The Cat's Out of the Bag

Greetings, Dear Readers:

Here's a picture of me after my mom told me a story that was too frightening to even think was true. It's really a Cat-astrophe, so much so, that I can barely use my paws to craft this craftily spun blog posting.

But I am courageous (and handsome), so I will tell my story.

My mom apparently has this incredibly gifted Humanities class. They analyze literature well, and they have awesome intellectual discussions about the literature. It seems mom enjoys spending time with them -- even if it is on a Tuesday night.

So far, so good, right? Not so. Onto the disturbing part that set my magnificent tuxedo fur into a frizzy tizzy.

Apparently, a few students were making some snide remarks about how a cat cannot blog and were joking around about me during class discussion. Now I don't know what I have to do with world literature -- other than I am a worldly sort of cat and am very well-read -- but these comments are unwarranted.

I keep trying to figure out why some students have difficulty with the idea that 1) yes, cats can blog; it's called a cata-blog and that 2) cats can be eloquent and 3) no one is as handsome as me.

All I can say is a big Me-ouch for now,

Hemi

A Tragic Love Triangle

Hello friends. It's been a long time since I wrote my column, and I'm sorry I've been remiss.

Truth is, I have been going through some issues -- issues of the heart. As you can see by the photo, I've put myself in self-imposed exile, all because I am a tail of unrequited love.

See, the object of my affections is an adorable baby girl who joined our family about four months ago. See, whenever I see her, I go all pet-and-purr me!!

However, although I demonstrate affection to her and although I let her pet my coat, Manx tail, and try to win her affection with my wiley ways, she forfeits my affection in favor of the brown tabby of the house, Cosette.

This is what I don't understand; Cosette never seeks her out and, at the likelihood of sounding snobbish, I must say she's a common brown tabby furball, nothing special like me, a tuxedo Manx. Cosette does have rabbit-soft fur, but that's all there is to her.

And yet, I watch in dismay as the little human girl turns away from me and toward Cosette. The baby keeps greeting her with "Hi," and "Hey." Cosette always turns the other way.

Yet, the baby human is enamored of Cosette and not me.

And that's sad.

But I haven't yet given up hope. Once the baby human is acclimated to her environment more, I'm sure she will choose me as her favorite cat-in-waiting.

The Bee, The Battle of the Bay Window, and The Sill

This is a guest post from my pal, Cosette. We've been getting along better lately and just having fun playing, so I asked her to guest blog for me this week on issues pertinent to the most important members of the household -- us.

Dear Readers,

There's been a lot of excitement in our household over the last two weeks or so. First of all, we are happy to welcome the human baby back to our family. Her and mom were in Florida visiting the grandparents, and mom's good friend took very good care of us.
The big drama that unfolded was when a bee got into the house. I'm a tad ashamed to admit it, but I was never taught to hunt by my mother, and contrary to what most people believe, for cats, hunting is a learned skill. Hemi has that skill.

But the bee crossed MY path, not his.

So I swatted it, it got back up, I swatted it, it got back up, I swatted it, it got back up. Mom's friend wound up killing it, but I'm proud of my prowess. The way I view this incident, if I didn't keep swatting the bee down, the human wouldn't have been able to kill it, and it would've stung her. I instinctually knew that the human was allergic to bee stings, so I technically saved her life.

I'm a cat -- hear me roar.

In a few weeks, I expect a Medal of Honor to come to my door.

On another matter, Hemi and I have become buddies and comrades in arms. We work as as a tag team to get more food from mom, and we love chasing each other down what Hemi calls "The Hemi Highway," a long wooden-floor hallway, where our paws resonate as we run full-speed. Baby must think she's at a horse racetrack, but truth be told, running cats are more beautiful and compelling than running horses.

That's my opinion, and I'm sticking to it.

Despite my friendship with Hemi, the Battle of the Bay Window rages on. Hemi is larger than me, but I still put the fear of hiss in him. One might even say I'm full of hiss and vinegar.
We both love this window, so we have to take turns basking in the sun. It works nicely for both of us, but if I'm at the window first and Hemi the interloper comes sniffing around near the window, I just have to give him one dirty look, and he's gone. Kind of embarrassing behavior for an acclaimed hunter.

