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