Food Fight

My thoughts are once again being carefully transcribed by my faithful human tonight, as I lie comfortable and safe, curled on my blankets, composing this post for your reading pleasure. We had a delightful day here, with minimal fuss and bother. Max and Cuddles were tolerably indifferent to me for the better part of the day, allowing me ample space to achieve my safety zone with minimal hissing and raising of paws and deploying of claws. Then again, I did not park myself in the cupboard under the kitchen sink and block the food bowl all day, as I sometimes do, when I fall asleep after eating. For who has not fallen asleep after a meal, and who can blame me? When I lie in the cupboard next to the Friskies, the sibs pace back and forth mewing frantically for the humans to do something about me, which they can’t, because I’m really wedged in tight under the sink, and I’m so big, and heavy, and just plain chubby, they don’t even try. They tell Max and Cuddles to be patient, but of course, they can’t be patient when they’re hungry, and then they get fussy, and start swatting each other, as though the other one were to blame for the fact I won’t come out. And I certainly won’t come out when they’re hovering about in a foul mood with their claws ready. So we reach a sort of stalemate. At this point, the humans usually try some diplomacy by opening a can of moist cat food–tuna, trout, or chicken–and put out a dish for the sibs–which Max will eat but Cuddles won’t. Then, Cuddles decides to go outside and settle this score later. She scratches at the door, and human mom lets her out. But before she leaves, she casts one last glance sharply over her shoulder as a warning. I know I’m toast when she comes back if I’m out of the safety zone. But then again, none of that happened today. It was a delightful day, with minimal fuss and bother.

Meet Max

Another fine night here at home with my humans. We had a good day, overall. The weather was cloudy, and mostly dry, but there was a brief snowburst at supper, which put the girl into a bit of a panic, because she is quite sick of the flaky stuff falling, and I have to agree with her there. It’s too cold on my feet, which I also prefer to keep quite dry. The executive female, or the person the teenage offspring call “Mom” checked the weather report for tomorrow, which predicts a cold day, with highs in the thirties, and wind. This is not suitable weather for posing in sunbeams on the front sidewalk. I do not care to be chilled, or have my orange fur ruffled. I imagine a day on my bed, curled in a ball, to best avoid bitter winds, and gloomy clouds. And the offspring will be away at school, making the house quiet for the better part of the day, and more suitable for sleep, unless the man whom they have named “Father” decides to run on his treadmill. Why do humans torture themselves so? A cat will run in pursuit of prey. There being a morsel of food at the end of the chase, there is purpose to the effort. But these people run for hours with nothing more than a newspaper to tear through. A newspaper that could be read comfortably with coffee and a jelly donut while seated at the kitchen table.

I just have to say a word about Max, the twin sibling to Cuddles, both found abandoned in a park about nine years ago when kittens, and were made a present to the girl when she was six. Max and Cuddles have never really liked me, and I know that it’s hard to adjust when a new cat moves in, so I don’t really blame them. I have my safe blanket, where they respect my personal space. But I’m a little concerned about Max tonight, who couldn’t seem to make up his mind one way or the other about inside or outside. Seems like he wanted something in the woods, but that it was also scaring him half to death. Mom kept opening the door when he mewed at it, but then he’d skitter away. Finally, he bolted out the door, across the deck, and over the stone wall. What he’s up to, I can’t imagine. He’s hard to figure out. I don’t think Max really likes outside, ever since he was a baby, abandoned and lame. I think he prefers the soft beds and pillows and blankets he sheds on all over the house. So what is drawing him out now, what power pulls Max from the comforts of the upstairs bedrooms this chilled March night, one can only imagine.

