The Gift That Keeps On Giving....

I don't pretend to understand the humans. They have habits so strange as to be beyond the conception of even unusually intelligent beings such as myself. They submerse themselves completely in water for a bath rather than using their perfectly good tongues, they use strange instruments to deliver food to their mouths rather than going the easy route and just putting their face down to the meal, and they sit for hours at a time staring at a colourful box in the corner that speaks to them in their own language.

These are not habits that a cat can understand, and certainly not ones that he can participate with. Luckily, however, there comes the odd behaviour that can be quite entertaining to a feline. One such behaviour that comes to mind is the act of "gift giving." A strange ritual that the humans engage in on a seemingly random basis.

Now naturally, when offerings in any form are brought out, one must assume that they are for me. With opposable thumbs, humans can get whatever they want whenever they want it. But felines, while a superior race, are somewhat limited in the thumb department, so occasionally we must deign to accept something from the humans. If we're lucky, this includes food, catnip, and intellectual stimulation in the form a training device that rolls quickly across the floor emitting a bell-like sound.

Strange then that my offerings would be presented to me in a paper bag that I am told I cannot play with. And this wooden frame that I am told I cannot bite. Buried beneath this very light, crunchy paper that I am told I cannot tear apart with my exceptionally strong, white teeth.

What game are these humans playing at? Who offers an esteemed being catnip and training devices and then conceals them within items that they claim are not for his amusement? It is this brand of mind games that sets the humans apart from the rest of the animal kingdom. If a cat has an offering for their human, they tend to leave it somewhere visible and easily accessible, and they don't bother "wrapping" it, or disguising it in any way. A dead mouse is a dead mouse, you can't pretty that up. Perhaps it's not the most desirable gift (and humans rarely seem grateful for it), but at least it's honest. Not that I like mice, dead or otherwise, and thankfully have never seen one up close, but that's beside the point.

The point is that after all of my detective work, trying to find out how to claim my bounty without upsetting the humans by chewing their "wrappings," I am informed that these gifts are in fact not for me! What levels of deceit these humans will stoop to. To lead an innocent cat on for so long and then crush his hopes at the very end. To not even throw him a piece of crunchy paper to play with. How can they sleep at night?

Oh yes.... sleep at night. Of course. The time when humans are at their most vulnerable. Well then, I shall plot my revenge to fall upon this time when they are helplessly cast upon my mercy.... And my vengeance shall be swift.

Same CAT time, same CAT channel.....

Not everyone can be a super hero. Oh sure, you can save a kid from drowning or help a little old lady across a busy street, but that's just regular every day stuff. Super heroes have much more dangerous, secret, and impressive lives and duties. Things like redirecting asteroids to save the planet and holding up falling buildings. That is the kind of super hero I am.

A big part of being a super hero is keeping your true identity a secret. That is, of course, how a super hero maintains a sense of normalcy and keeps the throngs of paparazzi at bay. Recently, however, I made a slip up and was seen in my cape.

With a bit of quick thinking and ingenuity, I was able to turn this otherwise catastrophic event into something seemingly harmless. I located the nearest box and settled in, giving the humans the illusion that I was merely resting and enjoyed being covered in a "blanket" for warmth.

This seemed to work well, no uncomfortable questions followed, and I think (for now) my super hero identity remains secure. But I'll be keeping one eye open, just in case.....

Always eat your greens....

Fickle eater though I may be, there is always room in my tummy for anything full of chlorophyll. I can't get enough of green, green, green.

Generally, I prefer my greens to be freshly grown grass, spring is best, summer will do. However, in this new house I have yet to be allowed outdoors, and can see through the dining room window that there isn't a blade of the delicious greenery yet sprung from the mud.

How then is a cat of my nutritious needs to find his chlorophyll? Green beans. Yes, green beans. I realize that to most the thought of a cat wanting and actually enjoying a green bean is a strange thought. But bear in mind the factors that brought me to this state. I haven't had any fresh greens (excluding house plants, of which there aren't many remaining alive after the meals I have made of them) since last summer. Locked up in a house with nothing more than a few shredded plants has made the sight of a green bean a tempting one.

The green bean offered to me a few days ago was frozen. Contrary to popular belief, which would hold that a cat would not like a green bean and especially not a frozen one, this bean which a human held out to me was like a chlorophyll popsicle. I gnawed it until it was soft and then pulled it apart bit by bit. It was wonderful.

Thus, I have decided that until there is grass up and about and I am allowed a supervised trip outside to pounce and consume it, green beans will be my staple form of greens.

And in the meantime, I will dream back to the days when a carpet of grass was always at my ready....

Box of a different colour.

One box that I forgot to mention in my previous post is the ice box. More commonly known today as a refrigerator, this most glorious box is truly in a class of its own. It doesn't have that delicious gluey scent or the soft, rippled sides for picking at, and I certainly can't curl up inside it for a nap, and yet it is perhaps the box of all boxes. For inside this box resides................food. That's right, the all important source of feline sustenance. Food.

Not just cat food either, though it does contain a little can of wet cat food. This magical, mystical box contains "people" food of all varieties. I will openly admit that my chief favourite amongst these are the carnivorous selections. Be it frozen or defrosted, marinated or plain, raw or cooked, anything meat will catch my interest immediately.

Patience is key to a satisfying fridge related reward. The large doors on this box are far to heavy and awkward for me to open myself (though heaven knows, I've tried). Thus, I must sit and wait for a human to decide that therein lies something of interest to them. Once they have made their selection and set it down, my dearest hope is that they become distracted elsewhere leaving their (hopefully meat) selection within my fiercely concentrated sights.

If I were to guess at how often this actually happens, I would say it's a disappointingly low - once a day. More perhaps than my other feline brethren around the world are privy to, but still far less than I am most sure I deserve. Because of the infrequency with which the opportunity arrives, I must make the very best of every occasion.

The main requirement is stealth. If the humans hear a thud or even a rustle from the other room, they'll be back to yell and shove me away from my bounty. Yes, stealth is the main skill required in a successful food-retrieval mission. And because I have stealth in spades, my missions are most usually quite rewarding.

My patience and skill pay off and I snack contentedly upon meats in all their glorious forms. Why just yesterday I happened upon an ill-watched-over leg of chicken. I had it all the way to the floor and halfway to freedom before I was caught. But that's alright. There's always a next time.

A patient cat knows how best to bide their time, and can find a watchful perch in a warm and cozy place. Perhaps atop a large, white box perfectly situated for optimal surveillance.

Boxes galore!

What is it about boxes that attract cats so predictably? Is it the strange, gluey scent? The rough, rippled texture? The way our claws sink deliciously into it with every pick? Or perhaps it's the fact that most boxes weren't intended for us and are therefore "forbidden?" Maybe all of the above?

Whatever the reason, the allure of these cardboard delights is indisputable. I have myself partaken of many such boxes, both with and without the permission of my resident humans.

There is the Chiquita banana box that I found in the basement. Or the "light box" that I found with the sides cut out. Even a very small box I found in the kitchen once. I am probably most proud of that box. It was rather smaller than my usual boxes and required quite a bit of dedication and talent to squeeze myself in.

Score = Cat: 3 Boxes: 0