Remember the posting where Hemi and I have complained about no window sills in this crazy house? Well, mom and her friends must've heard us because now there's a prime piece of real estate in our home: a "kitty sill," as it is called. However, it's my job to educate readers on the term "kitty." It is politically incorrect. We prefer the term "cat."

Anyway, the sill is up on one of those freakazoid windows, and it is truly marvelous. It is so beautiful, I would one day like to write a poem about it. Now here's the dilemma. Both Hemi and I love the sill, and our friendship is sometimes in jeopardy because that stubborn tuxedo cat is so long, and when he's on the sill, his legs often hang off it, and I find that irritating.
I believe that since I have been the first adopted being in this household, that I should be the priority with sill time.



But Hemi believes because he has a precious tuxedo coat and he's the newest cat in the household, he should have more sill time.

But overall, we are both thrilled that we have a sill to sit and lay on. We are both grateful to have it. Now Hemi has a nice alternative whenever I kick him of the bay window or the sill.

Anyway, I wish to thank Hemi for giving me guest post space. And enough about me, what do you, my dear readers, think about me? Comments (of praise) are strongly encouraged.
-- Cosette

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.

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.

Putting the "Man" into "Manx" and Making Mountains Out of Mole Hills

Today I overheard one of mom's friends calling me "Mr. Man" and that I "put the 'man' into 'Manx,' on account of my gentlemanly airs and the way with the ladies. Mom and her friends just fawn all over me, and I adore the attention. My mom also noted that I've grown up quite a bit from the wee lad I was in December when she adopted me.

That's because unlike back then, when I was a playful, handsome toddler, I am now a playful, young handsome man.

But the point of this blog is not to brag about myself, for I am way too humble to do that.

The point of this posting is to vent.

Frankly, I don't like to complain, as you dear readers know, but there are certain things about my new home that Cosette and I find very hard to understand. In a previous posting, I mentioned how irritating it was that the house we're under house arrest in has no window sills. Not a one.

Today, Cosette again smashed into a window and fell onto the floor -- landing on all four paws -- unharmed but shaken once again. You know where mom was? Sitting in the back yard sipping tea and eating tuna chatting with a friend on some wireless gizmo. We cats were grateful to have had some of her tuna before she headed outside, but c'mon....no mayonnaise?

Considering all the energy we expend reaching our paws in futility looking for a window sill, we deserve a little mayo. Cats need window sills like cheese needs crackers. And by the end of the day, we were going crackers in that Cracker Jack box without the best prize of all: window sills.

Cosette and I counted each window, several times, and we only found one bay window, which is really nice and has room enough for both of us. However, she bullies me so that we rarely can share the same space at the same time.

We don't even have privacy to do "our business." It was humiliating to hear about my process of elimination as bizarre, yet cute. So before you hear about it from a third party, this is how it went down (pun noted). I peed a lot and buried it in a mountain of this wonderful odorless litter my mom gets for us. Then I left my signature by pooping on top of the mountain and leaving it unburied for all the world to see.

My mom and her friends laughed about how I created a crap mountain and how weird that was. Here's a correction: I only crap small pellets, also known as Hemi-pellets.

Now, if my mom thinks she knows about all things cat, why did I catch her reading Cat Fancy today? I happened to look over her shoulder and noticed she was reading all about cats' litterbox habits and such. Of course, I snickered at her lack of knowledge.

Also, tonight, mom went to the movies while Cosette and I played with the dust bunnies under the couch and watched scary animals pass by the bay window.

I'm just in a mood, but I know mommy loves me and Cosette. It's not mom's fault that she moved into a place without window sills. She really doesn't know any better.

Meow for Now,


Hemi

A Bone to Pick

No, literally, we'd be lucky to have a bone to pick since we had another trauma on June 13 -- not being fed until late in the day. We didn't even get bones. We didn't get one morsel of food until about 3 p.m. From these pictures, you can tell how distressed Cosette was.

Cosette loves her food, as do I. I mean, I love her food plus my food. But there was no gorging this Saturday because of mom's negligence.

Here's how the story unfolds. Mom rushes out of the house with a stupid-looking outfit and hat on. She leaves in a hurry, and there are me and Cosette, just waiting to be fed as we usually are in the morning. We look at her quizzically, as she says aloud, "Did I forget something?"

