So, tell me. When Typing Slave is in the recliner moaning and groaning, why CAN’T I hunker in her lap all day long?
And what’s with this “laptop” thing anyway? If the “laptop” thing, which is nicely warm, incidentally, can be in her lap, why can’t I?
As the holidays have arrived, so has my kittens’ fascination with our Christmas tree. Is there anything you can recommend to stop / deter them from wreaking all havoc on it?
Any advice is appreciated.
No. I have never been successful keeping the cats out of the tree. Meankitty insists I point out, “Tuna’s for eatin’ and trees are for wreckin’.” Anyway, let’s put it to the blog visitors.
TS, with Meankitty’s permission.
It’s 4 days after the human holiday of Thanksgiving, at least in this country, and I have yet to taste the smallest morsel of turkey. I mean, come on! My ancestresses came over on that leaky tub of a Santa Maria, and I want my desserts. Not just desserts, but entrees, too.
All kinds of lists about what humans are thankful for posted on other blogs, I noticed, when I read over Typing Slave’s shoulder. Forget that sweetie crap. Here’s what I’m NOT thankful for:
1) I haven’t gotten any turkey yet, and I know it’s in the fridge. I smell it. Dang! I want some turkey!
2) Foodslave won’t let me in the bathroom at 6:17 a.m. when he’s taking a shower, and no thanks to him I have to scratch on the door and howl, waking Typing Slave and usually Pink Thing, too, who are then grouchy with me.
3) The slaves got Pink Thing a horrible singing toy snowman, and it…won’t…shut…up. Must sabotage in the wee hours.
4) It’s cold outside these days. Normally this isn’t a problem, since I’m a housecat, but it means my favorite snoozy spot upstairs is cold as well. The slaves need to run the heater up there full time. Like I care about the cost.
5) The slaves are debating the wisdom of putting up a holiday tree this year, considering what I always do to it. Why is there even a question?? I love that jungle gym with sparly lights and toys! They should leave it downstairs year round. Only make the toys edible.
6) Not only did I not get any turkey, but last week the slaves vacated my premises for several days and there was ONLY dry food, no snackies or tuna.
7) Big D keeps escaping to the alien outside and we all know what that leads to — fleas. Can’t the slaves keep a better watch on the hairy Houdini? It’s not like he’s invisible to the eye.
8) Typing Slave *still* won’t let me sprawl and knead on her stomach, and it’s getting bigger by the day. What’s in there, a watermelon? I don’t like watermelon. Or maybe that’s where all the dang turkey went.
9) Two days ago at 3 a.m. I had an itch I couldn’t reach between my shoulder blades and nobody got out of bed to scratch it. In fact when I demanded their services, they shut me out of the bedroom.
10) I’m not thankful for the fact this list could keep going and going and going until it got to, like, 137 or something. How mistreated am I, that there are so many things in my life to be unthankful for?
Now it’s your turn. What are you unthankful for?
When Big D escaped the other night and returned as an alien abductee, he also returned with a little souvenir of his adventure: fleas. This is offensive to me, as the fleas have migrated from Big D, though you’d think there’s be enough of him to go around, and now me and my delicate skin are harassed by vermin.
I am getting my revenge on the slaves by constantly scratching while on their dining table and in the Typing Slave’s precious recliner. Why am I revenging myself on the slaves when it’s Big D who brought this plague upon us, you ask? Because they’re the dumb butts who let him out in the first place. At least, we’re operating under the assumption it’s him. I haven’t tricked him into Pink Thing’s bath yet to see if he can breathe under water.
I am the baby of the The Party Cats clan, just a wee three-and-a-bit-months old. Our TFS is in real trouble these days. She claims she has been busy with two “Conferences,” but all I know is that she has been gone all the time, leaving at the ungodly hour of7am every morning and crawling back to us around 8pm. Whoever this Conferences is must be getting all of my treats and catnip, because I sure haven’t gotten any lately.
The only good part is that the laundry has piled up and Sam and I have fun chasing each other up and down Mount Dirty Pants. I like to drag single socks all over the house so that TFS can’t find matches when she wants them. I also help out by jumping in any empty or semi-empty laundry basket right before she dumps a load of clothes in it, and then mewing piteously until TFS gets all the crap out of the basket. Then I curl up in there for a nap.
It wasn’t the number of times, but the intensity that counted. Typing Slave and Pink Thing were having lunch — and not sharing!! — so I decided to assert myself. Every 2.8 seconds I jumped up on the table without surcease and swiped at the meat! I’ve vaulted into the eating area more times during a meal before, but not with such catted determination. As opposed to dogged determination, which involves drool and stupidity.
I got me some meat, too. TS thought she could throw a piece across the room and keep me occupied long enough to dine in peace, but I was back for more in 5.6 seconds.
Typing Slave was settled in the comfy chair–she calls it a recliner–with the heating pad I so love to curl up on. Something about bruises and welts from the IV? Like I care. Anyway, she wouldn’t let me ON the heating pad because she had her new laptop COMPUTER and wasn’t even working on my site with it. Said she was trying to write a synopsis with a friend. What a joke.
To teach her a lesson, I knocked over her water so it spilled across the electrical cords to her pad and laptop. I knew better than knock it onto the laptop itself because I’d get banished to the upstairs. I’m saving that for desperate times.
Got her out of the chair and me into it. My aim is perfection.
Tonight I was happily winding around the legs of Typing Slave as she and Food Slave puttered around the kitchen preparing their dinner when I noticed a big fat hairy STRAY outside the back door! I hate strays on my back porch! I attacked the glass, as is my wont, but the stray just stood there and cried and looked all pitiful and cold. Typing Slave hastened to my side (good slave) to investigate the ruckus and turns out the stray was Big D, who had escaped while Food Slave and Pink Thing were outside grilling meat.
Okay, the slaves think the stray is Big D and the stray certainly seems at home in my domicile, but I’m not convinced. It’s hours later, and I’m still stalking the STRAY, hissing, and fluffling my tail. Invasion of the catbody snatchers, much? This could be the beginning of the end. You mark my words. And I don’t know where the slaves get off calling me a “freakish menace” when all I’m doing is protecting what’s mine from the aliens.
Our TFS left us with GOTC for three whole days. She got home last night and boy, were we ready. Gray and I tore around under her feet while she was making multiple trips in from the car. Then, we proceeded to help her unpack by digging into any open bag or suitcase. I pushed her open pocketbook off the kitchen table and dumped everything into the floor. I found a parking ticket in there TFS needs to pay by this week or else her fee increases, so I chewed it up. Ha!! Nala wasn’t much help with the ransacking, but she had added her own special “spice” earlier in the day by barfing in the bedroom floor for TFS to step in after she had taken her shoes off — so she only had socks on. Nothing squishes like kitty vomit underfoot.
When Typing Slave was lolling on the ground (free game!) doing tempting, taunting stuff with fabric, crinkly paper, pins and scissors today, I did my best to help. Make that interfere. Eventually TS gave up and went away, muttering something about cutting off the end of my paw if she weren’t careful. Now nobody’s around to see what I do to the sewing kit. Threaaaaaaaaaaaaaad. Yum yum!