful in getting rid of the rats and mice.
So no doubt they lived in a state of mutual tolerance and pretense of ignoring each other’s existence, much like people in a crowded elevator: Ancient Egyptian going off to the fields, nodding politely as F. lybica trotted by with a mouse in its jaws. As they got used to being tolerated, even welcome, the cats came to live near humans, not just hunt there. Perhaps the humans even put out scraps and offal for them, to encourage them to hang around.
And then, one day, an Ancient Egyptian—probably a child, around seven years old, old enough to be curious and too young to be afraid—came across a nest of kittens, most likely in a barn or stable. Maybe she was playing, maybe she was gathering eggs. And here were these adorable, cuddly little creatures, making soft, sweet, squeaking sounds.
Of course she petted them. Who wouldn’t? And the kittens, being still in the socialization stage of young cats, didn’t object. And one of the great discoveries of history was made: Not only do people like to pet cats, but CATS LIKE TO BE PETTED BY PEOPLE.
It was almost certainly this way. It’s very difficult to tame an adult feral cat, and it’s a small wild animal that even a child would be wary of approaching when it arched and hissed. The first cat-human bond was almost certainly a child and one or more kittens, and it was a tamed kitten that undoubtedly became the first house cat. And Man made another discovery: Cats can keep the house free of pests, too. And they curl up on your lap and make this wonderful buzzing sound that really makes a house feel like a home.
From this “domestication” of F. lybica came all the other domestic cats in the world, as far as we know. And F. domesticus remains pretty much unchanged from its ancestor, and can still interbreed with it. Consider the vast differences humans have induced in other domestic animals by selective breeding; dogs, if Konrad Lorenz is correct, all originated either from the wolf or the yellow jackal, yet today the breeds vary from Chihuahua to mastiff. Look at fancy chickens—you won’t believe what you see. Even horses and cattle and sheep come in considerable variety. But cats are pretty much cats—some bigger, some smaller; some furry, some unfortunate ones hairless. But they can still interbreed with each other (which is how I come to have a couple of meezer mixes).
And they still pretty much go their own way, even if they share our homes. Now they tend to be more dependent on us for food (except for working farm cats), though even the most pampered house cat may catch the occasional mouse. They are easily housebroken, but that’s because it’s their nature to be clean and neat, not because they wish to please us.
I think that their independence is a major part of their charm. Cats are beautiful, graceful creatures (except Sethra when she’s falling off the furniture). We enjoy playing with them. We still like to pet them, and they still like to be petted by us. But woe betide the human who tries petting when the cat doesn’t feel like being petted! It is their independence, their lack of a desire to please us, that makes one feel so privileged when a cat displays affection. Perhaps it’s really some atavistic manner of assuring the food supply, but it feels like love. And holding a cat—that small, vital, somehow both immensely strong and unbearably fragile little body—cuddling it, hearing it purr, is pure uncovenanted bliss.
I think I’ve figured out just who has domesticated whom.
Felis domesticus isn’t all that domestic, really, despite the scientific classification. Cats aren’t domesticated in the sense that livestock, or even dogs, which also live with us, are. I’m sure that if asked, they would deny they are domestic animals, or even pets—they’d probably go for some term like “independent contractor” or even “unindicted co-conspirator.”
It’s no mystery how cats and people got together. It happened in ancient Egypt, one of the places humans first invented agriculture, which meant that they grew more than they needed for immediate consumption. Which meant that they had to invent grain storage. Which meant that they had a rodent problem.
Meanwhile, Felis silvestris lybica was lurking in the bushes, wondering where its next meal was coming from.
It didn’t take long for F. lybica, the African desert cat, to realize that hanging around the granaries and barns and stables was a good career move. And the Ancient Egyptian, being no fool, was quick to note that these rather pretty little critters, which were no trouble, really, and didn’t make that good eating, were damned useful in getting rid of the rats and mice.