Yeah mom, you forgot about Cosette and me!

She forgot to feed us!

About eight hours later, she comes sauntering in (well, that's not true; she was frantic). Apparently, she went to a ceremony called "graduation" and being a college teacher, this is part of her job. Then she went out to lunch with a colleague.

Glad to hear she was well fed.

In the meantime, there's pandemonium in the house, and I manage to eat a spider and kill one for Cosette (She never learned to hunt, but please don't tell her that I told you because, frankly, she's embarrassed by it and has been teased by peer cats.) Needless to say, we were both very hungry, but Cosette took it really hard:



So back to the traumatic event. So mom comes home all in a tizzy still dressed in that silly garb, like she's some hot shot or something. And she's all, like, "Oh, I'm so sorry, I forgot to feed you both, my babies!" We were voraciously eating soon after and very happy.

Now we have both forgiven mom, but since we are in the spirit of the school year ending with graduation, Cosette and I feel it is within our rights to grade mom based on her care for us that day. For my readers' convenience, it is broken down through several criteria, and a grade is assigned for each one.

Leadership: D

Organization: F

Feeding Timeliness: F

(Looks like she's not going to graduate.)

Attention to cats: F

Attire: F-

Pampering Us Upon Return Home: B

Showering Us With Love that night: A-

Letting Us Purr on Her Lap: A

Feeding Us at Night: A

I guess mom's not that bad after all. But if she misses another feeding, we're going to have a hissy fit.

Meow for Now,

Hemi

Kit-Napped

Well, Cosette and I had a harrowing adventure this week: mom and us moved to another place. I must ask you to contain your horror until after you've read our story.

I know why we moved, but we didn't see it coming until we were shoved in our respective carriers and carted to who-knows-where.

In short, we were kit-napped.

I overheard mom saying weeks before that the "rent" was less expensive at this new place, and because the baby from China would require day care, that money would be better used toward day care than rent. (By the way, I must digress: this is another reason cats are superior to humans: we require very little care in the day.)

So here we are, a week later, adjusting to a new home that still does not have our scents adequately distributed everywhere. We get scared of watching people walking by our windows. And here's the thing: most of the windows do not have windowsills. Yesterday, I watched with pity as Cosette jumped on what she thought was a windowsill and she smacked into the glass and back onto the floor.

I think she was more embarrassed than physically hurt.

Anyway, what kind of interior designer designs windows without sills? Doesn't he or she know that cats are partial to sills?

Oh, and our first night over, we had a scare. A neighbor has a cat that hangs out outdoors, and it went up to our window and Cosette literally had a hissy-fit. The stray was a tuxedo cat, but it was definitely ugly. Not a handsome one like me.

Anyway, we think the cat was mocking us. No matter how Cosette puffed up and tried to scare it off, this cat wasn't budging until mom came up to the window and shooed it away.

The big advantage of this new place is the bay window, where Cosette and I love to sit and watch all sorts of prey....I mean, birds...roaming all over the place. We think this window is grander than a grand piano. Cosette also found a nifty spot on the couch that lays right under a window, thus creating a sort of windowsill of a type.

Cosette finished her last round of pills to help her better digest food. She seems to be feeling much better, and has thanked mom by leading a huge turdbomb in the litterbox.

That was funny.

Basically, we nap comfortably, and we are enjoying our new digs, even though we are not digging those whackodoodle windows or the scruffy next-door-neighbor cat that looks like a cross between Oscar the Grouch and a mop.

Gradually, we are leaving our scent marks all over the place, so we can eventually call this place Home, Sweet Home.

Meow for Now,

Hemi

I Was Adopted, Too!!

Two weeks ago today, exactly, mom got news that she had received a referral to adopt her baby daughter from China. A few days later, she, Cosette, and I got to see pictures of Ari, who is now 11 months old.

Now lest you think we are jealous, we are not. We are very happy to welcome a fun person to the household for a change. Mom isn't fun lately, as she's all wrapped up in writing and in something she calls "grading."

Anyway, Cosette and I privately discussed the three pictures of this adorable, chubby-cheeked kid, and we came to a conclusion: she's cute, but she'd be a lot cuter if she were a kitten. Also, if she were a kitten, she would already be litterbox trained and not have to wear this thing called a "diaper," which sounds so disgusting.

