Poppy D. Cat: September 2006

Don't You Just Love Autumn?

Meeeemmmmmooww! Is it just me or is Autumn the very best time of year? The air is fresh and clean and there's that awesome 'crunch' when you walk on fallen leaves .... But perhaps the most special part of this time of year is that my ladyperson is now inclined to prop the backdoor open (just for me, thank you) and I am free to meander outside into our giant backyard and explore at my whim. Sometimes I climb the tree just to see what our neighbors are up to. There are 3 huge, despicable dogs of northern descent living on one side of the fence and I like to keep an eye on them because as you know, no dog can be trusted regardless of his ancestry.

Sometimes my kittenish nature gets the best of me and I'll bounce around to catch the falling leaves before they hit the ground. My ladyperson calls that "Poppy's Harvest Dance" {{whatever...}} and, as corny as that is, I humor her just so she'll keep propping that backdoor open for me.

But sometimes I just lie in the soft cool grass hiding amongst the long shadows. I do have to share my backyard with the stupid brown dog, but she knows better than to disturb me when I'm resting. I'd like to see HER try a Harvest Dance ... Well, maybe not!

Yes, It's a Real Cat!

Meee-everybodyhasapurpose-ooww!! Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce to you my nephew: 'Royal'. I know he's an odd-looking creature but he is a cat, none-the-less. His ladyperson rescued him just in the nick of time after his mother (a feline of questionable character, I'm afraid) had decided to make a construction site 'home' for her new babies. So now he's got his own ladyperson and manperson to look after him and I know they'll nurture him into being everything a proper cat should be (and vice versa of course). However, I'll have to agree with you if you say he is one peculiar-looking critter. But, hey -- that's my boy Royal!!

S.B.D. (Stupid Brown Dog) & I Have a New Game

Meeeyouaregettingverysleepyooww! I've invented a new game that I simply love to play with the stupid brown dog. The greatest part of this game is that she gets in trouble every time we play so that means I always win! It goes like this: when she's lying in her disgusting little dog bed on the floor, I perch myself on the arm of the sofa and I glare down at her. I give her my eeriest jungle cat stare. At first she tries to ignore me. She'll look away a few times, turning back only to be suckered in again by my hypnotic gaze. Sometimes she'll burrow her face in her smelly bedcovers trying to escape my powers, but from the corner of her eye she sees me still there. Finally, she'll get so antsy and out-of-sorts that she'll bare her crusty, orange teeth and growl at me. Of course, her grumbling prompts my ladyperson to wag her finger and call her a "mean doggie" and thus the stupid brown dog is reprimanded for being unsociable.

I've decided that if I am to be forced to share my abode with this canine being, I might as well get some entertainment out of it. I've said it before and I'll say it again: "Let the games begin!"

Cats Do Not Eat Pesto But a Stupid Brown Dog Will Eat Anything ...

Meeeickoowwww! Ugh. I've just tried my first taste o' pesto ... Ick! Can you feel my misery?! I just can not believe my manperson had the audacity to lure me into a pesto-tasting. He was just beginning his dinner and he offered me (well, okay ... maybe I just TOOK) some of the pesto-tossed pasta from his plate. Of course, the pesto pasta was plated next to a sizzling, freshly grilled Porterhouse steak so I don't know why he'd think I would be interested in the pesto. Anyway, I tried the pesto and may I say here, right now: it's absolutely disgusting and no self-respecting cat would ever imbibe of something so ... green! But I did, however, guilt him into sharing his Porterhouse with me so after I recovered from the pesto-tasting incident, my tummy was alllll better. But get this: after I'd filled up on the delectable perfectly cooked steak (medium-rare, of course), he offered his plate up to the stupid brown dog and she was thrilled to slop up the remnants of his pesto! Ha! Dogs. Who needs them? And who needs pesto? Not I, that's for sure.

