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