A big, loving shout out to my (maternal) Grandfather and Grandmother and their sassy Grand-Dog Floyd.
Last, but definitely not least, it's my other Grandmommy's birthday today. This is the one who called me "An Odd Little Cat" when we met - I'm sure it was meant as a compliment. Anyway I need to go hide in the closet before my parents call her and sing Happy Birthday off-key. They claim it's on purpose but I know better. Hope you have a grand day too.
"What about my blog posts?" I cried out, when I learned of this plan. Mommy explained we could write them in advance. She said she would even put in an extra Friday post - but without my direct input, she made me sound rather puffed up over myself. Worse yet, I was cut off from my new friends and their lives. Would Angus eat the spider, was Mr Milky okay (he isn't doing well, so my purrs out to him), who would place my vote for the Doing the Q contests?
I also had to wait to hear about the blogging meeting Mommy went to on Wednesday. Turns out she saw Lisa from Lifeprints and had a great time. Mommy brought two cans of my feast for Lisa's cats, Harry and Domino, but forgot the Temptation treats. Lisa even blogged about my gift and how much her kitties enjoyed it (a meow shout out to Harry and Domino).
Now that my parents are back at home, I've been keeping Mommy busy with lots of pets and online business. I'm forced to find the right balance between giving them the kitty cold shoulder and falling over them with gratitude that they have returned.
Small compromises have been reached this week in both the Stinky Goodness and the Pawparrazzi wars. Critical mass was reached one night when I was dancing around Mommy's feet, begging for the feast, and she said she couldn't bear the smell (drama queen) or my begging anymore. In desperation she thought I might enjoy feasting alfresco on the patio. Well it turns out that she was right, it was very nice outside, once the blazing hot sun went behind our mountain. I could even enjoy viewing some nature between bites (who am I kidding, there were no breaks between bites, I got after that feast).
Mommy noticed that in my single-minded focus that she could snap away without my sprinting for the closet. Of course I refused to look at her, so small victories were mine all the way around. Hmm, look how glossy and soft my fur looks, maybe I should let her take my picture more often...
“Oh no little Floyd, this is my turf! Who let the dogs in?” I demanded to know. Well Mommy did of course. She said I needed to allow the comment, because it was sent from my granddog (the dog of my mother’s father – that’s a granddog, right?). Yes that’s right, my own granddog - wait I don’t care for grand and dog in the same sentence.
I was starting to settle down, when another comment came from my cousindog (the dog of my mother’s sister (?) oh whatever) giving a shout out to Floyd! How rude, my tail puffed in indignation.
I was finally settling down, until yesterday, when Daddy came in with the mail, and said I had a package (I forced him to open it by dancing around his feet until he could no longer ignore me). It was two packs of Spam! Oh boy, fan mail, with treats included, this blog thing was paying off in big ways. I was overjoyed, until Daddy read the note attached:
The old fellow that I allow to share my chair says I have to do this. While everyone that matters knows that “Spam” is a dog thing not meant for your kind, but alas the things we must do for our humans.
Floyd (A higher life form)”
Well that got my dander up (and yes I have a lot of dander). So I've been refusing the hammy treat on principle alone. Daddy commented that my relatives were just “Dogging” me – oh, here we go again. Well, I am going to “Cat” you Floyd, and rise above. I will eat your treat, I will post your comments, and I hope you enjoy Caturday.
When were the cat days, I inquired? I was informed there are no official cat days. How was that possible? Mommy mentioned something about how every day was a cat day around here, but I’d started tuning her out by then.
Friends, I think we need some public relations assistance. We can’t let the dog lobby push us out. What about the “Cat Days of Winter” or “Multi-Cat Mornings” or dare we hope for “Caturday?” Let's aim high.
After much excited dancing by my dish (on my part naturally), Mommy cracked open a can of Trout. I felt a little sorry for her because she looked like she might have a hairball of her own.
“Oh the humanity! I’m going to hurl, are you happy now?” She called out.
“Mew!” I replied hardily, meaning “Yep!”
Mommy put down my trout as she tried to hold back the hairball with two hands. I started giving it a hardy inspection, but I have to admit I wasn’t too sure about it. I was gingerly sniffing, when I noticed Mommy at the ready with the camera (she thought it would be nice to show me enjoying my first feast). Well as you can imagine, I don’t like to be rushed – and she knows the pawparazzi war isn’t over yet. I decided I needed a moment to regroup, so I made the universal gesture of “I’m not done here, I’ll be back for it later” by pawing the ground all around the plate in an effort to bury the feast.
“Oh no you don’t little cat, you’re eating that – and don’t wake me up in the middle of night with that on your cat breath either.” Mommy called out as she ran from the kitchen to the freshness of the outdoor air.
