The Cat

A Blog must have writing; otherwise no one wants to read it. Well, when writing political topics I like to make sure I have my facts checked out because if I don’t, someone else will.  That could prove unpleasant.  It is for this reason I am going to post some older stories about our cat that I wrote back in march of ’08.  You may read it, and the cat cannot object.  He doesn’t prefer to spend his time reading my blog.

We have a cat. This cat has never really had a name, because by the time we finally settled on a name, we were all calling him “Cat.” He is however, known by other nom de plumes, mainly Catling, Black Furry, Kitty Hog, (you ask me no questions I tell you no lies) catty cat cat (our version of kitty kitty) beastling, little beast, and what ever else enters any body’s head. We never call him Bagheera, which was the agreed upon name.

Anyway, dad brought home a dog. There was nearly a mutiny on the spot. (There may still be a mutiny, the cat has not yet resolved this question) This was a stray dog. This was a hungry dog. It made no difference. Dog was coming up the steps, (dang. There we go again. I tremble for any horses we may get) Cat was coming outside. He walked up stiffly, and then lunged with all fours. (I have It from reliable witnesses. This is where the term tooth and nail comes from) The dog is a smart dog; she backed up and pleaded for mercy, stating that as she was already an out cast, she did not want to argue with anyone about placement issues. Cat was hissing under his breath about having to save the stupid humans from this invader, because they weren’t smart enough to save themselves. Well, things are at an uneasy truce: or rather, the cat has not be able to declare war because dog won’t fight: as I said before dog is a smart dog. If you can’t beat someone, ignore ‘im. Cat has discovered, to his great satisfaction, that dogs cannot climb. This is a great consolation to him, in this cold, hard, bad world of ours, some things are still just. Oh, and he gets this wild look in his eyes whenever he sees the dog, and commences mooing. Not a hiss, not a growl, a moo.

The cat is half Siamese. But he is not, as you would expect, in any way made more docile by mixed parentage. Not him. He divides his time equally between being a Siamese, and being a good cat. And he does it in the most devious fashion, too. At night and early morning, he is a good cat. He purrs, and is very pleased with all he sees. During the day, he is busy killing birds and mice, and anyone’s feet that happen to walk by him. (He hasn’t killed the neighbor’s cat, but it isn’t for lack of trying. If he must go maraudering about the neighborhood, why can’t he do it at night?) If you happen to get up at the transition stage, bad luck to you.

He was really on edge this morning. He’d rub my ankles, and then look around quickly to see if the dog was coming. I think he contemplated eating the dog’s food as a sort of revenge, but that had to be canceled (to his great sorrow) because one piece of dog food took up his whole mouth. And a cat with a full mouth is cat with no teeth. I believe the mutiny has been postponed in favor of a bloodless revolution. He is not quite sure what that means, but he likes the revolution part.

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