So no doubt they lived in a state of mutual tolerance and pretense of ignoring each other’s existence, much like people in a crowded elevator: Ancient Egyptian going off to the fields, nodding politely as F. lybica trotted by with a mouse in its jaws. As they got used to being tolerated, even welcome, the cats came to live near humans, not just hunt there. Perhaps the humans even put out scraps and offal for them, to encourage them to hang around.
And then, one day, an Ancient Egyptian—probably a child, around seven years old, old enough to be curious and too young to be afraid—came across a nest of kittens, most likely in a barn or stable. Maybe she was playing, maybe she was gathering eggs. And here were these adorable, cuddly little creatures, making soft, sweet, squeaking sounds.
Of course she petted them. Who wouldn’t? And the kittens, being still in the socialization stage of young cats, didn’t object. And one of the great discoveries of history was made: Not only do people like to pet cats, but CATS LIKE TO BE PETTED BY PEOPLE.
It was almost certainly this way. It’s very difficult to tame an adult feral cat, and it’s a small wild animal that even a child would be wary of approaching when it arched and hissed. The first cat-human bond was almost certainly a child and one or more kittens, and it was a tamed kitten that undoubtedly became the first house cat. And Man made another discovery: Cats can keep the house free of pests, too. And they curl up on your lap and make this wonderful buzzing sound that really makes a house feel like a home.
From this “domestication” of F. lybica came all the other domestic cats in the world, as far as we know. And F. domesticus remains pretty much unchanged from its ancestor, and can still interbreed with it. Consider the vast differences humans have induced in other domestic animals by selective breeding; dogs, if Konrad Lorenz is correct, all originated either from the wolf or the yellow jackal, yet today the breeds vary from Chihuahua to mastiff. Look at fancy chickens—you won’t believe what you see. Even horses and cattle and sheep come in considerable variety. But cats are pretty much cats—some bigger, some smaller; some furry, some unfortunate ones hairless. But they can still interbreed with each other (which is how I come to have a couple of meezer mixes).
And they still pretty much go their own way, even if they share our homes. Now they tend to be more dependent on us for food (except for working farm cats), though even the most pampered house cat may catch the occasional mouse. They are easily housebroken, but that’s because it’s their nature to be clean and neat, not because they wish to please us.
I think that their independence is a major part of their charm. Cats are beautiful, graceful creatures (except Sethra when she’s falling off the furniture). We enjoy playing with them. We still like to pet them, and they still like to be petted by us. But woe betide the human who tries petting when the cat doesn’t feel like being petted! It is their independence, their lack of a desire to please us, that makes one feel so privileged when a cat displays affection. Perhaps it’s really some atavistic manner of assuring the food supply, but it feels like love. And holding a cat—that small, vital, somehow both immensely strong and unbearably fragile little body—cuddling it, hearing it purr, is pure uncovenanted bliss.
I think I’ve figured out just who has domesticated whom.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Is My Cat Really an
Is My Cat Really an Alien?
I am getting very suspicious of Aliera.
She has been tearing around the house in what I consider a sinister manner, because there is no apparent reason for it. No catnip, no substance abuse of any kind, no stimulating activities. She’s gone from a typical cat who sleeps for 22 hours a day to a small tornado running an indoor marathon. And she keeps biting me.
I think she’s taking samples.
Sethra’s collar has somehow disappeared, too. I originally thought that she got it caught in the blinds, which she gets hung up in on a regular basis; but now I’m wondering if Aliera has sent it back to the mother ship for analysis and replication, so that the hordes of little furry aliens planning to invade us will have perfect disguises as ordinary house cats.
I’m not sure what they want, exactly, but it’s not Friskies Ocean Fish with Salmon Paté, that’s for sure. I got a batch of this flavor (or rather Michele, who was shopping for me, got them) because a vet on one of my forums said salmon was a very good food for cats; but I forgot that they’d earlier shown disdain for the paté-style cat food, and apparently that was the only one she found that had salmon. With each succeeding offering they’ve eaten less and less of it, and last night they simply turned up their noses without taking a single bite.
