Wide-Angle Cats

O, rejoice! ye who crave cat photos. I have heard your prayers, and I will provide. Am I not good?

Yes, the sun shone this morning, and its warmth lured me outdoors. With the cats. And the camera. And a wide-angle lens. Simon was none too happy, I’m afraid. After about ten minutes of me shoving the lens in his face (you’ve got to get really close with a wide-angle lens, otherwise you don’t get the photos you want), he started giving me warning yowls. I left him alone and photographed flowers for a while instead.

Nemo, as a Siamese, is restless. It’s difficult to get a photograph of him because he rarely stops moving. However, he did pause for a few moments today to soak up the sun:

Simon, too, is difficult to photograph. He’ll sit still, sure, but not if somebody’s paying attention to him. And pointing a camera at him counts as “paying attention”, which means it’s time to go get some lovin’…

Toto, on the other hand, is happy to sit still. Too bad she’s not photogenic. In her first photo, she looks almost sweet. Almost.

In the second photo, she demonstrates two important photographic principles. First, depth-of-field is influenced by both your distance to the subject and your choice of focal length. Second, film (and, in this case, a digital camera CCD) has a limited dynamic range: photographing a black cat in bright sunlight is never going to work because the camera just can’t capture the range of light.

I took more photos than this, obviously. You can find a few others on my Flickr page.

Kentucky Fried Kitten

On the way to pick up dinner tonight, I came up with a brilliant business idea. Kris thinks it’s doomed to failure, but I don’t know. What do you think?

Here’s the concept: Kentucky Fried Kitten, just like Kentucky Fried Chicken (which was where I was headed to pick up dinner), but with kittens. And better!

Imagine your typical fast food restaurant, but with a special glassed-in cage area in which hundreds of kittens romp and play. While the parents are ordering food, their brood can paw at the glass wall, admiring the furry little scamps inside. “Which one do you like, Johnny?” asks Mom, and Johnny points to a little calico in the corner. A smiling teenager grabs the calico kitten, gives a wave, and vanishes to the kitchen.

A few minutes later: voila! Dinner is served. Deep-fried kitten. Crisp and juicy. Crazy delicious.

Heads not included. This is just to illustrate the idea.

Some other key ideas regarding this exciting business opportunity:

BYOC! Customers will get a discount if they bring in their own cat.
A number of delicious dipping sauces will be available, from standards like honey mustard and barbeque, to more exotic flavors like spicy thai and yellow curry.
Customers can create a wide variety of combo meals, with popular sides such as mashed potatoes and cole slaw, and new favorites like goldfish crackers. Also, customers will be able to opt for white-meat only meals for a nominal surcharge.
Toys with the meals? No way! Each child gets to keep the skin of the kitten she eats. While the meat is coated in a mixture of secret seasonings and then dunked in bubbling vegetable oil, a specially trained employee is mounting the kitten’s skin for the customer to take home. Johnny’s little calico is a treasure for years to come.
Think of the low overhead. The Humane Society is always whining about how there are too many kittens. KFK takes care of that problem and provides delicious, nutritious meals in the process. (It may even be possible to charge the Humane Society for taking the kittens of their hands!) This is a meal that even Bob Barker would be proud to eat.
This is an opportunity for people to have closer contact with the food they eat. You always hear people preaching the importance of this, but do you ever see it put into practice? Now you will!

As you can see, this is a revolutionary concept, and the franchise opportunities are endless (as are the potential profits). I need to do some more brainstorming — you can help — before I move on to a business plan, but I think we’re close to a go here. I’m thinking of brining in Ken Lay as CEO.

Kentucky Fried Kitten: coming soon to a street corner near you.

Mmmmm…Finger-lickin’ good!

Introduction to Our Cats

I often mention our cats in this weblog, and I assume that most of you know their names and personalities. Obviously, given the nature of the internet, this is not a safe assumption. Therefore, this entry will serve as an introduction to the feline residents of Rosings Park.

TOTO
Toto is black: black of fur and black of heart. She has earned a reputation as being one of the bitchiest cats alive, but in actuality, she’s rather sweet. Too sweet. She keeps Kris awake at night, demanding love and attention. She will purr and then gently paw Kris’ chin until she gets the scritching she feels she deserves. Toto used to love outside, but now she’s mostly housebound. She’s getting old. Whereas she used to run and play and leap around, mostly she sleeps on the bed.

Perhaps you remember the entry in which I am interviewed by Toto the cat?