After picking at it for a while, even I had to admit trout wasn’t for me and I abandoned the area, my head hung low in embarrassment. Mommy (smugly) put it outside for Mittens to find. She also made Daddy take out the trash like it held toxic waste, all over a little trout (What a drama queen!). We were all very upset.
We had found the stinky, but where was the goodness? The goodness my friends was finally found, two varieties (chicken and a mystery meat I still don’t recognize) and some cross words later, in a little can called Tuna and in one called Ocean Feast. I found them quite tasty and stinky, in a good way.
Although I hate to admit it - I think Mommy might be right (another reason I prefer Daddy) I am spoiled and I do prefer Daddy’s flakey white tuna (it's even dolphin safe). I’m torn. If I eat the feast will I be denied the other? I can’t chance it - Eat up Mittens, I’m holding out for the good stuff.
We didn't know what the Cat Blogosphere was back then but we do now - it's a community. A community where all cats (and their humans) are welcomed - regardless of hair length, number of paw toes, or breed. Where support is given in good times, bad times and especially during tragic times. I feel honored to have been offered the paws of friendship and been given the oppawtunity to be part of it. I'll to try do my part to be a good kitizen.
It has been a very sad week for members of our community. So my planned blog didn't feel right for today. I'll be back Saturday in an effort to make you laugh again. Until then please keep the ones you love close and knead them as much as they need you.
Well my last post was such fun! Look at all the comments and the funny new friends that stopped by to play. I even thought of another one myself, prompted by Victor Tabbycat’s pedigree question – You might be an alley cat if you’ve only heard of “Pedigree” as a type of pet food.
So after a couple of months in the cat blogging world I’ve really expanded my contact with the world in many positive ways and a couple of not completely positive ways too:
- On the positive side I’ve met new friends, humans and kitties. I’ve had kitties stop by from as far away as England and Taiwan. I asked Mommy where Taiwan was and I suspect she didn’t exactly know because she tilted her head to the side and got that cute glazed look humans get when they’re thinking. “It’s in the Far East.” She said, looking rather pleased with her non-specific answer. “How far east, farther than the end of the cul de sac?” I asked, hoping for another head tilt. Turns out it’s a whole lot farther, although again, I suspect she really had no idea how far east it really is. I cut her some slack though as she’s directionally challenged.
- On a positive and negative front - I think I finally have proof my parents are stingy. Angus had a post showing a full basket of his toys. There were things in there I’d never even dreamed possible (sparkly jingle balls, feathery chase toys, too many to even comprehend really) my mind boggles and my paws twitch when I dream about it. So I’m preparing my case and plan on demonstrating that a trip to the pet store for new toys is required – and while they’re at it I want to see what this “stinky goodness” that our friend Max and others speak of is all about too (I suspect it’s more than just tuna and may even involve a fancy feast).
- On the negative side - I see some of the kitties out there aren’t feeling their best and I was sorry to hear that. On a more alarming trend personally, I overheard this from the mouth of my own mother “Fin seems a little quiet this week maybe she isn’t feeling well, do you think we should get her “checked out” by the V.E.T.?” Well that kind of talk has to be nipped in the bud. First I get “checked out” by my parents all the time, there’s no need for professionals to get in on the action. Second maybe I’d be less quiet if I had new toys to play with. Third maybe a good meal of something stinky would make me more energetic. Fourth it’s like a hundred and eighty degrees outside and my parents aren’t particularly peppy either.
Now I’ll have to spend the week finding the delicate balance between healthy friskiness and proving my case that new toys and new fresh treats are in order.
Think of it as the feline equivalent of a “You might be a redneck if…” joke. No offense to our alley cat friends of course, as my feline mother was an alley cat too. I’ll start:
“You might be an alley cat if you think of the whole kitchen floor as your food dish.”
Go on, give it a try and leave your versions in the comments section, and don't be shy my human friends you can join in too.
I thought it was rude that Daddy was being left out, but I was all up for tasting the hammy treat (so far I’ve been denied a sample of the Spam, so I was thrilled). I leaped off the couch and I bounded for the kitchen so fast my back paws skidded on the tile floor as I rounded the corner -I realized I needed to clear some room in my dish.
“Blah, blah, blah (boring Mommy talk)… gas prices… blah, blah… some crack pot.” I heard Mommy say above the sound of my kibble crunching.
“Yes Mommy, let’s crack that pot of spammy goodness open!” I called out to her, now dancing around my bowl in excitement.
Well it turns out that she wasn’t referring to the Spam enjoyed by our Hawaiian friend Cheryl at all. It has something to do about mail. You’ve got to be kidding, right? There I was, all pumped up and ready for a snack, and suddenly no treat was going to be coming at all. I mewled for a few minutes to no avail when I cried out in one last ditch effort.
“Mommy, if we don’t enjoy the tasty canned treat, the spammers win!”