Maybe I’m onto something here. Remember Anthony Boucher’s short story “Nine-Finger Jack”? The narrator found he was married to an alien, an advance scout for an invasion force, and there was only one substance that could destroy them….
Literary note: Bruce and I went to Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer’s book signing for their new collaboration, Don’t Look Down. Bruce wrote a bit about it in his blog. (Hilde didn’t feel like coming.) I was a bit frustrated because my copy of the book hadn’t arrived yet, but I printed out a copy of the ad for the book for them to sign, and will paste it into the book. I have now read it, and can recommend it. A surprisingly high number of people on amazon.com have given it bad reviews, and I’m not sure why. The book does have flaws, but I’ve read so many MUCH worse novels that I can easily overlook them; on the other hand, its virtues—wit, good dialogue, very likeable characters, lots of action—make it a definite keeper for me. Crusie writes the female PoV and Mayer the male, and they blend together seamlessly IMHO. She’s a director called in to film the end of a movie after the previous director dropped dead; he’s a Green Beret on leave hired on as advisor and stunt double by the clueless male star. Then we get stolen pre-Columbian jade phalluses, the CIA, multiple treacheries, a precocious five-year-old, and a one-eyed alligator who doesn’t know that eating people is wrong, and the fun just never stops.
Summer in Arizona is here. It was 99 degrees today, and is due to hit triple digits tomorrow. My furnace is dead and my A/C and swamp cooler are both in a state of desuetude, so I’m due to spend a fortune replacing the whole schmeer.
And the season for letting cats sleep on top of me—especially the fluffy one—is definitely over.
I am getting very suspicious of Aliera.
She has been tearing around the house in what I consider a sinister manner, because there is no apparent reason for it. No catnip, no substance abuse of any kind, no stimulating activities. She’s gone from a typical cat who sleeps for 22 hours a day to a small tornado running an indoor marathon. And she keeps biting me.
I think she’s taking samples.
Sethra’s collar has somehow disappeared, too. I originally thought that she got it caught in the blinds, which she gets hung up in on a regular basis; but now I’m wondering if Aliera has sent it back to the mother ship for analysis and replication, so that the hordes of little furry aliens planning to invade us will have perfect disguises as ordinary house cats.
I’m not sure what they want, exactly, but it’s not Friskies Ocean Fish with Salmon Paté, that’s for sure. I got a batch of this flavor (or rather Michele, who was shopping for me, got them) because a vet on one of my forums said salmon was a very good food for cats; but I forgot that they’d earlier shown disdain for the paté-style cat food, and apparently that was the only one she found that had salmon. With each succeeding offering they’ve eaten less and less of it, and last night they simply turned up their noses without taking a single bite.
Maybe I’m onto something here. Remember Anthony Boucher’s short story “Nine-Finger Jack”? The narrator found he was married to an alien, an advance scout for an invasion force, and there was only one substance that could destroy them….
Literary note: Bruce and I went to Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer’s book signing for their new collaboration, Don’t Look Down. Bruce wrote a bit about it in his blog. (Hilde didn’t feel like coming.) I was a bit frustrated because my copy of the book hadn’t arrived yet, but I printed out a copy of the ad for the book for them to sign, and will paste it into the book. I have now read it, and can recommend it. A surprisingly high number of people on amazon.com have given it bad reviews, and I’m not sure why. The book does have flaws, but I’ve read so many MUCH worse novels that I can easily overlook them; on the other hand, its virtues—wit, good dialogue, very likeable characters, lots of action—make it a definite keeper for me. Crusie writes the female PoV and Mayer the male, and they blend together seamlessly IMHO. She’s a director called in to film the end of a movie after the previous director dropped dead; he’s a Green Beret on leave hired on as advisor and stunt double by the clueless male star. Then we get stolen pre-Columbian jade phalluses, the CIA, multiple treacheries, a precocious five-year-old, and a one-eyed alligator who doesn’t know that eating people is wrong, and the fun just never stops.