Name: Toto
Other Names: Princess, Bloato, Girly-Girl
Birthdate: 03 May 1994
Color: Black with a very few white hairs
Meow: A sort of whiny squawk or cackle, even when she’s happy.
Stature: Small and stocky. Toto is dense. Her body is far too big for her tiny head.
Nature: Loving, but particular. Often wants all of your attention, but she only wants it her way. A famous hisser and scratcher.
Intelligence: Toto is the smartest cat I have ever known. When she was young, we taught her several tricks. She loved to fetch, for example. She’s always come when called. She understands the concept of doorknobs, though much to her consternation, she lacks an opposable thumb.
Petting rules: Only pet her shoulder or head unless she is purring, in which case you may pet any part of her body (until she suddenly stops purring and hisses and scratches).
Favorite People: Dad, Mom (but only when Mom is asleep), Auntie Tiff, Auntie Aimee.
Mortal Enemies: Nemo, Auntie Pam
Favorite Food: Pork products! Tuna! Starches! (Toto has been known to eat baked potato skins, dinner rolls, and she’s especially fond of bagels with cream cheese.)
Favorite Phrase: “I hate you.”
Hunting Prowess: Toto used to be a wily hunter. When we lived in Canby, she was death to goldfinches. She often brought the birds into the house to show them to us. In one notable case, I was watching the summer Olympics while eating a bowl of hot soup. Unbeknownst to me, Toto brought in a bird and released it: it flew from her mouth, startling me so that I spilled hot soup on my lap. Toto leaped around after the bird, which was flying into ceiling, bumping it repeatedly, leaving bloodstains that remained even when we sold the house last year. Toto’s prowess has declined since her mysterious illness fifteen months ago. (She’s really become old and feeble, losing much of her grace and balance.)

SIMON
Simon is a big lug. He’s a very attractive fellow, and he knows it, often posing for photographs. He’s surprisingly tolerant of children: he will let them rush up to him and rub him all over. Weekends are his favorites because he’s allowed to stay outside almost all day. And any day in which he’s been allowed outside, he’s a much sweeter cat in the evening. Simon doesn’t play much, but when he does, he torments his little brother mercilessly.

Simon wrote the weblog entry The Blood of a Squirrel.

Name: Simon Albert Gates
Other Names: Fatso, Big Guy, Big Goof, Gordo, Diplodicus
Birthdate: 02 August 2001 (the day that Tintin died)
Color: Brownish with grey stripes
Meow: A pitiful Mike Tyson-esque mew unworthy of his size and stature.
Stature: Enormous. Friends often say things like, “That cat is huge!” Yesterday Lisa said, “Simon is massive!” He’s not particularly heavy, but he’s long and stout and has huge paws. He looks dangerous.
Nature: Aloof, but friendly. Simon often likes to be near people, but he doesn’t really want to be touched. It is only in the past few months that he’s begun sleeping on the bed with us. Over the past couple of weeks, he’s become quite fond of sitting on the bath mat while I soak.
Intelligence: Simon is not particularly bright. In fact, he’s rather dull.
Petting rules: You must let him smell your hand first. Most likely he will move away, but he may deign to allow you to pet his head and back. Do not pet hard or long for fear of provoking his ire.
Favorite People: Mom, Uncle Jeff. Sometimes Dad.
Mortal Enemies: Flash (the neighborhood cat, with whom Simon frequently engages in Mind Games)
Favorite Food: The dregs of your breakfast cereal, especially the sweetened milk.
Favorite Phrase: “Whatever!” Also: “Outside?”
Hunting Prowess: Simon is strong and fast, but not particularly bright. If an animal is distracted, it is doomed because Simon will reach it and overpower it quickly. If an animal is aware of Simon’s presence, he’s never going to outsmart it. He seems to think that he’s going to score by sitting underneath the bird feeders, but he never does.

NEMO
Let’s be clear about one thing: Nemo is not named for the fish. Nemo is named for a century-old comic strip character. Nemo is a bundle of energy, willing to play with whatever there is to play with. He looks up to Simon, and likes to wrestle with him whenever possible. Nemo also likes to play with the red stuffed cat (Red Cat) that sits on the dresser in the bedroom; he’ll jump up and throw the thing to the floor before attacking it.

Name: Nemo
Other Names: Neamster, Little Guy, Little Goof, Squeaky
Birthdate: 09 June 2003
Color: Typical seal-point Siamese
Meow: A plaintive squeak.
Stature: Thin and wiry. Squirmy. Nemo is medium-sized, but looks long and thin.
Nature: Nemo is Siamese. This means that he is always in motion, and not a little bit psycho. It’s difficult to get him to sit still for anything. He paces about, squeaking. He sits down for ten seconds, then gets up and moves two feet to a new spot. Nemo is very sweet, and fond of the entire family, though he loves to provoke Toto (who hates him).
Intelligence: Nemo is relatively smart, though he often lacks the patience to pursue more difficult tasks. (For example, he doesn’t understand doorknobs as Toto does; he doesn’t have the patience to play with them.)
Petting rules: If he’s in the mood to be petted, you may pet him as much as you want wherever you want. If he’s not in the mood to be petted, he won’t sit still, so it’s a lost cause.
Favorite People: Mom. Sometimes Dad. Anyone who will open the door for him.
Mortal Enemies: Walnut (the squirrel who lives in the tree just outside the front door)
Favorite Food: None. He never seems to eat.
Favorite Phrase: “I’m Siamese!” (As an explanation for whatever odd thing he has just done.)
Hunting Prowess: Inept. Nemo is the laughingstock of the neighborhood birds and animals. He has made a couple of kills over the past eighteen months, but I’m not sure how. Normally he makes blind charges that miss by a mile. The squirrels, in particular, love to mock him. They literally sit in the walnut tree and mock him. Once or twice a month, they lure him into the tree and then — I am not kidding — they play games in which they race up and down the tree past him, taunting him.