We don't really understand humans, frankly.

But we do understand that this new little one is a human and will eventually crap in this contraption with a flushing hole.

Cosette secretly told me she's worried that the kid will tug at her tail, which is not my problem, as I'm a Manx-Man. My tail is safe. And I'm good with kids. Cosette is too, actually.

Now I'll tell you all a family secret: Cosette and I relate to this newest little one because -- Cosette and I are adopted, too!!!!! What a coincidence. Very few people know this. My mom did not birth us; she adopted us, and we are so grateful. We are a real family, even though we are not biologically related. So next time you say, I got my mom's charm or Cosette's eyes remind you of my mom's, think again.

But the beauty of adoption is that it builds a family in the most wonderful of ways.

And here's another secret: See that picture of me in this posting? That's my referral picture!! Wasn't I so cute and handsome? Even back then, I was a looker. Cosette doesn't have a referral picture, but please don't tell her. I don't want her to feel badly emotionally.

Truth is, she's been feeling bad physically. Her digestive system is on the flare-up, and let's put it this way: she's had stuff coming out of every orifice. But she went to the veterinarian and got some medications that are seeming to do the trick. But she still is eating much less than she normally eats, so I'm concerned.

I still eat her untouched portions, but I am still concerned about her. Her energy level seems to be improving, so I really am glad. After all, maybe mom's attention will finally be more focused on me for a change.

Meow for Now,

Hemi

Cata-tonic Cat Tonic

So mom gets home from teaching last night, looking a tad fretful. She wouldn't tell me what was wrong, despite my efforts to try and cheer her up by play wrestling with Cosette. She smiled when we were play-stalking each other, but I could read some anguish in her eyes. I knew her students weren't giving her any trouble because I know she enjoys her Monday/Wednesday night class.

Anyway, mom sits in bed, writes in her journal, and then goes to sleep with the journal on her nightstand.

She forgets that I'm
1. Literate
2. Nosy
3. Able to see better at night than almost any creature.

And what I read was more horrifying than the time I read Edgar Allen Poe's short story "The Black Cat."

She was writing about some sort of incident that took place during class, where a guest speaker was bragging about how one of his students wrote a story for the school's literary magazine, called "That Darn Cat." (I'm substituting "Darn" for the word he really used because I'm a way too classy tuxedo man to be using curse words.)

I'm sure that this student hated cats, so I'm sure that his short story wasn't very good.

Frankly, people misjudge cats all the time. Why are we always referred to as sneaky? Or mean? Or unaffectionate? It's really not accurate, and I just wish more people would give cats a chance.

Anyway, when I was done reading mom's journal, I sought comfort in my blankie, the new one mom bought for me. You can see how lovely it is in the picture, with its various colors. And you can surely see from the picture how happy I am with it. It's so pretty, and comfy, and cozy, and...er...catnippy.

Now before you all become judgmental and claim I'm a substance abuser, I want to say right now that catnip causes euphoria, but it is not a drug. You know how I know? Because it's perfectly legal.

That's right. Legal.

Mom bought my blankie at the vet, and if catnip were illegal, the whole operation would be shut down because of its various catnip toy offerings. Pet stores stock it, and catnip is just about everywhere.

I love my blankie so much, I'm not even willing to spare a square!! In fact, I'm laying on my blankie as I write.

What was I writing about in the first place?

Meeeeeeeeeeeoooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwww for Now,

Hemi
(I will discuss a future catnip-related topic.)

A Tall Tail

This is Cosette. If you read the last blog post, Hemi was griping about how "underfed" he was that day that mom and her friend forgot to feed him enough food. Well, he's being a tad dramatic and has not gotten the story straight. The truth is, he is the food-grubbing member of the household -- eating mom out of house and home.

Today, for example, mom's friend picked him up to kiss him and said, "Wow, you've gained weight, Hemi." Now if a cat is underfed, he wouldn't be at a healthy weight. That was just one day that he wasn't fed enough at our household, and then mom and her friend were nauseatingly pouring accolades onto him due to their guilt. They then fed him almost a half-can more!

