Siamese Sensibilities

Doors are for Humans

When will humanity learn.

I was sleeping in the bed chamber upstairs on the plush platform. The human slave came up, shut the door and also laid on the platform and went to sleep. At my usual stalking hour, I got up and tried to snoop about downstairs, but found the door barring my way. Naturally I made my demands known to the human, forcing him to get up and let me out to do what I wanted to do.

I do not know what possessed him to shut me out then, he had to know I was coming back, eventually, to go back to sleep. Not three hours later, I came back upstairs to get to the bed and found the door, yet again, blocking my way. I howled through the crack at the bottom to get the human slave to remove the impediment to my movement, but for some reason he was ignoring me. This, naturally, merely incited me to be all the louder with my demands. Finally he got up and let me in, complaining about it being 4 am, like that means anything to me.

Bed Claiming 102

Continuing my courses in Cat Empowerment, I have expanded my lecture on the issue first touched upon in Bed Claiming 101. To further pronounce the territorial importance of the sleeping unit, it is paramount to place and maintain claim of the bedded platform at all stages of its makeup and setting.

Step 1: Make sure that the slave removes all bed sheets and blankets once a week. While this is taking place, keep yourself well in sight and issue commands in a clear gutteral yowl to ensure that it is done correctly.

Step 2: When new covers are being placed upon the padded platform, keep a close eye on the progression of the work. Don't be afraid to get right up in the middle of the project and hold it up as long as necessary to ensure that it is done correctly. I have found that the best means of this is to take a nice nap on each sheet as it is placed.

Step 3: Now it has been my experience that the human slave will become most troubled by your inspection methods at this point and will begin a campaign of verbal barratement and threats of smothering under blankets. Let me assure you, it is all just hot air. Sometimes what is said can be most hurtful, don't feel the slightest concerned about it, just sleep it off. The human can wait.

Step 4: As each sheet slowly makes its way onto the sleeping unit, do not be kittenish about the human's failings in achieving perfection in the setting of each layer. Point out each mistake clearly with profound disdain and disgust, expecting immediate correction.

Step 5: At the end of this trying and exhausting job, you will find that your bed is quite well made and ready for a good long nap. It is of the utmost importance that you do not ever thank the human slave for doing their expected duty... one never thanks the help. Turn your back to them and sleep away.

An Exercise in Futility

The slave is profoundly irritable for the last few days. It seems to be a two-fold issue: one, incessant itching to which he swears is not ascribed to an infestation of fleas; and two some form of debilitating pain which makes him grunt and say ouch a lot when he bends.

For some reason he has seen fit to change his sheets again this week... claiming that its to fight the poison ivy. I can tell you this though... I was up on that bed the whole time and didn't see a trace of a plant anywhere. Where the heck does this slave see ivy at?

The bed was without covers for about two hours whilst the slave pushed them through the water and wind boxes. I positioned myself at the top of the stairs and patiently awaited his imminent return... for I had plans to bring him out of his sour mood.

The moment he appeared in the room, I ran and threw myself on the mattress, sprawling across the bed for as much coverage as possible, all the while glaring at the slave, daring him to move me. Naturally he had to put the sheets down, pick me up, put me in a chair and go back to the sheets to make the bed... giving me ample time to jump down and right back to my previous position sprawled across the bed. This dance continued for about three attempts til the slave lost all humor and just tried to entomb me in the bed by putting the covers over me. Sour puss.

Profound Secrets of the Nine

We, the feline race, hold these truths and secrets to be most sacred. We laugh in the face of humanity as they seek to unravel these mysteries.

These truths and more, never to be revealed to the likes of non-felinedom.

Water Rights

Can you believe the fact that the blonde behemoth canine has been trying to keep me from drinking any water from the water dish on the back porch. Now granted, I have my own water bowl in the kitchen, but darnit, if I find my feline self out on the back porch and happen to be thirsty, I'm gonna damn well drink from that dish if I wanna. It's better than drinking out of the toilet bowl like those flop eared sots do constantly (that is so disgusting and undignified).

Anyway, I was following the human as he went to the porch, and as he shuts the door to the room there, the blonde one attempted to bite me. I narrowly escaped by jumping the gate and back into the kitchen. Naturally I stopped there to stare at the retch, conveying the depth of my absolute irritation at the fact that this dog doesn't know its place in my house.