I told Kris the other day, “If you weren’t here to restrain me, I’d be one of those crazy cat ladies.” And I would be. I want more cats. I’m fine getting only one at a time, but I’d love to add a new cat to the household every year. Of course, this would only push Toto completely over the edge into insanity, and she would be hissing constantly. As it is, I’m patiently waiting for my little black daughter to die so that I may replace her with a new feline. Or two.

Helpless

Simon is sick or hurt, and his inability to communicate his ailment is tearing me apart.

Parents talk about how frustrating it is, how heartbreaking it is, to not be able to help an ailing infant, and I want to tell them, “It’s the same way with cats,” but I never do. They wouldn’t understand. They’d think I’m trivializing their child’s problems, when actually I’m sympathizing with them.

Simon seemed fine Sunday morning, but by mid-afternoon something was wrong. He was sitting on the porch, on a bench, and I could tell merely from looking that he was unhappy. I went outside to pet him, and he didn’t move. He didn’t say a thing. I picked him up and he whimpered a sad little kitty whimper. (Or, in his case, a sad BIG kitty whimper.)

I carried him inside and put him on his chair. He stayed there all evening, never moving. When we went to console him, he growl/whimpered at us. He wouldn’t take food. He wouldn’t take water. He did get up at one point to use the litter box, which was something of a relief. Several years ago, he had a urinary tract infection, and I was afraid that had returned. I’m pleased to report that he pissed long and strong, just like a horse. But then he went back to his chair without stopping for a snack.

This morning, he was either better or worse, I cannot tell. He didn’t whimper when I stroked him, but just sat there, a dull expression on his face.

Poor Simon.

I don’t know what is the matter. He is not limping, but it almost seems like he’s sore when I touch certain parts of his body. Was he bitten by something? Did he get stung? Did somebody kick him? Is he sick?

If only cats could speak.

Too Much Cat

I’ve been meaning to do an all-cat post, but haven’t got around to it. A post on boingboing today has spurred me to action. Here is all the goofy cat stuff I’ve ever found, collected in one place. Enjoy. (Or not.) There are three funny cat movies at the end of this post.

(Note: some of these may be experiencing heavy traffic today due to the boingboing link. You may need to check back later. Also, my favorites on this page are marked with a bold asterisk *.)

From the boingboing post:
Kitty cat dance
Caution: cat vomit
Animal reviews: cat
My cat’s football picks
*Screen cleaning kitten

How to give your cat a pill
Cat yoga
Cat buckaroo
Miyahi
Stack the cats
*Kitten bounce
Kitten attack

*Pinky the cat
Aroma of brains
Cat drummer
Steptoe kittens
I’ve snorted a kitten
Piruleta
Badly drawn cats
*kitten war

Previously in the flotch:
Tips on spinning cat hair
The silly sleeping pose olympics
*The thumb-sized heart of TK the cat
*Cat vs. dog: to the victor go the snacks
Mapping the cat brain
Are cats for true Christians?
Juvenile felis catus
Amazing cat photo collection

The further adventures of Scrooge the cat
Can cats get high from eating frogs?
*Abbie the cat has a posse
List of fictional cats
I gave my cat an enema
How to toilet-train your cat
My cat Annie
The Litterbox Cat Band

Previous foldedspace entries about cats (only the best ones):
*CatFilter, a collection of all the cat-related questions from AskMetafilter
*I am interviewed by Toto the Cat, in which I am interviewed by Toto the cat
*The blood of a squirrel, in which Simon catches a squirrel and Nemo is jealous
Cat pictures, in which I photograph the cats
Weekend at Rosings Park, in which I photograph the cats again

Cats and dogs, in which I write about other webloggers’ pets
Simon Grey, in which I post photos of Simon
*How 2 cach a burd by toto gates, in which Toto describes her unstoppable bird-catching technique
Prize-winning cat, in which a photo of Simon does well at the county fair
Tintin is dying, in which the Best Cat Ever is diagnosed with just a few months to live
Satchel is dead, in which Tintin’s replacement lasts only six months

And, finally, I’m hosting three cat movies:
Spacecat — a cat in a weightless environment; poor thing
Teasing cat — one of Nick’s all-time favorite downloads; he watches this over-and-over, laughing the whole time
Funny cats — a “funniest home videos” compilation that I watch over-and-over, laughing the whole time

You gotta love cat movies.

