I LOVE National Hug Your Cat Day. It’s soon becoming one of my favorite days of the year. Inkblot is not amused.
Whatever idiot human decided to create this ridiculous “Hug your cat day” should be put in the town square and have rotten vegetable matter thrown at him or her all day.
All day long.
It is due to this horrid idea that I have to endure the picking up and the hugging and the …ick… kisses!
The human female loves it. She gets up in the morning to find us and give us each a kiss. Then she sneaks up on us while we’re napping to give us a hug. Then she tempts us with treats then gives us more hugs.
Inkblot and Ember eat a steady diet of Royal Canin Renal support dry kibble. The husband and I don’t go out a lot. We don’t spend our money on much else, so the kitties get the best food we know of – which was prescribed by our veterinarian after Inky had a particularly nasty kidney infection. I guess that goes to show one can sell me just about anything after my cat gets sick.
The female was upset – again – by the internet.
This is a common occurrence. If she didn’t order toys and treats for us from the magical land of “Amazon,” I would recommend she stay away.
This week she stumbled across an article discussing food. Human food. Personally, I find the stuff revolting. How can they even think about eating a different thing at every meal? I like my dry kibble. It is all I will eat. Ember, of course, is a feline trash can. She eats “tuna” and “marshmallows” and “carpet bits”.
Well, I could admit to the occasional chewing of sisal from our cat tree – but that is all. And the human female always yells at me when she catches me doing it, then hacks at it with scissors until all the tempting dangly bits are gone. Sigh.
No. Wait. I also eat expensive cables and power cords. My favorite is anything from Apple. The female says I have “Cadillac” tastes.
Here’s the thing about this article she read – and this is coming from a cat with a street quality education – humans should realize that all things they refer to as “food” are made up of “chemicals.” Try to pronounce every item on the following list: Alpha-Lineolic-Acid, Asparagine, D-Categin, Isoqurctrin, Phosphatidyl-Choline, P-Hydroxy-Benzoic-Acid, Pantothenic Acid, Phenylalanine, Glutamic Acid, Fructose, Sucrose, and Silver. Now, tell me if those ingredients would prevent you from eating an… apple! That’s right. Your friendly, harmless looking neighborhood apple is actually a chemical bomb.
Try this one: Aspartic Acid, Arginine, Isoleucine, Methionine, Pentadecanoic Acid, Glucose, Sucralose, Fructose, Lactose, Maltose, Galactose*, Phenylacetaldehyde, Acetaldehyde, Formaldehyde, Acetone, Benzene. The chemicals listed here are just a few of the items in an egg. From a chicken. *I always knew chickens were from another planet. It’s the feathers and the clucking.
So, what am I trying to say here? Just eat. Maybe my humans could cut down on the bright orange cheese powder – THAT doesn’t seem natural – but otherwise, eat some fruit. Eat some vegetables. And eat whatever else you want. Food doesn’t make you fat. An excess of calories make you fat. I’m a cat and I know this. Maybe next week I’ll talk about the charge that sugar is killing us… Well, no. I’ll just do it now. Yes. Sugar will kill you if you have something called Diabetes. It will also kill you if you dump a five pound bag of it down your throat all at once – or since I’m a cat – it will kill me if that five pound bag falls out of the pantry and onto my head.
This week, it is not we the kitties going to the vet.
The Mommy is.
She’s a little agitated. A little more of a short fuse than usual. She’s told us that we have to be nice to her when she gets home.
She wanted me to talk about something important this week, but she didn’t talk about important things, so I’m an uninformed kitty. The Mommy has always said that if I’m uninformed I shouldn’t spout my ignorance. So I mostly just spout about the fact my kitty dinner bowl is empty.
Really, it’s like, empty ALLL the time…
I know things happened in the world outside of our cozy house. I know they weren’t good – the Mommy spent much time on her favorite toy, reading and looking angry.
Maybe next week while she’s recovering from her vet visit she’ll talk a bit more about things outside.
This week she mostly ranted about “taxes” and not much of what she said was intelligible.
When I mentioned this to Inkblot she looked at me as if I was silly for expecting anything different.
The Mommy and I spend the dark hours together. The hours after kitty dinner time when the big ball of hot in the sky has gone away. Inkblot calls it “The Sun.”
Downstairs we have two giant cat beds. I think I’ve heard the Mommy call them “couches.” I don’t really care what they’re called, I just know they’re comfy and warm. It is on these couches that I sit with the Mommy and watch the big box on the shelf. It’s on a high shelf. A place I can’t get to.
There are moving pictures on this box and the Mommy will watch it with rapt attention – like i watch the red dot – except the Mommy’s eyes don’t dilate and her butt doesn’t wiggle. That’s a good thing because I use this time to sit on the Mommy and butt wiggling would disturb me.