The human came running out of the room and proceeded to feed this dog the riot act, whilst I egged him on from the kitchen table. Do I have him trained or what.

Of Snow Ins and Shovels

I have been left in the house with the slave and the two canines. The other humans have conspicuously disappeared. It is an odd quiet that has fallen across the domicile, for the slave doesn't make a lot of noise and spends a good amount of his time reading or pecking at a machine for hours on end.

Yesterday I watched in wonderment as he ventured outside in layers of fake animal hides to brave white fluffy masses of cold water. He walked back and forth with a rigid bit of metal, throwing the stuff into the air and neatly stacking it to the side. Then he'd come back inside, trailing a mass of the white stuff, and collapse into the couch for an hour. This "snow" stuff is quite intriguing, all fluffy and white until it comes inside then it turns into water.

This morning, I heard him shrieking. It seems all the work he did yesterday was for naught, for the snow is piled even higher than it ever was before. I couldn't withhold a snicker as he covered himself yet again in hides and crawled out the garage window with the shovel thing. It seems the doors were all blocked by hulking masses of white and wouldn't budge. And to top it all off, the dogs needed to go out, so the human was forced to meander all the way around the outside of the house, sinking to his waist, to reach the back door and clear it off to open it for the dog's to go out. Poor thing.

He's been at it all day and still hasnt managed to clear off the big cement area in the front of the house that the wheeled carriages use. I think he's given up for the day, cause he's moping now.

Between you and me, he needs the exercise anyway.

Ribbons, Paper, and Boxes

It seems almost seasonal that the domicile becomes bedecked in fake plants, paper, and ribbons. What drives this seemingly urgent necessity to spiff up the place is totally beyond me. I can't help but be amused by the humans at this point. They seem avidly attent, yet amusingly inept, at wrapping bits of paper about boxes. Why wrap a box when you don't know what's inside? What is inside!

I find the youngest human's practice of placing clear sticky bits of slippery paper stuff (something he calls "tape") on the bottoms of my feet. How am I supposed to be able to walk when I can't feel the floor! I do not find it amusing to slide across the floor like its ice. When the ribbon gets tied to the tail, that is absolutely it. I go upstairs and rebuff their discourteous behavior.

I've already availed myself of furballing the slave's bedroom rug. He was quite touched by my gift, he actually cried, he was so moved.

Change Change Change

Things certainly have changed since the other feline has disappeared. I made an all inclusive search of the domicile from top to bottom to ascertain if the old hag was in seclusion somewhere and came up with nothing, so I'm pretty sure she made her escape. The humans have been all moody and pouty since she left, so naturally they have turned their attentions to me and the two canines.

Originally, I was the only one allowed loose in the house after Salem began her ritual of defiling the carpet. Some human with a hulking machine that spewed smelly vapor, came in and made the house all wet. That's when the dogs were confined to the chilly tiled areas and the out of doors (how come the canines get to go outside and I don't, I wanna know!). Well, with the disappearance of the self-annointed queen feline, the dogs are loose in the house again.

I no longer have a pick of two litter boxes to use, anymore, the other one is gone. I have no doubt Salem took it with her... I mean, how can you survive without your favourite litterbox. I've been stuck using this electronic monstrosity that rakes the pan after I use it. I have to admit that I run in there to watch it clean itself after usage, it is quite entrancing in a disturbing sense. I mean, why would a machine eat dookie. Bleck.

I've been bored. I've had to focus all of my energy into punishing Devo. He's not holding up well. He runs like a pup whenever he sees me. I still hunt him down and whap him. He like's it. I know he does.

In a Progression of Steps...

In my household, there is a ritual. I OWN THE STEPS. No one goes UP or DOWN the steps, unless I do it first. No one preceeds me into any room, damnit! For the effective benefit of feline-dom, I herein transpose the step-by-step means by which ownershop of the stairs may be maintained.

Step 1. Always set yourself up in a position where you may see EXACTLY where everyone is, in relation to the stairway. It is best to assume an outward appearance of disdain and disinterest, the less the simpleton humans know about your inner goals, the better.