Summer in Arizona is here. It was 99 degrees today, and is due to hit triple digits tomorrow. My furnace is dead and my A/C and swamp cooler are both in a state of desuetude, so I’m due to spend a fortune replacing the whole schmeer.
And the season for letting cats sleep on top of me—especially the fluffy one—is definitely over.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
What Part of Not for
What Part of “Not for Cats” Don’t You Understand?
or
Did I Ask for a Face Full of Cat Butt?
People often tell my friend Hilde that they’d like to come back as one of her cats in their next life, because she indulges them so much.
This same Hilde thinks I spoil MY cats.
Honest, Hilde, I didn’t—they came that way! As I’ve said before, their motto is “I’ll have what you’re having!” and for Sethra, at least, that means “before you’ve finished it.” I have never encountered a cat with such an overwhelming sense of entitlement; and if you know cats, you know that’s saying quite a lot. I often like to have cold meat, all by itself (no bread) as a bedtime snack, because that’s a good protein snack for a diabetic. They will not just pounce on the bag; they will keep coming after it and coming after it as I’m eating it. And Sethra, with her most demanding “MEOW!” will try to put her paw, or even her face, right into my mouth to help herself.
I’ve mentioned before that she is very imperative about having her toy tossed when she wants to retrieve. Her favorite toy at the moment is Aliera’s old SafeCat collar, discarded when it became too small. She drags it around with her, hides it in the bed, and will stand on top of me and yowl till I throw it for her. They also go after the small plastic cup in which I keep my nightly allotment of pills while taking them. I don’t think they are drug addicts so much as “small round things I can bat across the bed with my paw” addicts. And they think it socially acceptable behavior to stand there with their butts in my face while they do so, or even while they are simply investigating the pillows and bookcase headboard to see if I have stashed anything interesting or edible (or, perhaps, if they want to read anything I’m reading).
I know that sniffing one another’s butts is an important method of feline communication. What I haven’t figured out yet is how to explain to them that as feline-to-human communication, it’s a non-starter. It’s not that the cats are odoriferous; I use a very good odor-eating litter. And they are constantly engaged in combat washing. It’s just that it’s…so…GROSS!
Since the old LitterMaid automatic litter box stopped working, I have just purchased a new and very expensive one that is a much superior version: it does everything but lick their little butts clean when they’ve finished. This seems to have cured the crapping-on-the-rug problem, as long as I remember to top up the litter when needed and empty it in a timely manner, which works out to about every four days. I was going to get them a new water dispenser (the one they have is water-cooler style, but there’s something green growing inside), but I think I can clean the old one properly now that I’ve found my bottle brush, so they can still have fresh water. I give them filtered water, the kind I drink myself. They are getting so spoiled that last Cat Food Night they left half the Choice Ocean Fish in their dishes. And they hadn’t had any gourmet moist food for a while, as I’d cancelled the previous Cat Food Night because of the wickedness of Sethra. I can only conclude that they’d filled up on kibble just before dinner. Just like kids.
They are very strange about food. They will start yowling when I get out a can of chicken or tuna for myself even before it’s open; can they read the labels? (It’s not just the can-opener Pavlovian thing, either, as they aren’t fed canned food but foil-packet food.) Yet last night, when I fixed chicken and noodles with mushrooms, I put down the empty chicken can with quite a bit of licking-worthy remnants in it, and they couldn’t seem to find it. Or perhaps they’ve become so spoiled and arrogant that they think that I should eat THEIR leftovers!