If you know of more cat stuff, let me know. I’ll post it here.

From Denise:

Pre-Crash Comments

On 18 May 2005 (04:54 PM),
Lane said:

www.shopcat.com

This is a site run by my cousin. She and her husband, when travelling, take pictures of cats that live/work in various stores. My cat, at a much skinnier age, is the sponsor of the Page of Silliness.

On 18 May 2005 (09:06 PM),
Genie said:

Really wonderful pictures- and funny too!!!

On 19 May 2005 (09:01 AM),
Amanda said:

Fun, fun, fun!

(although the humping pictures kinda skeeve me)

On 19 May 2005 (10:21 AM),
jenefer said:

What is skeeve? How do you conjugate that verb?

On 19 May 2005 (12:56 PM),
Amanda said:

‘Skeeve’ is the plural of the more commonly used ‘skeeves,’ as in, “That lecherous old man staring at me really skeeves me out.”

This is what dictionary.com had to say about the root form of the word, skeevy:

1 entry found for skeevy.
Main Entry: skeevy
Part of Speech: adjective
Definition: disgusting or distasteful; nasty, sleazy
Example: Wal-mart is a skeevy operation.
Etymology: from Italian schifo ‘disgust’
Usage: US

The best part of that definition, by far? The example. I can’t stop laughing.

On 23 May 2005 (12:16 PM),
Amanda said:

P.S. Lindsay Lohan used the term “skeeved out” on SNL Saturday.

P.P.S. Not that I think anything to do with the Hohan might even remotely prove my point.

Cat Pictures

Today this space features photos of my cats. Isn’t that what weblogs are all about?

I think the cats loved this unseasonable February even more than Kris and I did. Simon, especially. He took every opportunity to lounge about the yard, to hide in the bushes, to chase birds and squirrels, and to climb his tree.

I think that, left to his own devices, Simon could perch in this tree for hours. There’s so much to see. Like the woman walking her dog down the street.

Dogs are scary.

Of course, Nemo likes attention, too. Unfortunately, I still haven’t got the hang of the new digital camera, so when I’m trying to capture action in low light with an unfamiliar camera I get blurry shots.

Although Nemo craves affection, he’s a lot more fidgety than Simon. He won’t sit still. This makes him difficult to photoraph.

Simon likes to sit in the tree, but he loves my workshop more. When I’m out there, he often scratches on the door until I let him in. He then lounges around the shop, exploring the dark corners, until he decides that he needs attention, at which point he becomes Mr. Super Affectionate (which is strange, because he’s not all that affectionate otherwise).

On Sunday, I left the workshop door open while I carried things to-and-fro. Simon decided that, despite the sunny day, and despite the attractive tree limbs, he’d rather spend his time inside the workshop, sitting on Joel’s old desk, watching the birds through the window.

Goofy cat.

Nick, giving tremendously practical advice: “Cats are worthless! Get a dog — you could train it to hunt pythons.”

Comments

On 01 March 2005 (08:35 PM),
Jethro said:

Good old Gordo. He’s still the best cat ever, even with a goofy name like Simon. :-)

On 02 March 2005 (05:25 PM),
jenefer said:

Am I losing my mind? Or were there more pictures yesterday?

On 02 March 2005 (08:03 PM),
tammy said:

Nope there were more pictures yesterday. He had more of the cat in the window.

On 02 March 2005 (08:05 PM),
J.D. said:

I’m practicing my editing techniques, particularly my photo editing techniques, as suggested by the link in the flotchbar…

On 02 March 2005 (08:31 PM),
Joel said:

Ooooh, Oregon looks so warm and green… hold on warm snap! We’re a-comin’!

On 03 March 2005 (11:57 AM),
Amanda said:

Yay! More kitty posts!!!

On 03 March 2005 (12:30 PM),
Tiffany said:

What, no photos of Toto?

The Blood of a Squirrel

Greetings it is I Simon. Mom and Dad are gone to Andrew and Courtney’s to celebrate the impending birth of their new kitten. If you ask me, Mom and Dad’s friends have too many kittens; I would be happy to suggest a surgical procedure to prevent so many damn kittens.

It is the Week End, and I like that. The Week End means Mom and Dad will be home all day and they will feed us lots because they get tired of listening to Sister Toto whine. (When they are gone they cannot hear Sister whine — only Brother Nemo and I can — so they cannot feed her. Nemo and I have plans to eliminate this problem, but so far the opportunity has not presented itself. Toto does not go near the road often enough.)