Step 2. When someone approaches the steps, claim as many of the stairs in their way as your body will physically allow. MAKE SURE its DIRECTLY in their path. One can assume you have succeeded by listening to the slurry of complaints and whinings which spill from the human mouth. Make sure that you do not appear that you claimed the space just to be in the way... in fact, its best to ignore that you are in the way, altogether, or even better, fast asleep. Even a simple-minded human knows better than to awaken a cat.

Step 3. The longer the verbal altercation goes, adopt an appearance of shocked dismay. Sometimes this disarms the human faculties and they forget their train of thought. Sometimes they even forget they want to go up or down the stairs.

Step 4. Plant yourself firmly on the stair, dig in your nails, bite the wood, whatever it takes to ensure that the slave's grubby hands won't dislodge you from King of the Mountain status.

Step 5. Channel the almighty glint of death and put forth your best yowl. Use of flattened ears should be used sparingly, lest the human believe you having contracted rabies or somesuch. However, indiscriminate tail flicking in irritation is always applicable. You all know the look I am talking about, the one that translates as, "Touch me, f*****, and you get a scratch for your trouble".

Step 6. Go limp as a rag. FORCE them to do work to move you. In my experience the humans are lazy and avoid anything which requires exertion.

Step 7. If you are surpassed in any measure whatsoever, race ahead, claim the next highest steps and start the process all over again.

I believe you will all come to find that, after a process of throwing your human down the stairway a few times, they shall come to understand that they must pay the feline a toll for passage on all up and down transitions.

Play on two terms

A couple of months ago, the slave brought home an odd toy to appease my ire for his countless offenses against my feline person. Naturally I completely snubbed the lame attempt to court my good graces and ignored said object like it was infested with the plague.

Its some plastic wand connected to a string and on the end is a rabbit foot with a bell and ribbon tassels. Obviously it is intended to elicit some kittenish cuteness... with the batting, and the leaping, and the rolling about. Frankly, I have better things to do.

Besides, I find the whole bell thing offensive, I demanded the human remove the thing from the device immediately. The slave has tried for months to get me to play with this thing, and to no avail.

Tonight, I felt strangely compelled and dragged said toy out into the middle of the main family area and played with it right in front of the humans, just to gall them to no end. Why? BECAUSE I WANTED TO.

On Opening Doors Effectively

I was able to force my way into the spare bedroom and assault the queen b*tch cat today. I can't fully explain just how much a I cannot stand her. She spits, spews and makes herself all around a complete arse to felinedom. At least I don't have to look at her sorry butt every day.

I have devised an exceptional means to gain entrance into any closed door. By pressing my head right into the crease of the door and pushing as hard as I can, I can get in anywhere with little effort. It's pretty funny, actually, considering the fact that Salem is unable to do this trick herself. SHE wastes her time pawing at the carpet to 'magically' open the door (psyche, not too smart that one) and ends up wearing a big hole in the carpet and getting nowhere near to opening the door. Simpleton. USE YOUR HEAD!

Bed Claiming 101

I am scratching these words out for the benefit of the feline hierarchy that reads them.

ALWAYS LAY CLAIM TO THE BED PLATFORM IN YOUR DOMICILE. Make it clear to the humans in your service that the expanse of the bed is yours and yours alone.

Every night, the slave sleeps in the bed item. Every night I get up out of the rocker, and start standing on him to manipulate him til he move to the farthest edge of the bed. THEN, when I get him to lay on his side, I make sure I crowd him even farther on the end, by cramming my body against the small of his back or the inside of his knees, and pushing til he moves over to perch like those damned birds I always see taunting me out the windows.

THUSLY, I ensure that the entirety of the bed is mine and mine alone. The slave makes feable attempts to boot me over during the night, but I always persevere, crowding his ignorant arse, RIGHT back to the edge of the bed again. He is such a whiner too, I swear I've made him cry a few times about it.

As you can see, it doesn't matter how big the bed is. TAKE WHAT'S YOURS, FELINES OF THE WORLD UNITE!

Vengeance is mine.

Vengeance is mine, sayeth the wronged feline.

The scream of "Oh my GOD" echoed up the stairway, so I knew my plan had come to successful fruition. Shortly afterward the hastily said curses of the offended human reached my ears. I could only purr in satisfaction to myself.

