take over!

Right!

Because my two-legs are off doing useless two-leg things, I'm officially taking over. Having mastered the keyboard (very slowly mind you - one key at a time - and plenty of naps and a few snacks in between), I shall be personally attending to these posts, so that no subtle observation from Yours Truly need be lost in translation.

Can't trust humans to do a cat's job at the end of the day...


So now that I'm in charge... who's going to be my first vict- I mean my first guest.... hmmm. Oh, I know!


J

weekly humiliation...

Bath-time...
Its completely unnecessary.
And... its NOT funny



I think I have made my point...

The Legend and Legacies of Peachy

The lives and loves of cats are far more intriguing and complex than any of those useless soap operas that humans seem to love watching so much. The difference however, is that we tend to keep our intrigues and relationships to ourselves rather than air it for any nasty little species to see.

In my neighbourhood there are a number of cats who by choice or circumstance, lead the life of a wanderer.

Now these characters are laws unto themselves - choosing not to own humans - probably because the maintenance costs are so high and the emotional trauma of training one is also quite taxing.

Anyway a long time ago, before the days of Twinkie and Cocoa and the filthy Monkey and the rat-type creature, there was one such wanderer who suddenly turned up at my door. Peachy was his name - a classic orange tabby with a not-so-classic stubby tail. He sauntered into the house, ate my food and fell asleep. I liked his style.


Peachy: a friend

Naturally we became friends - sharing the gossip of the neighbourhood, discussing the latest techniques in falling asleep while still knowing exactly whats going on around you, and the state of the day's food - you know, usual cat things.

In fact Peachy enjoyed a rare privilege - he was the only other cat who was allowed into the house by my own free will, (the others that came later were forced on me - I had very little choice in the matter).

Now Peachy would choose to come and go as he pleased, but unfortunately, still being a typical male in some respects (i.e. 'not being lead by his brain') he would often be distracted by 'natural urges'. Being very headstrong on the subject of female conquests, Peachy would risk life, limb and oncoming traffic to achieve his goals - and I dare say he fathered many of the cats that still wander the streets today. (Of course he wouldn't dare to try that sort of thing with me - I am a product of the SPCA school of life after all - snip, snip and all of that)

Sadly, Peachy's hormonal drive was to be the end of him. After countless conquests and an unknown number of resulting offspring, Peachy's legendary reign was cut short at the side of the road. My humans brought him home and buried him under the orange tree.



But that is far from the end of the story. For Peachy's genes live on...

Not long after his passing, a scruffy stunted little black kittten turned up outside our air-conditioning duct. Her mother had been seen a few times in the company of Peachy.

My fabulous powers of deduction have lead me to the conclusion that Twinkie indeed is his daughter. A theory she supports completely during 'that time of the month' when all sense of decency goes out of the window and she transforms into a stunted little seductress.

Although Twinkie may lack much of her father's intellectual capability, she more than makes up for it in another of his 'tendencies'.

Peachy would be proud I'm sure... although this kind of behaviour is certainly not my cup of milk.

Ah yes, but do remember I said that Peachy was prolific, so my story is not yet done.

Last year another visitor turned up on my doorstep. Orange tabby, stumpy tail, adorable manners (eating and falling asleep). Unimaginatively called, erm... 'Orange', this male bore a striking similarity to Peachy.


Orange: keeping it in the family

Orange is about the same age as Twinkie, he comes and goes as he pleases, but he's also been through the SPCA school of life, so he lacks those 'tendencies'. It is by no great leap of the imagination therefore, to believe that Orange is another descendant of that casanova of cats.

Because of his disinterest in the pursuit of females, Orange's great love is food. It keeps him safe and off the streets, so one mustn't complain if he destroys the contents of my food bowl from time to time. The added incentive of having Orange coming around from time to time is that his presence causes incredible anguish for that filthy Monkey, often causing him to run headlong into heavy objects and hide under chairs - a real treat for me...

Orange never outstays his welcome, is polite to the females of the household, is tolerant with the canines, and knows how to use a litter tray. A perfect gentleman.

So in many ways, Peachy is still with us.

(Orange is off again as I speak. He says that the humans at No.57 are serving fish today, so he mustn't be late - between you and me, I'm not sure that he's actually invited...)


"Time to make a move"


"Got a dinner appointment"


"Now where's No.57 again?"

Subordinates: The Rat-type creature

Now a lot of humans have been asking about the rat-type thing that parades itself as a dog. I have no real desire to talk about it - but as its name keeps cropping up from time to time, and many readers believed I was being a little too cruel towards it in a previous post, (yes? I still don't see a problem here), I will reluctantly take a minute or two to further elaborate on this strange little creature.

When I first laid my eyes on the rat-type creature, I probably came close to becoming the first ever cat that laughed. The thing rushed into the house, barking away at anything and everything - a sure sign of stupidity, especially when it failed to realize that threatening a cat doesn't really work when the cat in question is much bigger than you are, and has no compulsion about repeatedly slapping you in your tiny little bug-eyed face.

Even Twinkie, as stunted and under-developed as she is, still towers over this 'Joey' creature, and both of us had great fun pointing this fact out to the thing - until we realized that it could not understand a word we were saying - which kind of takes the fun out of hurling insults towards another species.

Twinkie, demonstrating a hidden artistic talent, was so taken aback by finally having another individual in the house that was smaller than herself - that she put pen to paper and created a masterpiece...



But anyway 'Joey' had her uses quite early on. I had run out of swear words to use on Monkey - but all of a sudden I had a new one. So for about 3 weeks, whenever the filthy male passed my way, I'd greet him with a cheerful "you're a pathetic little Joey aren't you?" Of course Monkey is too stupid to understand the complexities of an insult, but it still made me very happy.