On Week Ends, Mom lets us outside early in the morning. We play outside all day and we lounge in the sun and we watch the birds and the bugs and the squirrels and the cars and the dogs and the cats and we drink from the birdbaths and we dig in the garden and we loaf on the porch and we even sometimes help Mom and Dad in the yard.

Today I helped Dad plant the Apple Tree. And after he had finished, I helped him erect the Grape Trellis. As we were working, that goddamned Flash came round. Flash is a neighborhood cat — he has no Mom and Dad, he is an orphan — and he has not had a certain surgical procedure. Worse, he is big and orange and ugly. I do not like that Flash.

While Dad dug in the dirt, Flash and I had a disagreement. We always have disagreements. We yowl and growl and whine at each other. I lower my head and he raises his. One time, Flash stood on his hind legs and swayed back and forth. He looked like an idiot. Was that supposed to be scary? All the time when we argue, we end up butting heads. We get closer and closer, yowling louder and louder, until we are standing forehead to forehead, rubbing whiskers. Dad thinks we look funny, but he does not know that this is a battle of Minds. As much as I hate him, I must admit Flash is strong. He is a worthy opponent. He often wins these battles, and I hate him for it.

Later, Aunt Rhonda stopped by to talk with Mom and Dad in the garden. They chatted under the walnut tree while I sat at the end of the walk, watching them. While they chatted, Walnut, in a brazen move, came down the tree, with a nut in his mouth, and watched. He skittered down the tree to the ground. I was keenly interested, but I made no move. I watched Walnut. I observed.

“Simon,” said Dad. “Look! Walnut’s on the ground.” But I made no reply. Does the man think that I am an idiot? Walnut darted down the sidewalk in little bursts. I stood and eased my way toward him, testing his reflexes. His reflexes were quite good, actually, and he immediately climbed the filbert and then leaped across to the branches of his home tree.

I walked over and rubbed against Mom’s legs. I gave Dad a look to tell him that he is an idiot, because he is.

I hid in the bushes. Mom and Dad continued working in the yard. Dad went into the house to help the Heater Man carry the old heater out to the garage.

Just then, I noticed that Walnut had crossed the lawn to visit his little squirrel buddy, Cedar. They were clinging to the base of the cedar tree, chattering. Nemo crept up beside me.

“Do you see the squirrels?” he asked. “I’ve been trying to catch that damned Walnut for weeks. Remember how I got stuck in his tree once? And remember how I climbed the tree in the neighbor’s yard and got stuck there? Walnut escaped me by racing across the power line back to his tree. Stupid squirrel. And remember how one night I got stuck on the roof of the garage? I was chasing Walnut and Acorn then.”

Nemo’s a good kid, but he’s a little inept. All energy and no brains. “Watch,” I told him, and I began to slink across the lawn. Walnut and Cedar were chattering to each other still, still clinging to the base of the Cedar.

Dad and the Heater Man came out of the house and they dropped the old Heater on the steps, creating a tremendous racket. It startled me. It startled the squirrels. I thought my game was up, but the squirrels looked past me, at Dad and the Heater Man. They didn’t even see me!

And then I took the risk. I charged those little rodents and I flew into the air and I grabbed Walnut with my claws and I sunk my teeth into his chest I squeezed and he flailed and he flailed and he squeaked and Cedar came lower on the tree and he scolded me and Nemo flew across the lawn to my side saying “Let me taste! Let me taste!” and Dad began to yell “Simon! Simon! Simon!” and in my mouth was the blood of a squirrel and it was delicious and then the Heater Man came roaring across the lawn yelling “Simon! Simon!” and Nemo said “I want to taste the blood of a squirrel” and enough is enough so I raced across the yard to my spot beneath the holly and while Mom and Dad and the Heater Man ran around yelling “Simon! Simon!” and Walnut flailed and squeaked — weaker now, much weaker — I sat beneath the tree with the blood of a squirrel on my tongue.

Nemo came and sat with me. His eyes blazed with envy. “I want to taste the blood of a squirrel,” he said, but I pretended I did not hear. I held Walnut tight in my jaws, and when I was sure he was dead, I dropped him and walked into the house.

Stupid Mom and Dad. Now they’re outside looking for the squirrel and why? There are more here: Cedar and Acorn and Locust and Holly and all the others. And there are more in the neighbor’s yards. And why do they care if I have a squirrel now and then? And stupid Nemo. For three months he cannot catch a squirrel, but I catch one on my very first try.

All in all a very good day. Mom and Dad have shut me upstairs now while they go celebrate the Cronk Kitten, but I do not mind. I’ve been studying this weblog thing for months (and I even read Abbie the Cat when Dad lets me), and Toto showed me how she wrote here twice — though Lord! how abysmal is her spelling and grammar — so the only real trouble has been these miserable paws. How I long for opposable thumbs!