Lesson One... don't mess with the cat.

Lesson Two... don't walk down the stairs in the dark without shoes on. (squish)

Now shut yer mouth and get the paper towels, whiner boy.

When will they ever learn...

I have studiously watched my human's recent activity with astute interest. He has been entrenched at his desk, hidden amidst a pile of books, tap tap tapping away at his computer, til the wee hours of morning. In the morning, he gets up, dresses in these formal getups that I delight in messing up and goes to some place called "work" or "school". All in all, he seems to be a walking zombie of late, exhausted or something.

Of course, that has nothing to do with the fact that my daily ritual requires that I warm up my vocal chords every morning at 6:30am sharp. A few yowls here and there in the early morning fog is just what the vet ordered. Besides, I find it humorous to dodge the great bulking masses full of feathers that the human casts from his sleeping platform in my direction. He never even gets close, how pathetic, he really should practice more.

Napping

I don't think anyone fully understand how exhausting it is to be me. I mean, I literally ensure the safety of the house during the wee hours of the night, whilst the lazy humans slumber... don't they know that that is when all the action is.

Now I am getting whined at for not only claiming the rocking chair, but also the heavier blanket. Is it my fault that I could sense the change in the weather from warmer to cold and wet? No sir. I suggested they put on a sweatshirt and get the hell away from me whilst I hit a few more Zzzzzs. The nerve. First come first serve I always say.

I swear, if Rod doesn't empty the litterbox... I'm gonna go Abyssinian on his lazy arse.

About Time!

The servant returned this morning from Columbus, and he looks like a mess. The nerve of the boy, waking me up at 6am just to let me know that he is back. I've had a tough enough weekend as it is, watching the other humans in the house moving furniture upstairs while he was gone. I had to squall and howl in annoyance the whole weekend about it. These people don't read my tail swishes to distinguish my moods correctly. Maybe I should give a refresher on proper communication skills.

The Art of Clothing Sabotage

It takes a truly skilled feline to devise a means to sabotage every article of a slaves dress clothing with the castoff bits of fur of one's coat. I cannot begin to bemuse upon the hour of enjoyment I spent listening to Rod's litany of curses as he attempted to use a cylindrical devise with sticky tape to clean his dress black pants of my wondrous hairs.

He kept looking at me, saying it was my fault. Of course it's my fault you twit! I planned the whole damn-ed thing from the start. Do you really think I spend eighteen hours a day sleeping? All that time with my eyes closed is merely a means of blueprinting my latest scheme to make the humans' lives that much more difficult.

How did I do it, you may ask. Well, it goes something like this.

Drawer gets left somewhat ajar.

Cat capitalizes upon base laziness of slave to exact punishment.

It's just that simple. Said same policy is equally effective when the closet door is left ajar. The frugal cat never leaves an opportunity to exact revenge unexacted.

Payback is a B*tch

The humans, in their austeer logic, have concluded that myself and the other feline, Salem, can no longer get along.

Now, I want it understood, that I started nothing. That this calico skank has repeatedly berated and belittled me since I was but a young kitten freed from jail and set into this household for confinement. Yet I have tolerated years and years of hissing, spewing, and swiping of claws at my face, for merely walking by the testy old broad. AND I did nothing, I walked away!

Well, I finally have had enough. I have dictated in no uncertain terms that she is not allowed upstairs, where my slave sleeps. In fact, I chase the hobbled cow down the steps every time she tries to go up there.

When I come downstairs for food and refreshment, and she dares to spit in my face, I now chase her til I corner her on the hope chest and proceed to have a staring match with bristling tail to display my disatisfaction with her unappreciation of my queenlyness.

Is it my fault that Salem has taken to soiling the carpet, hiding behind the television stand and doing unmentionables? Even though the humans have put down a second box for her to use, she refuses to use it. Insipid, psychotic wretch. That cat is not all there in the head, I'm telling you this. And I am getting the blame. Yet not a single hiss comes from my mouth, not a single swipe have I taken first. I am the reactant. Perhaps a demilitarized zone needs set up.

Grocery List

My lazy human needs to get his arse to Pet Land and get me some cat grass, for the love of Morris! I shall endeavour to yack upon his bedspread again as a subtle reminder.