Its no surprise then that Monkey and Joey have formed a friendship of sorts, an 'alliance of idiots' as I prefer to call it. I must admit they deserve eachother; between them they may be able to conjure up enough brainpower to actually understand the difference between cat litter and cat food...

What surprises me more is that Cocoa, whom I have always thought quite cat-like in her intelligence, actually has patience for Joey and tolerates her constant yapping and disturbances. I don't know if this is exhibiting loyalty to her own species, or if I've been too quick to judge her apparent intelligence. Only time will tell.

Anyway thats enough about this Joey creature. Alas she also seems to be another permanent fixture in MY house (just to remind you of that tiny little fact). Honestly I don't know what to make of my humans sometimes - perhaps I was given defective models?

One last question before I close this sorry chapter in my continuously challenging life:

What is the difference between these two:

1. imbecile dog

2. Joey


Answer: absolutely nothing!

(A beautiful cat with wit and humour to match.
What more could you ask for?)

Importance of Ownership #2: 'The Food'

'The Food' is important. It's the trigger that wakes me at dawn, the drive that compels me to make it through the day, the pick-me-up that ensures a good 40 winks at noon, and the tonic that sends me to sleep at night. Yes, I take the food very seriously.

This also requires that the source of aforementioned food be guarded unfailingly from anyone. Through years of careful investigation and undercover work, I have discovered the source of the food. It is stored in a tall cupboard-like compartment, which the two-legs call a 'fridge'.

This device produces a seemingly endless supply of food - which is delivered simply by opening its door. No wonder my humans value it so much - they are always opening its door and delving deep into its mystical interior - and my male human pays particular respect to the 'fridge', by making special visits to it at night.

For obvious reasons, this magical contraption must be safeguarded from those poor minds too easily corrupted by its power. So therefore I have taken it upon myself to stand (or lie down - that works well too) guard over this 'fridge'. It is a difficult task, as you can imagine, but an important one nevertheless.

Fortunately for me the other residents here still haven't worked out how to scale the heights of the 'fridge'.

And Twinkie has a preference for bathwater, so she is safe from the influence of this dark magic for the time being.

My heroic efforts are duly rewarded in time - but even eating is an art in itself. Most importantly one must be able to dine in peace and ALONE.

This can be achieved by carefully following these precautionary steps - now repeat after me:

Jelly's Guide to Dining for One:

• approach foodbowl with caution...
• surveying for unwanted spectators...
• quick taste - but eyes still fixed on environs...
• when position is secure - tuck in

If you are able to follow these instructions then you'll be able to avoid that annoying and idiotic concept of 'Sharing' which the humans keep persuading me to follow. I've never understood it myself and I don't intend to start trying now thank you very much.

Now don't forget that good dining manners extend far beyond just viciously defending your food from others. After you have finished the meal, there still is the all-important matter of cleanliness:

And of course to conclude the occasion, one must compliment the providers of 'the food'. In polite society, the greatest compliment is to fall asleep immediately, wherever you are, and remain so for another 3 to 4 hours - by which time the next meal is ready.

Of course you cannot be expected to master these skills overnight, but persevere my friends, and like me, you'll eventually have your humans eating out of your paws.


(My human takes notes well)

Handling Humans 101

The Rights and Wrongs of Human Contact #1:

Right








Wrong











Right











Wrong









Join me again soon for another enlightening tip on how to handle humans.


"Erm - excuse me, I kinda have a problem with that."

"Shut up, you little rat-type creature you.
I'm the head of the Committee, and therefore you have no opinion."

"But I'm cute, and furry, and adorable!"

"Oh do go away, no-one's listening to you."

"Sigh."

A Fugitive in the Family

The trouble with Twinkie is that she has a streak of wildness within her that will never disappear. It seems as though the memories of her first traumatic months of life, when she was living in drains, have never left her completely, and the wild blood of the alleycat tends to take hold over her every now and again.


Twinkie: wild.

Of course I've tried to guide her down the path to civility, but you can't fight against the power of breeding - and Twinkie's breeding is from the streets. I have a sneaky suspicion that her father was my old friend, an Orange Tomcat who wandered around town like he owned the place - until a car stopped him in his stride. I miss the old fellow, but I see a lot of him in Twinkie's wild little ways.

Anyway to run and hide for absolutely no reason is part of Twinkie's instincts. And yesterday's escapades were just like all the others. You see the problem with her instinctive urges is that they stop right after she's run away from home and found a suitable bush to hide behind. Without any instincts left to drive her, Twinkie suddenly gets fed up with the taste of freedom and then decides she wants to come back home. But her sense of direction is as bad as her taste in male cats, so she sits still - behind her suitable bush - and waits for someone to come along and rescue her.


Freedom! Erm... now what?

Enter: my humans...

Now don't get me wrong, I myself enjoy running away from time to time and giving those two-leggers some good healthy exercise. But they don't seem to see it that way, and during such occassions, use an interesting language to communicate with each other. This particular language is apparently reserved only for situations when one of us is hiding, has pulled down the clothes rack, or has used the furniture as a scratching post. It has to be shouted rather than spoken, and also involves some rumbling noises that sound rather like low growls. An interesting language this, and I still haven't quite worked it out yet.

Now as I was saying, when Twinkie gets herself lost, she also suffers from short-term memory loss, so forgets who my humans are. So she ends up running around like a mad fool until she runs out of breath and then has to be physically carried back into the house. It must be quite traumatic for the poor thing, but she never seems to learn her lesson, and repeats the entire process on almost a weekly basis. Must be something to do with the short-term memory loss again...

Anyway she's sitting here in front of me right now - doing her best to look angelic and innocent.

I can hear one of my humans still growling in the background...


Little Miss Angelic, relaxing after
her escape - that idiot male Monkey
being very smug in the background