---> I had an emergency today and there was nobody here to tend to me! A rescue was in order but neither my ladyperson or manperson showed up to help! The smelly brown dog was outside in her doghouse but she'd have been of no use anyway. Here's what happened: Upon arising from my mid-morning nap (I always snooze a bit after watching "Price is Right"), I was leisurely snacking on some kibble when I saw something I've NEVER seen before: the bottom of my chowchow bowl!! The horror!! I never even knew there WAS a bottom to my bowl! I was in such distress that by the time my ladyperson came home that evening, she felt the need to perform CPR on me. I panted and weakly rolled my eyes toward my chowchow bowl and she got the message. That bowl is FULL now and I suspect she'll keep it that way for a long, long time. Besides, I'm pretty sure nether one of us enjoyed the CPR very much. Eeeewwww!!

---> Once again, summer is fast approaching and ONCE AGAIN I must retrain my ladyperson and manperson on the art of climate control. When they leave our abode each morning for their meager jobs, they tend to either 1) have the air conditioner at a totally inappropriate level of warmth, or 2) leave windows opened just enough that the horrid chirping of the neighborhood birds interferes with the depth of my mid-morning nap. It is clearly evident that they have not retained any of the knowledge I tried to impart on them this time last year. Oh, why do I tolerate them at all? Why, I ask you?

---> Winter is winding down and the warmer weather is fast approaching. In fact, most afternoons now my house gets a wee bit toasty. But I'm okay with that since I'm usually napping in a windowsill anyway. However: I must draw the line about my waterbowl: it should NEVER reach a lukewarm temperature. My ladyeperson knows that I require ice in my water to help maintain my perky personality. This is just one more thing I have to constantly remind her of. I'm thinking that if she were truly conscientious, she'd use her lunch hour to stop by the house and refresh my water bowl with the cool liquid I crave. But, alas, she is still greatly lacking in what I like to call 'home-training'.

---> On occasion when my ladyperson is walking across the room or down the hall, I dart in front of her and entwine myself between her feet as is customary for cats to do. Well, she does NOT understand this bit of cat logic and has on more than one occasion dared to ALMOST step on me!! She is always quick to apologize but that is entirely inconsequential. She either needs to accept this bit of cat etiquette (aka: cats always have the right of way) or she needs to stay outside because I will NOT be getting stepped on. The very idea....

---> OK, picture this: I'm minding my own business, snoozing peacefully on my ladyperson's bed pillow (likely dreaming of grilled shrimp, buttered scallops or some other such delicacy) and my ladyperson spots me and assumes it's perfectly sane to cuddle me RIGHT THEN! Of course it wakes me from my slumber! Ugh! I give her the obligatory purr or two, knead her bedspread (she calls that 'making biscuits'... whatever) and she eventually moseys on about her business. Then I have to reacquaint myself with my dream and hope nobody ate my shrimp while I was gone.

---> I have overheard my ladyperson on more than one occasion tell other humans the story of how it came to be that I should share a home with her and the manperson. You see, I was resting at the local animal shelter (I was simply between gigs, ok?) when she and the manperson happened to be visiting. Well, to hear HER tell it, I am "one lucky kitty" because, as she says, SHE CHOSE ME. Excuse me?? First of all, I do the choosing around here and - more importantly - THEY are the lucky ones. I can't believe she continues to tell this story as if they've done me a favor by inviting me into their home. I chose them and, I reiterate: THEY ARE THE LUCKY ONES. Period.

---> Summer is officially here. And that means air conditioning (perhaps the greatest invention of the human race, although I still say a cat gave them the idea.) Anyway, my ladyperson has this obscene habit of turning the air conditioner thermostat UP when she leaves the house each morning. By 'UP', I mean she adjusts the temperature so that the house gets significantly warmer as the day progresses. Now she says it's all in the name of economy, but I have a better word and that word is "C-H-E-A-P". She knows I'm here all day ... how does she expect me to remain comfortable at 78 degrees? Hello?!? But that's ok: once I figured out what was happening, I simply started changing the thermostat to what I want as soon as she leaves. Of course, I change it back before she returns home in the evening. Aaaahhhh... sometimes it gets so nippy in here, I have to snuggle mid-day in her bedcovers! Too bad for the stupid brown dog that she stays outside in the backyard all day. But, oh well, we can't all be cats, now can we?!