See, the Mommy is warm and she pets me. If she stops petting me I mention it to her. Last night, though, she shushed Inkblot – which is weird twice because Inkblot doesn’t talk a lot and then I can’t imagine she appreciated being shushed. But she didn’t continue her discussion, she settled down in her basket and went back to watching the box. I’m not even sure what she was saying – something about why ‘silly humans’ feel the need to dress up in costumes and be something other than themselves. Don’t tell her, but sometimes I wrap myself up in sheets and pretend to be SuperCat.
Feline Friday took some vacation time the last couple of weeks. The stars are thirteen and fourteen years old, which is like, 80 in cat years. I try not to dwell on it too much. They don’t have many stories to relate these days as most days are spent sleeping and evenings are often spent watching TV with me. They do, however, sleep in my office with me, so they get a decent dose of news when I’m procrastinating. And they have thoughts about what they see and hear.
I am an evolved cat.
Unlike my ‘sister’ (she’s not my sister, she’s a cat I am forced to share my house with) I do not worship my humans. I do not worship humans at all. In fact, I find them quite insufferable.
The female has been grumbling about a decision in a place called “Indiana”. She angrily pointed at the computer and asked me in the middle of my nap “What the…? I don’t…! How is that…? What year is this?!?! Bah!” Not that she is usually capable of much more than a few disjointed words at one time anyway. This time there was a bit of seething anger under her crazed mutterings.
Humans are silly. Why does it matter that someone else is loving another person? What does it matter if two male humans love each other? Or two female humans? I sleep with my ‘sister’ all the time. I don’t love her, but… meh, she’s warm and purrs me to sleep.
I haven’t read this thing the female calls ‘The Bible’. She keeps a copy of it on her shelf. An old copy. The pages are falling out. It’s probably about 100, like the female human (I’m not 100, Inky!!) but it seems a lot of humans do a lot of heinous things in the name of the stuff it’s about. Like going to war and telling people who they’re allowed to love.
While I love nothing more than myself – come on, let’s be honest here, I’m a cat – it seems wrong to me that humans feel they have a right to dictate something like that to other humans. Beyond dictating when it is time to feed me, pet me, or clean my litter box, I don’t command other living things. Okay, okay, I command Ember to get out of my basket. Or, really, I just sit on her until she moves.
I can’t seem to repeat this enough – how does it affect anyone else if I were to choose to live with another (formerly) female cat? If I loved her – how does it possibly matter to my neighbor? Whether or not that is wrong appears to me to be a matter of opinion and nothing else. It’s not as if we’d be doing any kind of damage to anyone else whatsoever. Just because it would be an “abomination” in your eyes according to a book, doesn’t mean it actually is. (Seriously, I think salad is an abomination, yet the female human loves it. Especially with carrots.)
I hear the sputtering. “But what about murder! According to the Bible, that’s wrong!” Well, according to basic feline decency that’s wrong. I don’t need a book or religion to tell me that murder is wrong. I’m a smart kitty that way. Murder has a bad effect on another thing’s life – murder causes death.
But two living things, living together and having a relationship that involves love? If you can explain to me, in real, tangible terms, how that negatively affects anyone else – I’ll let you bend one of my exceedingly beautiful ears about it.
Edit: Since I poked this post out, it seems there has been a change in Indiana. The female said something about ‘anti-discrimination’. I’m not well versed on what, exactly the change was or how it really affects anything, but hopefully it’s a step in the right direction.
We bought the kitties a new tree. Ember never does things quite as we expect.
I don’t know who this “Snoopy” is that the Mommy keeps talking about, but I don’t think I’m him. As far as I understand it, Snoopy is a ‘dog’. Meaning he is not a cat – something my sister, Inkblot, begrudgingly agrees that I am. So, that alone tells me I am not Snoopy.
Twenty years ago (okay, more than twenty years ago) I was on the fencing team in college. I even made the varsity team, but that was more by default than because of actual skill. I’ve recently picked up the foil again and Ember is *fascinated*.
The Mommy spends a lot of time at her “desk” doing something she calls “work”. I would prefer it if she sat on one of the plush giant cats beds around the house to hold and pet me, but I get it.
Who am I kidding? No, I don’t “get it.” I want cuddles and pets and I want them now! Right now! All the time!
Except when I don’t.
Anyway. So, lately the Mommy has been “exercising.” I only know what it’s called because she grumbles about it. She says she sits too much. She says she needs to be more active. Then she says something about “forty” lurking around the corner. But I think she’s making a joke. There’s nothing lurking around the corner, I’ve looked.
One of her “exercises” involves this long pointy thing. It has a red tip on the end. It’s just like the bright red dot that I never seem able to catch, but better because I know the Mommy is on the end of it playing with me! I love playing!
The red tip waves around in the air as the Mommy mutters to herself “Advance, retreat, retreat. Lunge! Ow, I won’t be able to walk tomorrow!”
It never lasts very long, this “exercise.”
But, while it does, I am chasing that red tip and sometimes the Mommy lowers it so I can catch it. She’s very careful and tells me to be careful, too. “Wouldn’t want to poke an eye out,” she says. I think she’s right. Poking an eye out sounds painful!