I’m Free, To Be What I Want, Any Old Time

<------ The Jazzerloper. What a pallid creature, blending into the white floor tiles. It's one thing when Big D blends into blankets and carpets, but it's another to blend into stark white and black. But as you may know, I'm not overly fond of white cats. My current nemesis, now that the Jazzerloper is outta here, is Casper the Unfriendly Ghost Stray. But the Jazzerloper is gone, and I am once again free to roam. There’s a story involved in her journey to her far away new home, something about Nanny Slave attempting to help and getting sick en route, but I’m not in the mood to tell it. Human stories just aren’t that interesting when they don’t directly affect me. Now when Nanny Slave gets sick here, it’s pretty funny. I like to sit on her chest and stare at her whenever she’s prone. Or sit beside her and put one single paw on her arm or cheek. I have a great bedside manner. Working up a highly stenchy visit to the catbox when somebody’s got nausea going on is another clever trick I’ve perfected. Big D helps with that one. The Jazzerloper and I had a couple more encounters after the one I described earlier, and during all of them I whupped up. I am the whupper. Sincerely,

Locked Upstairs….Halp, Halp!

Right now I am locked upstairs and am using my superior mental powers to dictate this blog entry to Typing Slave. Regrettably, my powers do not (yet) extend to forcing Typing Slave to free me from my prison so that I may snack upon the Jazzerloper’s tail.

I need some suggestions for how to escape! Should I:

1) Pretend to be sick/hurt and have Big D knock Typing Slave unconscious with his large body when she comes to check on me?

2) Continue trying to dig my way through the steel door like I’ve been doing for the past 2 hours?

3) Break the upstairs window, jump out of the second story, and screech by the back door until Typing Slave lets me in?

4) Yowl at the perfect frequency to jiggle the doorknob open? (Any hints about the perfect frequency? I’ve tried all the ones I know.)

5) Something else?

Help me, my pretties! I must escape!


A New Interloper to Terrorize

There is an interloper in my house. But I am the Queen and this is my throne.

Apparently the humans agreed to catsit this smallish, ugly, white female named Jasmine until such a time as the other humans can transport said interloper to her new home…far, far away from here. Typing Slave is keeping Big D and myself separated from the runty thing, although she keeps saying things like how much she wishes she could have three cats. And how sweet the Jazzerloper is. And how nice it is to have a lapcat. The Jazzerloper used to be an outdoor/indoor kitty who ran many a stray away from her property.

Typing Slave was worried about *my* safety.

I don’t THINK so. This Jazzerloper is a nicekitty. In MY house. Oh. My. Meow.

There are “cat stations” set up in 3 different parts of the house with food, water and catpans, all of which I have used vigorously and fragrantly, but let me tell you, I resent being locked in or out of ANYWHERE, because this is my house! I get to go anywhere I want in my house! Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine!

So I have begun a campaign of terror. Anytime there’s a door closed, I stand beside it and meow and scratch. Doesn’t matter if I’m trying to get out or in, I know the Jazzerloper is on the other side and the racket annoys the humans. I’ve also started writhing uncontrollably in the humans’ path, running amuck, and knocking things off other things with increased frequency.

TS tried to integrate the Jazzerloper with Big D first. They growled a lot, but no fur flew. Big D is a psycho alien sometimes. A couple days later I managed to claw my way free from the upstairs prison and took off after the Jazzerloper with all the passion my beautiful tabby body holds! We made a cat-line for the bed in the Nannyslave room, under which nobody could get us out, and raised a racket that terrifed the children and distressed the adult humans. I enjoyed it so much! I loved sauntering to the edge of the bed — the Jazzerloper was trapped in the back corner, trembling in fear — and then whirling like a dervish to attack her once again. Each time I neared the edge of the bed, the humans thought they were going to get their clawless paws on me, but I was repeatedly too fast for them.

But then I got tired of the entertainment and allowed myself to be scooped up in a blanket and put upstairs.

Good times, good times. Today I plan to escape again and leave white Jazzerloper fur lumps all over my house.


(This is me resting after the beat-down.)


Breaking news….Who says ghosts and vampires don’t photograph well? After a rousing battle during which I only turned on Big D a couple times, Typing Slave locked me in the bedroom and caught Caspar the Unfriendly Interloper on camera so I can prove to all and sundry his evil intent!

I VANT TO SUCK YOUR BLOOOOOOOOOOOD. (And I have a weird craving for fava beans, even though I’m pretty much a strict carnivore with occasional samplings of grass so I can kak up hairballs on my slave’s kitchen floor.)

PSSSSST. Hey, little kitty. All you have to do is invite me in. I won’t lay a paw on you or Big D. This is alllllllll about the humans. The little pink humans. Mmmmm, tastee burgers! Just say the magic words: “Enter.” Look into my eyes, Meankitty. I command you! Look into my eyes and bid me enter!

If you won’t let me in, I’m going to have to spray the deck furniture. Right after I pounce at the window and scratch at it some more.

Another day, Meankitty. My hunger is eternal. We will meet again. You can’t live your entire life inside that house, and the day you set paw outside, I’ll be there….waiting.


MK — Uh, yeah, I can.

PS: If you want to see more cats almost as cool as myself, check out Friday Ark on, uh, Friday: http://themodulator.org/. Then on Sunday, check out the weekly Carnival of Cats at http://carnival.isfullofcrap.com/.

The Neighbor’s Cat

After a time, you develop a relationship with the cats who dare trespass upon your yard. Most famous of the trespassers in my yard was Tom, whom some of you may remember from the back and forth notes in the Advice column. I ran his ugly mug away because we haven’t seen him around. Foodslave won’t let Typing Slave put any more catfood on the porch for fear it will lure another pregnant Interloper who takes up residence and whelps a litter of rats which then have to be distributed or cared for.

Sometimes Foodslave has more sense than Typing Slave. I don’t want any more cats in this house. Our outside this house. Just the thought of it really annoys me.

Typing Slave tried to get a shot of this one cat that lurks on our back porch and torments me, but it ran away like the uncultured feline it obviously is. And uuuuugly! It’s got this brown tabby face with a dirty white body and inconsistent brown tabby seal point markings. I am so much more beautiful, it almost pains me to glare at it with with great ire in my heart as I threaten to break the glass, jump through, and whoop its butt.

And one day I will.


Alien D, Part Deux

We cats were hanging by the back door after dark, as is our habit, waiting for a stray to show up so we could yowl and hiss and attempt to break the glass, when I caught sight of a hideous feline on the other side of the door staring at me with buggy yellow eyes!

It was that alien cat! (http://meankittybox.blogspot.com/2005/11/who-is-that-freak.html)

I howled and spat to scare him away. He promptly disappeared, so I whirled around to inform D I was “da cat” and realized the hideous feline had, in fact, been D – his reflection. Instead of admitting my mistake, I acted like I didn’t know who he was, stalked him, and trounced his ass. Repeatedly. The slaves ended up locking D in the bedroom where he’d be safe from my wrath. They would have locked me in the bedroom, but since he was conveniently cowering under the bed, it was easier that way.

I did not care. This is me not caring.



Who Is That Freak?

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.