Now if only I could catch Flash by the abdomen and squeeze. I would like to taste his blood someday.

(I dedicate this entry to Nine Miron.)

Comments

On 02 October 2004 (07:54 PM),
Ruby said:

I want to munch on an SQ too! I’m fast as lightening. I’ve been told others like me can run as fast as 35 miles per hour. Alas, I have not caught an SQ. My people are very strict about chasing SQs. They are no fun. Someday . . .Tabor SQs beware.

On 03 October 2004 (09:32 AM),
nemo said:

ha ha it is i nemo boy is simon stupid because he came out from the bushes and mom and dad caught him and shut him upstairs and they thought i was there but ha ha ha they were wrong i was in the bushes and i saw where simon hid the squirrel and when they had gone to uncle andrew’s house i knew where to find walnut and find him i did i took him out on the lawn and ha ha simon ha ha it was i who got the blood of a squirrel it was i who got the blood of a squirrel while you were locked upstairs with stupid hissy sister and it was i who chewed off his head and it was i who tore off his tail and it was i who munched his guts ha ha ha it was i it was i it was i boy you are so stupid simon i hope you feel dumb because that is how i catch a squirrel now i let you do all the work and i eat it ha ha ha

On 03 October 2004 (03:47 PM),
J.D. said:

Rosings Park is oddly silent today. There is no chatter of squirrels. It’s as if they’ve all agreed to observe a day of mourning for their most vocal member, now deceased.

As I was mowing today, I found Walnut’s remains. His head was missing, but his fur, and claws, and tail were stretched out on the lawn (where now they are dessicating). Some cat — Nemo, if he is to be believed — had feasted on Walnuts’ better parts.

Kris and I are sad. It was fun to wake up to Walnut’s squawking. We’re hoping that a new squirrel will move in and take over his roost.

On 03 October 2004 (04:36 PM),
Tiffany said:

Is this the same squirrel that threw nuts at you as you walked under the tree?

On 04 October 2004 (08:51 AM),
Tabby said:

I must admit my jealousy as I am old and suffer from arthritis. Mostly, I just watch the stupid squirrels out the window while lying on the heating pad on the bed. If I venture outside to watch them, they mock me endlessly knowing that I am unable to pursue them. Bastards.

On 04 October 2004 (09:02 AM),
Nine said:

I have been taken to a very cold place.

On 04 October 2004 (09:03 AM),
Skittle said:

What are squirrels?

On 04 October 2004 (09:03 AM),
Sampson said:

Never mind Skittle, she’s my stupid sister. She’s really cute but kind of kookie.

On 04 October 2004 (10:33 AM),
Rex said:

Dogs eat little kitties for lunch. Yum yum. Let them out in the yard. Yes, let them play. Woof woof.

On 04 October 2004 (11:33 AM),
Skittle said:

Yeah, well Sampson is just a nerdy affection hogger with an oversized head.
Who cares if he can fetch anyhow?
Can you say doot do do do doot do do?
(music to the Sampson dance)
I’m not kookie, I’m just a little ADD…
I’m going back to my nap now…

I Am Interviewed By Toto The Cat

Toto: So let’s talk about the food situation.
J.D.: What food situation?
T: I’m hungry.
J: I just fed you.
T: Right. You fed me one-third of a cup of special diet food meant for my grey brother. I HATE YOU.
J: Wait — I feed you that three times a day. The vet says that’s all you need.
T: Right. The vet sticks a thermometer up my ass, too. I hate him. Like I believe a word he says. You used to feed me a cup of dry food — that delicious Friskies seafood flavor — and a quarter can of Friskies wet food. TWICE A DAY. Is this ringing any bells?
J: Yes, but…
T: I HATE YOU. Oh, how I long to eat ocean white fish with tuna again.
J: You haven’t been throwing up as much lately, have you?
T: Come again?
J: Since we changed to the new food, you’ve stopped throwing up after eating. That was gross.
T: LIES! I never did that.
J: Yes you did. Every night I’d hear your huck huck huck squish as you vomited your food. I used to step in it in the morning. That was gross.
T: Er, I was just pre-digesting. I liked to save it for later.
J: It was gross.
T: Moving on. So, what’s with all the boxes around the house? And what’s happened to all the scratching posts? And why isn’t anything where it used to be. Last night I went to pull books off the bookshelf and there weren’t any there. You? In a house without books? Something’s up…
J: We’re moving.
T: What?
J: We’re moving to a new house. All those boxes you see are filled with books. Nearly fifty boxes filled with books. Remember when we moved before? It was ten years ago — you were just a kitten. We had just brought you home to the apartment. Then we moved. You and Tintin spent the better part of a day huddled together, hiding in the bottom of the bathroom cabinet.
T: LIES! I have always lived here. And I’ve never hidden from anything.
J: Except the vacuum cleaner. And bananas.
T: What!?
J: Nothing.
T: Will there be more food at this new house?
J: Well, no. Just lots of roses and trees and birds and —
T: Birds!? Birds are food!
J: Uh…