I think that what annoys me the most is Sethra’s rudeness. She speaks to me in a bloody arrogant “I am Siamese, if you please” tone of voice that just makes me want to smack her. Tonight I watched NANNY 911, as I sometimes do when DR. PHIL is a rerun; and for only the second time, the nanny didn’t fully succeed in taming the family. (The first time, the problem was with the marriage, and the episode wound up with a marriage-counseling spin-off.) The stepfather did his best with the three young children, but it must have been really relaxing when he went off to his job as a prison guard because the environment would be so much more civilized. The mother spent her time sitting on the couch, eating junk food, and verbally abusing her kids. The woman was in total denial about her kids’ behavior and her own; in fact, I think she was psychopathic. The kids were totally out of control. The younger boy (couldn’t have been more than six or seven at most) swore at Nanny Stella, hit and kicked her, and even spat in her face. Ironically enough, in the course of the program (later on), she was the only one shown as giving the kids any affection. The father learned something from the week with the nanny, but right up to the end the woman simply refused to believe even the evidence of the recordings of her behavior and that of the kids. I really feel sorry for them. I can’t imagine the marriage lasting much longer, especially as she didn’t bother much with how she looked and her husband was a real babe. If they do split up, of course she’ll get the kids since he’s not their natural father. Tragedy in the making.
Come to think about it, I guess the cats aren’t that bad, after all. Come here, my darlings, for a group hug….
or
Did I Ask for a Face Full of Cat Butt?
People often tell my friend Hilde that they’d like to come back as one of her cats in their next life, because she indulges them so much.
This same Hilde thinks I spoil MY cats.
Honest, Hilde, I didn’t—they came that way! As I’ve said before, their motto is “I’ll have what you’re having!” and for Sethra, at least, that means “before you’ve finished it.” I have never encountered a cat with such an overwhelming sense of entitlement; and if you know cats, you know that’s saying quite a lot. I often like to have cold meat, all by itself (no bread) as a bedtime snack, because that’s a good protein snack for a diabetic. They will not just pounce on the bag; they will keep coming after it and coming after it as I’m eating it. And Sethra, with her most demanding “MEOW!” will try to put her paw, or even her face, right into my mouth to help herself.
I’ve mentioned before that she is very imperative about having her toy tossed when she wants to retrieve. Her favorite toy at the moment is Aliera’s old SafeCat collar, discarded when it became too small. She drags it around with her, hides it in the bed, and will stand on top of me and yowl till I throw it for her. They also go after the small plastic cup in which I keep my nightly allotment of pills while taking them. I don’t think they are drug addicts so much as “small round things I can bat across the bed with my paw” addicts. And they think it socially acceptable behavior to stand there with their butts in my face while they do so, or even while they are simply investigating the pillows and bookcase headboard to see if I have stashed anything interesting or edible (or, perhaps, if they want to read anything I’m reading).
I know that sniffing one another’s butts is an important method of feline communication. What I haven’t figured out yet is how to explain to them that as feline-to-human communication, it’s a non-starter. It’s not that the cats are odoriferous; I use a very good odor-eating litter. And they are constantly engaged in combat washing. It’s just that it’s…so…GROSS!
Since the old LitterMaid automatic litter box stopped working, I have just purchased a new and very expensive one that is a much superior version: it does everything but lick their little butts clean when they’ve finished. This seems to have cured the crapping-on-the-rug problem, as long as I remember to top up the litter when needed and empty it in a timely manner, which works out to about every four days. I was going to get them a new water dispenser (the one they have is water-cooler style, but there’s something green growing inside), but I think I can clean the old one properly now that I’ve found my bottle brush, so they can still have fresh water. I give them filtered water, the kind I drink myself. They are getting so spoiled that last Cat Food Night they left half the Choice Ocean Fish in their dishes. And they hadn’t had any gourmet moist food for a while, as I’d cancelled the previous Cat Food Night because of the wickedness of Sethra. I can only conclude that they’d filled up on kibble just before dinner. Just like kids.
