I’m Amazed

It probably isn’t amazing to anyone who’s more botanically hip than I am, but here is something I just observed. A large persimmon tree that has fruited munificently this season hangs over our back porch. Last night, we had a heavy frost, and in the course of a single morning, the persimmon tree has lost all its leaves. It went from being almost fully fledged at 8 a.m. to bare as a snake by noon. There are leaves and persimmons all over the porch.


Giant Dora Tent Scares Meankitty

So, you all know one of my favorite night-time games has been to attack the back door with loud and necessary vigor in order to frighten interlopers like Caspar or Smokey or even Tom off my property. The humans got the old back door replaced and now the glass is new, sparkly and uninterrupted by panes, which means I can really get my mojo going when I decide it’s time to scratch and yowl.

On the other hand, the door has internal blinds–ones I can neither rattle nor shake nor move out of the way–so when the humans want to block the door, they can. Easily.

There’s no need for them to resort to contraptions like this, the scary giant Dora and Boots tent held in place by the baby chair. This is a picture of me attempting to attack the window despite the humans’ goofy blockade.
I was eventually successful. Hence the eventual choice of a door with interior blinds, I suspect. Dang humans, ruining my good times.

August in Tennessee

We’ve got a very unpleasant and dry heatwave going on here! Not that it affects ME, the housecat, but the humans can’t seem to quit complaining about it. Here are the top 10 things they claim are indicators of August in Tennessee:

1) The “cold” water in your faucets comes out lukewarm.
2) Dead grass, dead flowers, dead plants, dead weeds….
3) Whatever community you live in asks you to restrict your water use.
4) Between the front door and the car, you sweat through your clothes.
5) Even the mosquitoes take a midday siesta.
6) Any and all pavement is hot enough to cook s’mores.
7) There are no kids at any of the parks, unless the park has a pool.
8) You make an appointment to get your car checked because you’re certain your air conditioner’s not working…and it’s working perfectly. It’s just that hot.
9) The eggs cook inside their shells in the time it takes you to drive from the grocery store to your house.
10) The flyer somebody tucked under your windshield has browned on the edges.

I have included some photos of Typing Slave’s plants she vainly attempted to keep alive.


MK & Typing Slave

Loud Thing Has a Lot of Junk

You wouldn’t think a person not that much larger than Big D would take up so much room, but when you figure in all the baby paraphernalia, Loud Thing’s crap gets in the way sometimes. We cats have to adjust our routines accordingly. Big D doesn’t have my innate grace and agility, so I’m the one who has to perch on top of the exersaucer when we’re watching Back Porch TV. Granted, this puts me higher up than him, and it can be pretty funny when he forgets I’m there and I jump down on his head.

Either way, I won’t miss the exersaucer when Typing Slave finally gives up pretending that Loud Thing is going to learn to sit happily in it while TS cooks and cleans.


Mother’s Day? Cat’s Day!

Typing Slave was given gifts recently for something called “Mother’s Day”. Birdfeeders, she got. Birdfeeders! What about catfeeders? Or a method by which I can open the blinds to the back porch myself so I can view these birdfeeders, the birds on them, the strays in my back yard, and all those blasted bunnies. Is that too much to ask? In one of my incarnations, I think the second life of my nine, I was a mother, too.

While I’m listing the things I should have gotten for Mother’s Day, let me include a better collar with a louder bell (the better to disturb Nanny Slave), a sheepskin covered perch beside this window, gourmet tuna for dinner, a video of cats beating up dogs, and a cat door to the outside so I can turn those birdfeeders into the catfeeders I wanted in the first place.



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 White Debil

No, not the kind of White Devil from history…the kind that invades MY PORCH, so I have to show off my mad fightin’ skillz and chase off the most recent Interloper.

Here is a video of me being a girl-stud:

I rock the house. And the porch.

Oh, Typing Slave says her speculative romance anthology is now available for purchase, so if you want you can visit the boring, lame human blog for details: http://meanjody.livejournal.com/ Blah blah blah blah blah. Just use the profits to buy me tuna, okay?


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.