T: How exactly are we going to get to the new house?
J: Well, we’ll probably put you in a cat carrier and drive you —
T: Unfair to cats! Unfair to cats!
J: Calm down. Do you want to walk the whole way?
T: I don’t want to move at all. Why don’t you just leave me here. Next on the agenda: what’s with locking me away at night lately?
J: You keep growling at Nemo.
T: Who’s Nemo?
J: Your little brother.
T: Oh, the little cat. Right. I hate him.
J: Yes, well, when you growl at him all night long, we can’t sleep. Last night you woke me from the middle of a dream.
T: Do tell. What were you dreaming about? Food?
J: No. Uh…I dreamt that I was Simon, and that I was in a fight with a chicken, and that I was losing that fight.
T: HAHAHHAHAHAHAHA. You are so stupid.
J: I could lock you away right now, you know.
T: I HATE YOU.
J: You hate everybody.
T: That’s not true. I like mom. And Auntie Tiff. And Auntie Aimee.
J: Oh. I see.
T: I only hate you. And Auntie Pam. Let’s talk about the little cat. Why does he have to be here? Here’s an idea to stop the growling: instead of locking me up at night, why not get rid of the little cat? I’ll help.
J: We like Nemo.

T: He looks like a monkey.
J: Well, that’s true. But he’s affectionate, and playful, and talkative.
T: I’m all of those things.
J: Well, sort of, but you’re mean, too. And besides, you should just give him a chance. You used to growl at Simon all the time, too, until Nemo came along. Now you get along fine with Simon and you growl at Nemo. Nemo’s not that bad. He’d love to play with you if you’d let him.
T: Yes, I’ll play with him. IN THE STREET.
J: Be nice.
T: Or maybe he’d like to play in the microwave. How about this? I was talking with Boss Spurge [ed.: the neighbor cat, the head cat in the neighborhood] the other day. He tells me that I’m named after a dog.
J: Yes, that’s true.
T: I HATE YOU.
J: Well, Ididn’t name you. Your beloved Auntie Tiff gave you that name.
T: LIES.
J: It’s true! Tintin was sort of named for a dog, too.
T: Tintin?
J: Your white brother.

T: Whatever happened to him, anyway?
J: Tintin?
T: My white brother.
J: Er, he was old. He got diabetes and died.
T: He what?
J: Died.
T: I don’t understand.
J: Never mind. Anyhow, he was named for a dog, too. Sort of. We actually wanted to call him Snowy, which is the name of a comic strip dog. But your mom and I thought Snowy was a stupid name, so we called him Tintin instead. Which is the name of Snowy’s master.
T: Master?
J: Er, his dad.
T: Careful with the speciesist talk…
J: Sorry.
T: Let’s talk about the food situation.

Comments

On 08 June 2004 (04:02 PM),
Joel said:

You were right, this is hilarious.

On 08 June 2004 (09:22 PM),
Betsy said:

I’m not the biggest cat fan in the world – but I LOVED this!

On 08 June 2004 (10:24 PM),
tammy said:

I tooo hate cats but I have to admit that was quite entertaining. Jd, have you ever counted all your books? Do you have any idea how many you have? And do you remember I still have she’s Come Undone? I loved it. Help me remmember to give it to you nect time I see you.

On 08 June 2004 (10:35 PM),
Schmela said:

Cats have such spectacular personalities. Here is a photo of our hissy but lovable cat. She would like to talk strategy with Toto on the food issue. She has similar complaints.

On 09 June 2004 (06:28 AM),
Anthony said:

That’s a good story. And it certainly captures the essence of a cat’s personality. I really doubt the motives of even affectionate cats. I think they are just better at the art of manipulation.

On 09 June 2004 (07:00 AM),
Amanda said:

Best. entry. ever. More cat posts!

On 09 June 2004 (09:07 AM),
Courtney said:

Hilarious!!! Thanks for the laughs! :)

On 09 June 2004 (09:43 AM),
Auntie Pam said:

I agree with Toto – leave her at your current house!

On 09 June 2004 (10:40 AM),
Anthony said:

Yeh. Toto’s a jerk. But Nemo looks like he could grow up to be a monkey-faced manipulator. Be very careful.

On 09 June 2004 (11:49 AM),
Lynn said:

I had to move my cat a few times and she hated it. I did find that she adjusted better if I made sure to have my stuff (furniture,etc) in the new place when I brought her over. At least some of the things were familiar to her.

Once they get used to things, I’ll bet Toto and Nemo will have a blast exploring that house and yard!

