Cat Politics. . .

To understand what goes through the golf-ball sized brain of a cat would take a room full of Cray supercomputers, but then again, supercomputers don't speak kitty.

Bobcat, fed up with the interloper, launched an all-out, frontal assault on Wildcat at this morning's breakfast prayer meeting. Black Kitty, as nervous and on edge as ever, imploded as he scrambled for the door making his way around the flying Meow Mix and cat fur. I think he even got a few punches in on the way by just for fairness.

I guess it's time to seize the day and the cat carry cage thing and haul ol' thundernuts off to Doc Randall.

Ironically, as I was hurling the hissing, snarling beasts out the door, one of them landed a claw on me. And out of the whole bizarre exercise, I'm the only one left bleeding. Damn cats.

And people want to keep chimps as pets??

Well before Wildcat's arrival, when it got really cold about a month ago, I put an electric blanket out in the dog cat house. Well, since Wildcat thinks he is top dog cat now, he immediately took over the dog cat house blanket. Since then, Black Kitty, who sadly, much prefers to be a majority-time outdoor kitty cat, has pulled a major head fake and sneaks in there to claim his ground when Wildcat is not looking.

What this has lead to is a nanny-nanny-boo-boo politicking between the two outside cats. A first come-first serve competition, in which the winning cat gets the warmth and protection of the blanket and house, while the loser squats on the ten square inches of blanket that protrudes from the front of the dog cat house. Only inches apart, they tolerate one another throughout the night, if only for the toastiness of the electric blanket.

This has been working out fairly well until last night when both cats were surprised to find a new housemate took over the abode. And I'm guessing that it must be Mr. Baggins, Jr.

What will they do now?

Read more...

The Score. . .

Black Kitty - 3

Cutesy Veterinarian Helpers - 0

I'll put it to you this way, human skin is no match for a terrified, buzzsaw cat.

Black Kitty's surgery went off without a hitch, almost. He managed to mangle two of the girls at the vet's office, but he seems no worse for wear after the whole ordeal. The frowning women of the doctor's office on the other hand. . .

Last night when we arrived home, I let him out of the cage and he stumbled and bumbled around, obviously still under the influence of some narcotic, the lucky bastard. I let him outside, whereabouts he tore into some food, alternating between two bites of food, 20 to 30 laps of water and several episodes of just staring off into space. Must have been some good dope. All of this was followed by insatiable scrotum-licking sessions lasting 5 to 6 minutes. Then, in an instant, he disappeared.

This morning, he was there, purring up a storm in the early fog. And happily munching away on his food.

Good kitty. Everything's gonna be alright.


Next obstacle?

Moving into Bobcat's house.

Read more...

Intuition. . .

Cats are incredible creatures. Intelligent, sneaky, affectionate and sometimes a downright pain in the butt. The black cat above, Black Kitty, is no exception. He greets me every morning with purrs and guttural meows, crashing his thick head into my ankles for a rub. Today was his big day or at least it was supposed to be.

See, he just showed up one day. Completely feral, untouched and untouchable. I guess he's been living around the house now for almost 9 or 10 months and it's just been in the last couple that he has allowed anyone to touch him. He is the lap cat of all lap cats now with a complete and full undertanding of the power of the human hand.

And much to the chagrin of Bobcat. . .


. . .I'd like for Black Kitty to become a part-time inside cat like Bobcat is. Only one problem: big, furry, cat balls.

For those of you who've never owned a cat, let alone a male cat, let me explain. Big, furry, cat balls lead to one thing and one thing only, well two things, but thankfully Bobcat is fixed.

Big, furry, cat balls lead to spraying, the instinctual marking of territory by the male. It's not a big deal when it's on a bush or the hedges, it's another when he splatters your couch. It doesn't stink in the normal sense of the word. It's stink like the stink has been distilled, refined, pressurize under the graviational pull of Jupiter, ionized, ozonated, concentrated, fermented, agitated and just for good measure, if you could piss off stink, this is what pissed off stink would smell like.

In a word, bad.

So today, Black Kitty was going to the vet for big, furry, cat ball removal surgery.


I bought a brand new pet carrier and everything. I had it all planned out, except for one thing. Cat intuition.

This is the first morning in months that Black Kitty has not been on the porch waiting for me. I suspect that he knew, he somehow understood that his big, furry, cat balls were hanging in the balance. Bastard!

I'll get you and your big, furry, cat balls tomorrow buddy!

Read more...