Lap It Up

Hey readers. I’m actually awake, so I thought I’d write a post to you on my blog. I never knew how much fun this could be, especially since I’ve been spending most of my life to date sleeping, and basking in sunbeams. Well, okay, I admit it, I drop my face into the Friskies bowl fairly often during the day as well. Perhaps I should really be grooming myself a bit more carefully these days instead of taking up a new hobby like writing, but who’s really looking at an old critter like me? I only post my best retouched photos on the Internet, and Max and Cuddles, the impertinent sibs, could care less if my fur stands on spiky ends in the morning. And the goats, well, I’ve never heard them complain about my tangles. But my humans have lately been muttering something or other about getting me groomed. Something that may involve clippers. I’m not sure I like this idea very much. They tried to put me in the tub once in order to bathe me. They were under the impression that I enjoyed baths. This may be because the couple that drove me here from Connecticut mentioned that I was frequently bathed by the old lady. Lies, all lies! But my new people never put me in the tub again. Humans are quick learners. They may even be intelligent. I do see signs. However, they can also be rather annoying at times. In and out of the house at all hours, banging the doors. Tramping about. Disturbing my sleep. There are two teenagers living here with me. The young man has more fur than I do on his face. Personally, I like the look. Rather leonine.

Well, big news for the day is that I actually jumped on the kitchen table at breakfast. Scared the * out of the girl who only wanted to eat her Honey Nut Cheerios in peace. But I thought I’d like some too. They forget, sometimes, that I’m still a cat. Old, yes. Arthritic, yes. Heavy, yes. I admit even that I’m fat. But when I want something, I go for it. I don’t hold back. And that was cold tasty milk in that bowl, fresh from the fridge. Well, when I was just about to dive into the bowl, the girl’s mom picked me up with a grunt and a groan, (she always makes a fuss about my size), and set me down on the floor, and they were all amazed at me, while Max, the little stinkpot, snuck up behind and got a good lick and swallow in. Well, the next time they make spaghetti and meatballs, I know the girl is going to feed me some, right from her plate, and Max can just go have a hairball over that.

Hello From Ben

I’m Ben, and no one here really knows how old I am. I outlived my last owner, a very old woman who died of old age, if anyone really dies of that. Her estate was very concerned about me, and put out all sorts of emails to find a new home. When my new family agreed to take me, the deceased woman’s son and his wife drove all the way from Connecticut to Massachusetts one dark night, with me in a small crate in their SUV. I don’t like riding in cars, light trucks, or SUVs. I don’t like that kind of motion.  It was a long, long drive. I tried to control my anxieties as best as I could, but I really didn’t even know these people. Finally, we arrived in Plainville. They pulled me out of the SUV and carried me into my new home, where I was placed on the floor of the family room. They opened the door, drank cokes, and I bolted behind the furniture, and then hobbled, (I have arthritis) up the stairs to the closet in the master bedroom, and didn’t come out of hiding for a couple of days. The new people kept calling my name, and looking for me. They had all kinds of other frightening animals in their house. Other cats. Three other cats. Dogs. Two dogs. Two big brown chocolate Labrador Retriever dogs, named Harley and Jack. I trembled in the closet. I peed, and pooped. You see, I never was trained in litter box. The new family was never informed of this fact, but they were very understanding, and simply cleaned up after me, whenever I had one of my little “activities.”

I am a sensitive cat. Max and Cuddles, the younger brother and sister cats tag team bully me sometimes. I have my safe zone, though, under the coffee table on my fleece blankets, and on the dog bed. You see, both Harley and Jack are gone now. And the other cat, Larry, after 18 years, well, he’s gone now too. But I’m still here, watching, and listening every day. I have my feet on the ground, and I feel the seismic tremors of the emotions rumbling through the family. When Julia picks me up, she is gentle, and sweet, and feeds me tidbits from her plate. I am heavy, I admit it, I am a bit overweight. But at my age, there’s not much I can do about it. My family accepts me for who I am. They let me out when I ask to go out. They let me in when I scratch at the door. I scratch at many things, actually. They don’t seem to mind too much. I chirp more than meow. It’s a unique voice. I’m proud of it. A cat is proud by nature. Every creature deserves to feel proud, secure, and safe. I enjoy writing, as do many cats, although not many admit it, pretending to sleep most of the day. I’ll let you in on my life from time to time if you care to check in here and read. “Chirp” for now.