Site Updates, February 11, 2006

Of course we aren’t alerting you until after we updated because there must be a sluggardly aspect in everything we do, but if you visit here instead of the website, we posted 10 new cats. The Typing Slave is dancing a stupid human jig because she’s up to October 2005 in the submissions in her eternal game of catch-up. We’ll be making an announcement soon about a brand new feature page on the site as well in honor of Valentine’s Day!

Here’s a little preview:

Ok, forget the preview, blogspot won’t let me upload any images. I’ll post one later.


Link: Meankitty’s Gallery

Moving With Cats

From a feline friend of Meankitty:

What’s a cat to do? My slave is relocating!! I’m not in favor of this move, but my slave says after the revolution (viva!) I incited in our neighborhood, he’s got to make himself scarce. Though I enjoy my current position, the slave is pretty handy, so I’ve decided I’ll go.

Problem is, the slave has never relocated whilst in my employ and doesn’t know what to do to treat me like the queen I am. I’m not sure what to tell him myself.

So what should we tell this clueless human? Those of you who have moved before, what are your preferences in slave behavior during the move?

Second, there are going to be OTHER animals in the new place. A cat, a rabbit (mmmm!) and two…hold your breath…DOGS. Though they are small dogs and I have some ideas in mind for how to properly handle them. Any words of advice for moving into a new place with new subjects to dominate?

All praise Meankitty for agreeing to solicit opinions on her blog.

Snuggles (not my real name)

Typing Slave’s Marbles

Typing Slave is losing her marbles. Which is sort of good, because I like to chase marbles across the floor and knock them under the stove and/or fridge, but it’s sort of bad, because it means she forgets essential things in her caretaking of moi, such as making sure I’m not shut in a closet when she goes to the doctor. The other day she dressed and left her closet door open. Naturally Big D and I went into the closet an attempt to remove most of the clothing from the hangers and spread the joy of our hair all over the items we managed to drag to the floor. Then I found out I could climb the clothes, though once I got to the top, which was not a very sturdy surface, let me assure you, there was nothing else to do and nowhere to jump, so I just jumped on D. Anyway, we had a good time playing in the closet until we realized the door was shut and Typing Slave was no longer in the house.

Lucky for her she wasn’t gone long and I couldn’t work up a good poo, having already done the deed when she was having breakfast to enhance her dining experience. Considerate of me, eh?

As a method of revenge, best served cold, I waited about a week and when she went into the attic, I slipped past her best efforts to prevent me from accompanying her and cavorted in the multitude of boxes, furniture, Christmas trees, and pink insulation. She had to chase me down, which was pretty hilarious to see, because as she was chasing me, Pink Thing opened the door and let Big D into the attic, and then Pink Thing started screaming and chasing Big D, and Typing Slave ended up chasing all 3 of us around!

Good times. I’ll have to try that again soon.

Oh, PS, we posted new cats in the gallery today,


Site Updates, January 23

I don’t know if any of you visit here and not my site, but the slave posted new cats in the gallery today. The big question on my mind — is this the Butterscotch who posts in the blog or another Butterscotch? Hard to tell sometimes. We get so many.

Another big question on my mind. The second biggest one, in fact. Why can’t I have that dang lasagna?


Mememe Tag

My Typing Slave got “tagged” by one of her weird slave friends, Trish M, where you’re supposed to answer certain questions on your blog. However, this is *my* blog. I’m so sure I’m gonna let TS put some boring crap on here! So I’ll consider it a tag for moi.

What were you doing 10 years ago?

Well, that would have been during life #1 of my 9 lives, and I was living in a shabby apartment being ignored and mistreated while TS got her totally useless Masters degree. I retaliated by savaging her on a regular basis, even when she was trying to sleep. And this apartment was so lame it had no true doors, so there was no escaping the wrath of khat.

What were you doing one year ago?

Ruling the roost. Scaring stray cats off my porch.

Five snacks you enjoy

Chicken bits, preferably grilled
Tuna in spring water
Plain spaghetti, but only if Pink Thing wasn’t supposed to drop it on the floor and did anyway
Random pieces of catfood I’ve rolled out of the food bowl and chased across the house
Blood sausage

Five songs to which you know all the lyrics

What’s New, Pussycat? by Slave Jones
Livin’ on a Prayer by Slave Jovi
Wanna Be Startin’ Something by Slave Jackson
When Doves Cry by Formerly Known as Slave
Three Blind Mice by Pink Thing

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire

Hire additional humans to attend to my every need.
Host a reality tv show to see which humans can survive in a house with 10 meankitties.
Get a fenced in yard to keep out other cats. Better yet, get a house that is more cat friendly with scratching posts in every room, piles of laundry conveniently placed for napping, very tall things to climb and lurk, and no closets.
Get another house in Florida, also cat friendly, for when there’s not enough sun here.
Import exotic, edible birds to fly around my house and amuse me.