I, on the other hand, must deal with a whining brat who barrels over me to eat any morsel that belongs to me! Mealtimes are really bad, and I've had to stand up for myself to keep this interloper from eating what rightfully belongs to me.

Here's how mealtimes are at our household:

1. Mom gives me my anti-throw-up pill. Hemi and I are starving.
2. A half-hour later, mom sets down my bowl, the ration: a half-can. Hemi cannot be fed yet because he eats so fast that once he finishes, he badgers me for my food.
3. Mom has to stand guard in the kitchen so that Hemi doesn't barrel over me while I eat, hearing Hemi give plaintive cries. Trust me, I'm bigger and stronger and could knock him over with a single blow, but I choose to use my power for good instead of evil.
4. If mom leaves too early while I'm eating, I am curious and walk away, and Hemi scarfs down my food.
5. When mom feels I've had enough of a head start from this eating machine, she gives him his ration: a half can, which he eats faster than you can say, "Hemi is a hoggie."
6. I usually leave over a teaspoon or so of food, which Hemi gladly eats.
7. I do get the joy of hissing at him when walking away from him in the kitchen.
8. The same happens at night, minus the hiss.

Anyway, I just wanted to clear up any misconceptions about Hemi's and my feeding routines. He's so pig-like, that I'm surprised he hasn't yet given us Swine Flu.

Sow for now,

Cosette

Underfed and Fed Up

My mom is sleeping, so I figured I'd take advantage of this quiet time to write about a not-so-nice experience I had yesterday.

As you can see, I'm laying on top of my suitcase (formerly someone else's but now mine, although Cosette and I take turns) because if this keeps happening to me, I'm going to simply pack up my catnip toys and run away from home. I'm a good hunter and can live on wildlife. Right now, I hear birds chirping outside, so I know there's plenty of food outside.

There wasn't plenty of food for me yesterday, though, and this is the incident I must discuss. I had a nice morning meal, but at night I was food deprived. My mom was doing something called "teaching," and she asked a friend to pop by and feed Cosette, who needs a pill a half hour before she eats -- otherwise she upchucks.

And that ain't pretty.

Well, my mom made sure to tell her so-called friend all about Cosette's tender stomach, so when this person, whom I normally love, stopped by, she assumed I had already been fed. And you know what happens when you assume!!

So, to make a long story short, she got the lion's share of the food -- three-quarters of a can to be exact -- and I got the shaft by getting a stingy one-quarter "snack" because my mom failed to tell her that I hadn't eaten dinner yet.

I am appalled at this lack of service, and one day you may just find me the subject of one of those Animal Planet shows about neglected animals. What the heck, I might even make it on Oprah. And then, watch out world!

So when mom got home (she cares more about her students than me), she and her friend were "communicating," and mom told her I hadn't eaten dinner before she left for school. The friend was all -- "Oh Hemi I'm so sorry!" "You poor boy," "No wonder you seemed so hungry," "I thought you were just being your typical food-hound self."

How dare she compare me to a hound!

So I was finally given my due and fed. Like they did me a big favor. However, I must admit that I enjoyed the guilt-induced hugs, kisses, praises, etc. that were give by these two dottering humans.

Hey, they can take lessons on communication from cats. We say what we mean to say and don't miscommunicate. Humans, on the other hand, need to hone their communication skills with each other and other species.

There is an upside to this story: the humans became our puppets, using our favorite toys to play with us. Lemme tell you: Cat Dancer and Da Bird rock, although I am still coughing up feathers that my hungry self ingested from the bird toy.

Meow for now,

Hemi

Close Encounters of the Feline Kind

As you can all see, this is a picture taken when Cosette and I had a loving moment. When cats are friendly toward eachother, they greet each other nose to nose, as shown in this picture. This is opposed to inferior dogs who sniff each other's butts. They are such butt-heads -- literally.

Anyway, basically we get along really well, and we like to rough it up a bit, but tonight the play turned kind of rough. Cosette loves to play, but she tends to not know her own strength. Or maybe she knows it, but she wants to give me grief. She's been chasing me around until now, and she's been very aggressive. She is finally tired of using me as her toy, so now I'm using this time to journal my feelings.

I do have to admit, I tend to instigate sometimes. Like the times I poke her in the face unprovoked (hee hee).

