Thinking Outside the Box, Drooling Problems

Before you hear anything from Cosette, I admit it: I pooped outside the litterbox -- but with good reason. Cosette is a bully and tends to rush me out of the box even before my turd has made its final exit. Sometimes she just stares at me, and even if she doesn't mean to do so, she intimidates me.

Luckily, mom is very patient with me and realizes that I'm thinking outside the box -- and following through. While this may seem extreme, dear readers, it is not. If you did a statistical survey, you'd realize that only one of seven of my little dumplings are left outside of the box. The rest land on Hemi Mountain.

And lately I overheard mom joking with her friends about my drooling problem. If I were not a fancy ladies' tuxedo man(x), I would feel emasculated and devalued. But I notice that the baby drools a lot because she is doing something called "teething." I only drool when I'm purring, as any proper ladies' man should be doing. There's nothing wrong with a little saliva.

The problem lies in a certain cartoon with a drooling tuxedo cat that is poked fun of by people around the world:

Sylvester's drooling is laughed at, and frankly, I'm fed up with this. How come when babies, such as our new little addition, drool, people think it's so cute?

Cat slobber is way more clean than human slobber. After all, ours has a cleansing agent, which is why we -- especially me -- are able to look so handsome. Since the little human has joined us, she has slobbered all over my tuxedo, making it a bit sticky and harder for my rough tongue to remove it.

Still, Cosette and I do love the little tyke. We especially can't wait for all her teeth to come in so the drooling can cease and desist. Of course, then she'll be biting us with her new chompers.

This is Not a Toy

As you can see, I am sleeping with one of my favorite toys. It is my favorite lately because: a) it's new, b) it's mighty neat, and c) it's filled with catnip.

In a previous posting awhile ago, I extolled the benefits and well-deserved legality of catnip, so I won't be wasting time on this posting doing so. All I can say, is that a friend of mom's bought it for me as a consolation prize for the fact that I moved to second fiddle in a household with a newly adopted baby.

Cats don't like fiddles, which is why I'm stymied by the "Hey Diddle Diddle" poem where there's a cat and a fiddle. Humans spoon feed such nonsense to their kids.

Anyway, speaking of fiddling, I noticed the other day that Ari (the new baby) was playing with this catnip toy (pictured). The kid has enough toys, so I don't know why she feels compelled to get her grubby hands all over mine. There's human saliva and there's an occasional Cheerio left on the toy, so that's how I know who the culprit is.

I want to tell her, this is not a toy -- at least to humans. There's some serious catnip here -- my, er, stash, which I don't want to share with her. She gets the lion's share of all the possessions, so it's only fair that I get at least a cat's share of something.

Cosette is not a catnip type, so I'm happy about that, as I enjoy having it all to myself. And once again, I just want to remind you that catnip is not an illegal drug, but just a little feel-good somethin' that is sold at such stores (which I'll keep anonymous by leaving crucial letters out [I don't endorse certain pet supply companies]) as ETCO and ETSMART and ETS Supplies Plus.

Oh, and veering off the topic, Cosette was pressuring me to vacate the litterbox, so I vacated a long turd just outside of it. My mom was very understanding and scolded Cosette to let me go.

This brown tabby is a bully. I think she's overcompensating for her being a common tabby, rather than a sophisticated tuxedo man such as myself.

Cramping Our Style

About one week ago, mom came home with a human baby named Ari, short for Arielle. Being great with the ladies, I thought I'd introduce myself.

The problem was that the baby human was really afraid of me and Cosette and screamed. Now I would understand her screaming from fright at Cosette, but I'm so elegant, with my tuxedo and all, that I thought my snazzy outfit would mesmerize her.

Things haven't been the same in the household since this little cutie joined our family. Every night, the baby disrupts our 22nd hour of sleep by crying louder than any meow I've ever heard. Kinda makes me long for Cosette's hisses.

I will say this, though: I really try to be extra friendly to this child. I remember what it was like being adopted, and Cosette does too -- although she's older and probably remembers it less clearly. Yet the kid thwarts my sweet attempts to comfort her. I know that we will eventually be great friends, so I'm being patient, and I generally try to stay away from her knowing that for some inexplicable reason, I cannot console her.

Having sensitive hearing, I can tell you, her cries are really high-pitched. She's getting more used to us cats because her screams are now just whimpers. A few times, she reached out to touch us, but then she pulled back.

But today, there was a breakthrough: she reached out and touched my stubby tail and when I turned around, purring, she smiled and touched my face.

Then it got a bit uncomfortable, as she pulled my whiskers. I tolerated it very well, and only wished she stroked my soft tuxedo coat instead of hurting me, albeit accidentally. She stuck her fingers at Cosette's face, which amused me. My tabby companion tolerated it, but I could tell she wasn't happy.

If only the baby would understand that petting us nicely would give her the sheer joy of touching luxurious fur. Cosette's fur, I must admit, is softer than mine -- like rabbit soft. But tuxedos trump soft fur every time.

One thing Cosette and I simply cannot adjust to right now is the thing called the "poopie diaper." Now is the time for mom to teach this kid how to use a litterbox. Instead, the little tyke is expected to do her business in a weird papery thing attached to her bottom. Mom doesn't even seem disgusted, as she coos over this baby during "changing the diaper" time.

Mom sure gets disgusted when she has to fish out the little treasures we leave for her in the litterbox.