Five bad habits

I have no bad habits. Duh!

Five things you like doing

Scratching furniture
Waking up sleeping humans
Walking on the computer keyboard

Five things you would never buy or wear again

Advantage — totally doesn’t work!
A hot pink collar — makes me look fat necked
Crunchy cat treats with a supposedly chewy center. Ick!
Kitten chow — because no more kittens are allowed into my house
Deer antlers

Five favorite toys

Styrofoam bits
Kitchen table
That shabby black catnip mouse
Round pieces of cat chow
Typing Slave’s last nerve

Five people I’m tagging

Any cyber savvy cat who wants to respond. Do it here or on your own blog, but let us know so we can come see!




Meankitty’s 2006 Resolutions

1) Gain 2 lbs so when I leap on people I have more heft.
2) Scratch the slaves at least 1/3 of the time when they sneeze. Man, I hate slave sneezes! Hurts my ears.
3) Expand the clawed areas on the kitchen table and junk armoire by half again.
4) In the space of 12 hours, barf on the cream carpet, scratch a slave, knock over a full glass of water, wake the baby (this will have to be in the latter half of the year), wake one of the other slaves, tear a hole in the screen, attack a stray cat (even if it’s through the glass), walk on a computer keyboard, leave a dangleberry on the kitchen counter, climb the clothes in one of the closets, and put all the dry food into the catwater.
5) Perfect my “feed me, you stupid slave” mesmerizing stare so that it works seventy five percent of the time.
6) Get Big D locked outside again, this time long enough to get RID of the fleas.
7) Incite the Typing Slave into cursing in front of Pink Thing at least once a week.
8) Claw holes in at least 1/3 of the comic book boxes stacked neatly upstairs. So far I’ve only done 2 of them, and there are hundreds. Claws, begin!
9) Make the Typing Slave update my website more often. Dang, you’d think a high risk pregnancy was challenging or something.
10) Intice more people to comment on my blog by my insightful commentary and lively revelations. Threats, too.


So, cats of the world — what are your resolutions for 2006?


When Is A Mouse Not A Mouse?

So I am getting some of my rare laptime from the Typing Slave, which I want in increasing proportion to the fact she’s not in the mood these days, and something is squiggling against my belly. Poking and wiggling and keeping me from a comfy snooze. I raise myself up to see a MOUSE sneaking around beneath the skin of the Typing Slave’s large, round belly!

Naturally I attack.

Did I deserve to be flung across the room for attempting to denude the household of cheese-eating pests (besides Big D)? I think not.

Holiday Tree Update

The slaves finally put the tree up. I climbed into the tree within 2 minutes of Food Slave setting it up — the slaves are cheezy and use an artificial tree — and then everyone who isn’t a cat hung what Typing Slave called “cat and kid safe” ornaments. Lots of jingle bells on pipe cleaners, stuffed toys, plastic balls and starched snowflakes. Oh my meow, that is one ugly tree! Even I can tell.

A day later, and Big D and I pretty much got the bottom quarter cleared. I’m going up the tree and clearing the midsection the next time the slaves vacate the premises.


Ok, so the Advantage Flea Stuff didn’t work for the 4 weeks prescribed. I could have told Typing Slave the little buggers were still a-buggin, but she didn’t realize we cats were still infested, a mere 3 weeks after the initial application, until the evil pests nearly ate Pink Thing alive while leaving TS and Food Slave completely alone. Big D is rife with fleas; in fact one might surmise the bugs never vacated his plush, hairy body.

Typing Slave is all flustered about the situation. Did she apply the Advantage wrong? Should she try a different brand? Will mothballs and fleabombs and other household treatments work? Do we have superpowered alien fleas that laugh at chemical warfare? (This would be supported by my hypothesis Big D was bodysnatched that night he escaped.) What is going on and why can’t Typing Slave fix this situation? It’s what we (don’t) pay her for.

In fact I’d go so far as to say it makes me CROSS. So today when Typing Slave attempted to reapply the Advantage, I scratched her, escaped, and then writhed tauntingly on the floor just out of her reach. It’s not as easy for her to chase me down with her big fat belly. It was a fun game, almost worth being caught and treated. I acted like the Advantage between my shoulder blades was burning torture, dashing erratically about the house and giving Typing Slave the wild eye, to make her feel guiltier.

Big D sat like a lump during his turn and then ate up his treats like the lurch he is. Or the alien. The fleabitten alien.