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.
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.
1) Lounging on the floor vent when the heat is blowing
2) Wreaking havoc on Christmas trees
3) Sniffling all the excess food laying about, some of which is even cat-tastic
4) Birds in the snow, frozen and helpless (like it snows HERE but it does somewhere)
5) No leaves on the trees, so birds lurking there are easier to see
6) Fattened up slaves with warm laps
7) Ribbons, wrapping paper and empty boxes and bags
8) Watching slaves fall on the icy steps outside
9) No heartworm-toting mosquitoes
10) Tuna (a thrill at any time so why should winter be different?)
1) Hectic slaves
2) Who go on vacation and leave you with a catsitter
3) Worse, who stuff you in a cat carrier and drag you WITH them to some strange house
4) Where the other cats are nicekitties – gag me!
5) And you aren’t even allowed out of the back room to beat them up.
So what do you like/hate about wintertime?
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.