But deep down inside, I'm a pacifist, and I believe we all should just be friends all the time. I think I'm a pretty cool cat, very laid back, whether or not that's catnip-induced.

I must admit, I'm a little miffed that Cosette ruffled my tuxedo fur. She thinks she's so great because of her more wild striped pattern? Well, I'm an elegant, sophisticated tuxedo man.

She's just a bully.

Meow for now,

Hemi

Sprinkling Words Like Litter

Hi folks,

This is Cosette. Hemi was careless enough to be going to the litterbox for a break -- without closing his Blogger account. It seems this little punk is such a wordsmith, that he doesn't even think about the details of shutting down blogger because he doesn't think I'm literate enough to put a blog together.

As you can see from my picture, not only am I an avid reader (and I have an Avid microchip to prove it), but mom depends on me to help prepare her for her classes. To be honest, I'm the brains behind all of the preparation mom must do for class. I'm not trying to undermine her abilities in any way, and I'm sure she's an adequate teacher, but look at the above picture of me planning her course.

Pictures don't lie. Hemi, on the other hand, is another matter.

I'm not saying he doesn't look cute with his tuxedo and all that; it's just that he calls himself "the ladies' man," flirts with mom and her friends, and prances around all Hollywood-like -- with his stump up in the air.

And he thinks he's a hot shot just because he is a Manx breed. But see, the truth is, he's not show quality. If he were show quality, he'd have a tail that kind of curls down, not a mere stump. Now lest you think I'm jealous, I'm not. I never brag about my breed or striped pattern. I know I'm not show quality, and I'm proud of the way I was made.

But Hemi is all, "I'm a tuxedo this" and "I'm a tuxedo that" and "Look at my cute little gloved paws," and "I'm the man of the house," and "Look how I can use my long paws to reach into the bottom of mom's glass and get what little bit of milk there is left." He doesn't understand why she's disgusted? Well, Hemi, here's a clue:

She doesn't know where your paws have been!

Now in terms of the turds outside of the litterbox, nobody can blame me; I'm a bit stressed out that this interloper acts like a dog by wagging his tail and purring simultaneously when he's happy. Frankly, it kinda freaks me out.

And it's hard when for eight years, I've been mama's baby, and she and I have had such a nice history, and here comes Mr. Sophistication trying to steal mom's attention. But the nice thing is that every night, it is ME cuddling up with mom, not him. The bed is MY territory.

Nevertheless, I am warming up to him and do like him, maybe even love him. But it's not that kind of love, so get your minds out of the gutter. We are both neutered. I think we're like siblings.

Sorry for being in such a bad mood, but I've been working on the same hairball for over a week now, and even though I went to the vet (and you don't even want to know what they did to me!), I'm still trying to throw it up or poop it out. My mommy always takes great care of us.

Bow wow for now,

Cosette
(PS) Hemi will get mad at me deliberately messing up his signature ending. LOL

She's So Remote, It's Out of Control

OK, so here's my "sister," Cosette, being lazy as usual. While I'm more of a Renaissance man, this little brown tabby watches way too much TV, especially Animal Planet. I mean, how uncreative?

Besides, unless the program is about cats and/or dogs (cats and dogs need to know about each other), there's no reason to watch Animal Planet. We have nothing in common with wildebeasts and boring animals like giraffes.

Now that I'm writing, I'm sort of feeling guilty about the mean things I sometimes say about Cosette. She's not a couch potato; she's very active and more playful than I am, even though I'm eight years her junior. And I have huge paws that make it difficult to navigate the remote, so I do admire her skill in that arena.

OK, I know you are all waiting to hear the update on the poop-outside-the-box scandal. The good news is, all waste products have remained in the box....for now. Of course, you never know when Cosette might launch a sneak attack.

Now changing the subject, I've become a bit disturbed lately. Some of my mom's students have been talking smack about me.

At first it hurt my feelings, but I got over it as soon as mom set her milk glass down -- with some milk still at the bottom. I got in trouble tonight for reaching one of my long front paws into the glass. Mom spilled out the rest of the milk, like she's grossed out by my having touched it.

I mean, I keep my paws clean with my saliva. What's the big deal?

I always like to see the glass as half full.

Meow for Now,

Hemi