On 10 June 2004 (09:22 AM),
Joel said:

Ah, I see now that the second picture features the dear departed Satchel in the background. Smart money says that Toto’s bird is actually Satchel’s catch.

On 10 June 2004 (11:03 AM),
Tiffany said:

Did I really name Toto? FunnY I had forgotten about that.

On 09 September 2005 (03:28 PM),
Martha said:

My curmudgeon black cat’s name is Murphy, and he looks just like Toto! He came with the house we bought. Four years later, we were going to move. A few days before my daughter and I moved across town, he hopped up in a chair as we sat at the dining table. I figured that was as good a time as any to formally announce that we were moving to an apartment house with lots of other inside/outside cats. He responded by disappearing for three days!

Sunny Sunday

On a sunny Sunday afternoon in March, the world is both dulcet and abuzz with activity.

Simon, sprawled on the couch, represents the former:

Outside, Nemo represents the latter. He darts hither and yon, pouncing on unsuspecting insects. No gnat is safe. It’s only through great perseverance that I can get him to pause even for a moment in order to snap this shot:

I’m sprawled on the warm grass. Kris is on the patio reading a book.

The world is quiet.

Or is it? There’s a constant low buzzing hum emanating from the cherry tree:

It only takes a moment to realize that the tree is aswarm with honey bees busily collecting pollen:

[photo of a bee gathering pollen from a cherry blossom]

One of the bees mistakenly flies into the house, panicking Toto (who hates all things that buzz). Kris tries to coax it outside, but in the end she has to smush it.

We have book group here tonight. It’s tempting to cancel it on account of good weather…

Comments

On 21 March 2004 (04:15 PM),
stacy said:

Beautiful animals.

Cats That Won’t Stop

“There are some cats that just won’t stop.” — Kris, about Nemo the spazzkitten

The cat situation remains unaltered. Three cats are much more work than two cats.

To summarize: Simon loves Nemo, and thinks of him as a little brother, or a personal chew-toy. Nemo loves Simon and thinks of him as a big brother, or a big fluffy tackling dummy. They play together often. They’ve even begun to sleep together. A little bit. Until Simon notices Nemo is in his space and leaves.

Toto hates them both. Toto hates everyone. Except me.

At seemingly random moments, Toto will begin to growl at one, or both, of her brothers, and may even get up and stalk the evil intruder from room to room. When she stalks Nemo, Nemo mostly ignores her. When she stalks Simon, Simon gets a thrill from it, and in turn tries to provoke her into a fight.

Nemo likes to sleep on the bed with us. Unfortunately, Toto likes to sleep on the bed with us, too, and that’s always been her spot. Her growling and hissing prevents us from getting good sleep, so we often shut her in the back room.

Nemo’s great. He’s affectionate, playful, and smart. He’s the heart of the family.

Simon’s fat.

Toto’s a bitch.

I love all three of them.

Comments

On 04 November 2003 (08:18 AM),
Tiffany said:

Since you are sharing cat stories�last night Gaz (the kitten) spent 3 hours fetching mouse toys. You might think no cat will fetch for 3 hours, but it is true. Normally, the fetching does not last that long because three of the four cats fetch and run over each other. This distracts them and they end up chasing each other instead of the toys. This time the other three cats were sleeping on the bed, so, Gaz had me all to herself.

On 04 November 2003 (08:56 AM),
Lynn said:

Tabby has arthritis in one of her knees, therefore, she does not involve herself in any play activities that require more than upper body movement. When it gets cold like this, ole arthur rears his ugly head. She prefers to cuddle up on a heating pad or sleep an 18 hour marathon on the flannel sheets.

On 04 November 2003 (11:39 AM),
Tammy said:

Bang Bang!

Oops methinks poor kitty dead!

On 04 November 2003 (05:50 PM),
Mom (Sue) said:

Toto likes me, too — except if I try to pet her while she’s eating. -G-

Silver just ran out into the cold. Pretty soon he’ll be jumping up on the back door and hanging by his claws, looking in, letting me know he wants back in the house. On these cold nights, both he and Chester have climbed up on me early as I’ve been reclining in my recliner, reading, and have curled up cozily until I have moved them out of the way while I got up and got ready for bed. It’s neat the way they get along as they both lay on top of me (although they don’t get along so well when I’m getting them their cat food) — so different than Kraft used to be with Chester, and that’s the only thing I don’t miss about him: his attacking Chester in the evenings while Chester was reclining on my lap. Stevie is happy to stay inside all day and sometimes jumps up on my computer desk or onto my lap while I’m in the recliner. She stays pretty aloof from the other two, though, and won’t get near my lap if another cat is on it.

To me, there’s nothing that feels quite as cozy as a cat or cats on you. And I love all three of mine, too! :-)