Wednesday, February 27, 2008

A'tunneling we will go...

Like any cat, I enjoy a nice warm nap now and then. In the absence of a conveniently placed sunbeam, a cat must be creative in seeking a spot appropriate for a lengthy slumber.

One of my favourite spots is between the quilts in my human's bed. She doesn't make it very easy for me, however, and this is where my tunneling skills come into play. It takes a bit of talent to lift up the corner of one quilt and wiggle down in between them both.

Once situated, I could nap for hours. In fact, I often do. However, now and then even I will have the occasional trouble getting the right corner of a quilt up and will have to resort to whatever I can manage. Like between the sheets. For some reason this is not something my human approves of (fickle humans...) and I am often admonished when found between the sheets.

To appease my incomprehensible human, I sometimes tunnel into someone else's bed. I am often caught out at this too, though (see photo above) and am removed forcibly. I do consider the warm, soft nap to be worth it, however. And if I am clever enough (and I usually am) I can even disguise myself as a pillow and avoid detection for an even longer period of time.

I wasn't always a tunneler, I'll admit, but once my feline friend, Stetta had introduced me to the comforts of a human bed, I could not resist spending many a cold winter day in such a delightful spot.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Bath time.

For millennia, cats have cleaned themselves using only their own tongue. They would wash fastidiously until they had smooth, fluffy fur ready for stroking and loving. In fact, many cats today still use this technique for their daily ablutions.

Silly buggers.

There is a better way. My human is quite particular about my cleanliness, as well she should be. I am a bit of an explorer when it comes to dusty boxes and high shelves. I enjoy peaking into dark places and squeezing myself into small spots. The journeys that I go on often leave my shiny coat dulled by the dusts of adventure. To take my delicate tongue and run it over all of myself would surely be unpleasant. And I should not have to subject myself to such unpleasantness.

Every evening, before bed, my human finds me and carries me to the bathroom where she scrubs me down with a warm, wet washcloth. It's surprisingly soothing, though I do occasionally put up a fuss. For show, you know. It wouldn't do for my human to be thinking that I will placidly be subjected to any whim she may have. Secretly, though, I adore it. It's such a fresh, clean feeling to be washed all over so thoroughly. My tongue never having to be raked across my sullied fur. The taste of my day left on a rag rather than on my palate.

Sometimes, and this is my favourite part, she will pull out a brush and gently remove some excess fur. Kindly sparing me a hair ball or two in addition to the flavour of exploration. It feels so good to have those bristles dragged across my cheekbone that I can't help but emit a grateful purr. I'm not shy to show my delight of this particular task, for it would not pain me to have a good brushing more frequently.

Once I am all scrubbed and clean, there comes the very best part. Treats. Sure I have to give her my paw so that she can "shake it" before she hands me a delicious, crunchy, turkey flavoured morsel, but it pleases her when I do so, and I am simply happy to eat between meals.

So I urge all you cats out there reading today... do not subject yourself to the task of bathing, find a human to do it for you. After all, that's what they're for.

Friday, February 8, 2008

Cat's best friend.

Though I do have a very useful human companion, every cat of my standing requires a beast of their own species with which to commune. My human is a bit slow to understand the feline language and also (quite inexplicably) has never been interested in skittering around on the floor in the middle of the night, chasing each other up and down the stairs or wrestling. Of course, this may not be a bad thing as she is rather larger than I am and could possibly crush my delicate self.

Luckily for me (I do live a golden life, do I not?), when I was brought to this house there was a feline companion already waiting for me. Interesting that though the humans had only just learned of my existence, they had already thoughtfully obtained a playmate for me. They call her Stetta. She wasn't as thrilled to see me at first as I felt she should be, but with time and a little coaxing, she was finally won over by my irresistible charm.

She is a few years older than myself, but where other older feline companions may have rejected the floor skittering of their youth, she retained a love of such things as wrestling, chasing and paw batting (which most often dissolves into biting and more chasing) and is in fact more energetic than some cats half her age. I can only imagine that this determined retention of such tomfoolery is a tribute to her high esteem of my humble self, for there is no other reason I can see for a cat of nearly 12 years in age to still be so sporty in nature.

What, you may ask, is the secret to her youthful longevity? For this I have but one answer. Sleep. Lots and lots of sleep. Where most cats will sleep 70% or so of their lives, I would estimate that she quite probably sleeps around 85% of her life. She finds the insides of a soft warm bed and naps all day there, coming out for food, the occasional peak to see what's going on, a drink of water or two, but it's always right back to bed for her. It is only at night after the lights are out and the humans are asleep that she and I will skitter and wrestle. But she does not spend all night awake, not at all. After a good amount of running around, it's back to that soft, warm bed for her. She cuddles up to a human and continues her "fountain of youth" treatment.

I suppose I don't mind too much. I personally am a 70% sleep sort of fellow. So while I am awake at times and would like to play, she is asleep. Now, if I were incredibly bored, I could wake her up, that is always within my power. But I dare not cut her life short by interrupting the sacred sleep cycle too often.

So it is in these times of boredom, while my feline friend is napping, that I turn to my human for entertainment and affection. And it is in these instances that my human becomes most useful, and is why it is clearly necessary that I should have them both.

Saturday, February 2, 2008


There came in the mail the other day many mysterious padded envelopes. Quite shockingly, they were not addressed to me, but rather to my person, Sarah. I patiently waited for them to be opened so that I could explore the contents (someone has to watch out for the girl, after all) and was delighted to find that they had delivered to me quite a large pile of shiny and enticing objects!

I at once commenced my inspection of them (to make sure that none would be harmful or possibly deadly to my person... I still need her for food, water, cuddling and so on...) and found them to be quite suspicious and thus claimed them for my own. If some of those smaller beads and clasps were to fall into a human's irresponsible hands there is no telling just what they might choke on. Poor simpletons.

I collected the stash together into a pile, the better to watch over it all, and thoroughly examined each piece. There were red ones and pink ones and black ones and white ones. Shiny and dull, glass and stone. I particularly enjoyed the taste of the blue/green azurite.

However, for some ridiculous reason beyond any intellectual understanding, my person was not as thrilled with my plans for keeping all the shiny and colourful beads. She removed them from my watchful care and placed them in a box beyond my reach.

I was understandably offended.

Obviously whatever it is that she plans to do with this delectable assortment of goodies will not compare to how I could have used them to beautify my living space. And she is therefore not worthy of them.

But try telling a human that. Hmph.