They are very strange about food. They will start yowling when I get out a can of chicken or tuna for myself even before it’s open; can they read the labels? (It’s not just the can-opener Pavlovian thing, either, as they aren’t fed canned food but foil-packet food.) Yet last night, when I fixed chicken and noodles with mushrooms, I put down the empty chicken can with quite a bit of licking-worthy remnants in it, and they couldn’t seem to find it. Or perhaps they’ve become so spoiled and arrogant that they think that I should eat THEIR leftovers!
I think that what annoys me the most is Sethra’s rudeness. She speaks to me in a bloody arrogant “I am Siamese, if you please” tone of voice that just makes me want to smack her. Tonight I watched NANNY 911, as I sometimes do when DR. PHIL is a rerun; and for only the second time, the nanny didn’t fully succeed in taming the family. (The first time, the problem was with the marriage, and the episode wound up with a marriage-counseling spin-off.) The stepfather did his best with the three young children, but it must have been really relaxing when he went off to his job as a prison guard because the environment would be so much more civilized. The mother spent her time sitting on the couch, eating junk food, and verbally abusing her kids. The woman was in total denial about her kids’ behavior and her own; in fact, I think she was psychopathic. The kids were totally out of control. The younger boy (couldn’t have been more than six or seven at most) swore at Nanny Stella, hit and kicked her, and even spat in her face. Ironically enough, in the course of the program (later on), she was the only one shown as giving the kids any affection. The father learned something from the week with the nanny, but right up to the end the woman simply refused to believe even the evidence of the recordings of her behavior and that of the kids. I really feel sorry for them. I can’t imagine the marriage lasting much longer, especially as she didn’t bother much with how she looked and her husband was a real babe. If they do split up, of course she’ll get the kids since he’s not their natural father. Tragedy in the making.
Come to think about it, I guess the cats aren’t that bad, after all. Come here, my darlings, for a group hug….
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Cat Olympics
Cat Olympics
Now that the Winter Olympics are almost upon us, I thought I’d publish the schedule for the Cat Olympics:
Opening Ceremonies: Featuring performances by Country Joe and the Fish, Cats Laughing, and the Mouseketeers
Day One: Kitten Events
Napping
Chasing string
Sleeping
Looking cute
Washing
Crashing into walls
Looking even cuter
Eating
Washing
Sleeping (marathon event)
Day Two: Adult Cat Events
Sleeping
Eating
Yowling to go outside
Yowling to come back in
Napping
Washing
Chasing each other
Washing each other
Fighting
Sleeping
Yowling to go outside
Yowling to come back in
Sleeping (marathon event)
Day Three: Adult Cat Events
Waking humans up
Washing
Eating
Yowling to go outside
Yowling to come back in
Napping
Cuddling with humans
Sleeping
Washing
Napping
Staring out window at nothing in particular
Purring (marathon event)
Eating
Washing
Sleeping
Grooming each other
Napping
Cuddling with humans
Sleeping
Closing ceremonies: Speeches by Garfield, Morris, and Miss Kitty
Now that the Winter Olympics are almost upon us, I thought I’d publish the schedule for the Cat Olympics:
Opening Ceremonies: Featuring performances by Country Joe and the Fish, Cats Laughing, and the Mouseketeers
Day One: Kitten Events
Napping
Chasing string
Sleeping
Looking cute
Washing
Crashing into walls
Looking even cuter
Eating
Washing
Sleeping (marathon event)
Day Two: Adult Cat Events
Sleeping
Eating
Yowling to go outside
Yowling to come back in
Napping
Washing
Chasing each other
Washing each other
Fighting
Sleeping
Yowling to go outside
Yowling to come back in
Sleeping (marathon event)
Day Three: Adult Cat Events
Waking humans up
Washing
Eating
Yowling to go outside
Yowling to come back in
Napping
Cuddling with humans
Sleeping
Washing
Napping
Staring out window at nothing in particular
Purring (marathon event)
Eating
Washing
Sleeping
Grooming each other
Napping
Cuddling with humans
Sleeping
Closing ceremonies: Speeches by Garfield, Morris, and Miss Kitty
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