The Cat's a Brat

LIVE FROM HEMI'S HIDEOUT -- OOPS. IS HE STILL IN HIDING?



Hemi's in trouuuuuuubbbbblllle.



You know what? The cat's a brat. And that's that!


Ciao for Now,

"C" (which stands for Cosette... and nothing else)

Witness Protection Program

BROADCASTING TO YOU FROM H'S HIDEOUT:

Dear Readers:

It has been exactly a week since the disastrous lock-down incident of 2009. Although many paws and hands are pointing in my direction, I swear the crime was purely unintentional. Please let me explain my side of the story, as there is an unnamed striped individual who is misinterpreting the event.

First let me introduce myself: My name is Mr. H. The "H" is provided for my protection, and for your information, it stands for anything other than Hemi. As you can see from my picture, as I am a dangerous ladies' man, they are protecting my eye-dentity.

OK, here's what happened: Mom and a group friends were having a BBQ on the patio. They closed the sliding glass door so that smoke wouldn't get into my eyes and in the house through the screen door. Besides, I don't like having my tuxedo reek of charred mammal flesh in briquette.

Also, we cats tend to push on the screen door, causing mom to fear that I and a certain tabby individual by the name of "C" might venture outdoors. So she made sure the sliding glass door was unlocked, and she shut it.

From a previous experience, I have learned how to box quickly and furiously. I was using my newly found techniques and wily ways to get attention from the humans. So I rat, tapped, tapped fast and repeatedly on the sliding glass door. I've even improved my techinque by managing a good rhythm on the door.

The guests starting pointing and laughing, thinking I was "cute," and quite the little drummer boy. (By the way, I'm planning to start my own cats-only garage band, but that will be covered in a future posting).

Basically -- and I'm ashamed to admit it -- the lock to the sliding glass door that I was boxing jiggled shut, locking mom and her friends outside. The front door was also locked, and so was the garage door.

I overheard mom saying a certain feces word and scratching her head, wondering how she was going to get into the house. And I was thinking, I could use a head scratching. And I could use some food. And then, to my horror, I couldn't get either a head scratching nor a bowl of kibble until mom figured out the solution to HER problem.

After all, she didn't have to close the sliding glass door and should've repaired the lock so it could stay put.

Luckily, the key to mom's car was in her pocket, and she was able to get into her car, open the garage, and get into the house.

I was so happy to see her because I was hungry.

And I'm still in trouble and am on the lamb. Which reminds me that I'm hungry for lamb. Gotta go now.

M for now,

H (stands for anything but Hemi)

Not KO'd, but You're OK

....for now. I haven't KO'd the OK Kid, but I'm just letting him know who's in charge.

Recently, Hemi misinformed our dear readers that I was in a state of uncontrollable hissy-fitness. However, this self-proclaimed "genius," who never actually took IQ tests because we all know they're fake anyway, was doing things to deliberately provoke me.

Now after I take my boxing mitts off (I've been typing with my toes), I will explain.

There, all better.

Mom and her friends lavish all their love on Hemi since they are drawn by his "pheromones" and "wily ways." I hate to admit it, but the brat's got some kind of spell over them. He's like a magician who just wants me to "poof" and disappear from every room he's in.

He sits in the lap of luxury, while this mama's boy croons over mom's lap. He hogs the bay window as much as he hogs the food. This scrappy critter eats what should be my scraps, so it's no wonder we get into scrapes.

I am crabby because I am HUNGRY. And I am sick and tired of him bragging about all of his supposedly good qualities.

In addition, we must share the same litter box. He creates Hemi mountains of urine. When he pees, it sounds like the tropical rainforest after a monsoon. He just stands there and pees while I finish my novel.

Not reading a novel. Writing one on all things cat coming to a bookstore near you in summer 2010 LOL.

In addition, I always enjoy quiet, but Hemi runs on these wooden floors like a maniac. Back and forth, back and forth, and the noise is tromp, tromp, tromp from his crazy little gallop. Sliding on the mats, smacking into the litterbox, causing the litter to fly everywhere, wafting his pungent pee odor.

And frankly, I've been jealous that he's gotten so much of the attention and so much of the food.

I just wanted to feel loved.

But luckily, my mom is smart, and she knows her baby girl instinctively. She has been pouring extra TLC my way, and keeping the feline hound from my food bowl. Mom is being so good to me, that it's time to take off the boxing gloves and declare this round over.

It's Hiss or Miss

These days, I hope it's a miss.

As in Cosette missing my forehead with her steely paws.


Lately, I'm a feline bladder -- and it's not the pissing kind. It's the kind that boxers use, but my nemesis is the hissing kind. I've been on the receiving end of some of her blows, and frankly, I don't know what I could have said or done to deserve this type of Priss 'n Boots' mistreatment of me.

After all, I am the Ladies' Man and most every feminine feline is enamored of me for my charm and wily ways. Because I am, after all.... ME!

I don't mean to come off as conceited or self-centered, but I am a truth teller.

OK, back to Cosette. Yesterday she gave me quite a fright. I was snuggling and purring in mama's arms next to our beloved bay window, when all of a sudden, Cosette pounces seemingly out of nowhere from the bay window's curtains and jumps on mom's shoulders and rap-tap-taps me on the forehead.






If these antics keep continuing, I'm going to lose a few IQ points, which would make me a couple of points short of the genius level. Again, I'm not trying to brag, but facts are facts.

Speaking of short, that Cosette has really been short-tempered lately. Between the breakfast time growling and hissing and the midday butt whooping, she's mussing my fur and my tuxedo cannot be dry cleaned.

On the upside of this, mom has been feeling sorry for her little boy, whom she and a friend lovingly dub Mr. Man. Isn't that cute? After all, I'm the man of the house.

I'm so manly, that even without a tail or with my snip job, I still attract the ladies. My pheromones abound!!

Between her hissing, pissing, and moaning, I think she needs serious therapy or an animal communicator so there can finally be some peace in the house and my tuxedo unscathed.