Hiss Scratch Piss and Beware!
My humans have left me in the care of someone else for a few months. Why? So that they can spend the summer in their palatial (well, not really) estate (okay, it's part of a 600-year-old fort) in the south of France (out in the sticks).
They spoke of it like a priveledge to me - "Hossie!" they said, speaking the "o" they think is in my name - "Hossie, you get to be the uncle to five kittens!"
These little brats won't leave me alone. They're better than human kids, because I'm bigger than them
but they're equally addicted to the Sponge that is Bob. I don't understand this Bob fellow. Sponges are for cleaning up after the little kittens while they're learning how to use The Box. Sponges are not supposed to wear pants.
I don't know if this is related, but I'm curious as to what pineapple tastes like now.
So while my old human marrieds were trying to convince me that this was a far far better thing than I thought, they neglected to mention the REAL reason they wanted me out of the house: Carlota ("with ONE T!" as they often say) the French Harpie Cat.
Hah. I'm calling her Carlotta. Just to spite her. The harpie. I'd call her something obscene in French, but it makes me sound sort of fey.
The kittens are swiping at my tail. I'm going to go turn on CSPAN and try to put them into a coma. If all else fails, I'm hatching a nasty plot involving some Fancy Feast and a plastic bag.
I overheard my Mistress Seipp
mention how twisted my offline sister Felice's legs have become and how senile
she has gone. Mistress Seipp complained on her cat's weariness and demandingness that resembles an old lady's.
Senile, eh? At five, my owner thinks I'm senile too, and my legs are twisted in a certain way too. Reason: I try talking to my owners through my anxious meows, which they misinterpret to be demands, and I blog and read the blogs for hours on end that cause me to walk in a funny way.
In fact, I just read my owner's blog--well part of it just now before she threw me off her chair.
I don't know why Mistress Dubois is so concerned with her intelligence when due to the influx of readers from her instalanche, she has built confidence and allows one weird teacher to break it all down again. Fear--beats all good happenings in Cecile's world. How I'd like to scratch her and tell her to not let those idiots frighten her.
She is too damn insecure. Am I insecure when I lick my various body parts?
Message to Mistress Seipp: Send your daughter off to a nudist camp! That'd do the trick...
50,000 pounds for a cat? And cloned too?
Why not just adopt a cat that resembles your late one from the pound for only fifty pounds? It would be awfully boring if my clone looked exactly like me, minus the wits.
Would we blame your human food
if we slipped by a naked cat? You humans are so peculiar. First, you have man date-raping a woman, and you have him whining, "It was the cat food!"
Next excuse: "The banana slipped out of my pants, damnit, and I couldn't control it. I slipped over it!"
TAKAOKA, Toyama Prefecture-Doraemon, futuristic cat king of comics, beloved by millions of children of all ages ... a sage for our times?
Yes, says Yasuyuki Yokoyama, a professor of Toyama University who has been giving weekly lectures on the comic cat for more than five years.
``While the characters often fight with each other in the comic, Doraemon values sympathy with the weak and keeps hold of dreams,'' says Yokoyama, 62. ``Doraemon also shows us what kind of problems we have in our society.''
The professor usually teaches lifelong sports at Toyama University, but once a week he also gives ``Doraemon gaku'' (Doraemon studies) lectures.
Meow, even my hero too.
I would just love to have my owner's dog befriend me and serve me dinner too
She thinks that raising great cats can help her raise more sensitive boys.
When she had two young sons of her own, now 26-year-old Kyle and 22-year-old Corey, she thought that pets could help her raise more sensitive boys.
"I just surrounded them all their lives with pets," she said.
Cleaver said the family has "gone through the whole gamut of pets," including dogs, cats, ferrets and guinea pigs. All of the animals, Cleaver said, died a natural death until Corey's beloved English bulldog had to be euthanized.
"It was really, really tough," she said. "I mean, he cried and I cried and it was just awful. ... So I told him the day we buried her, I said, 'If you want to get another pet, I'll let you.'
Adopt cats like me. MEOW!
My owner found my page. She patted me on the head and congratulated me for learning how to type, but said "Don't you know your name is spelled with an O? It's hOssie, not hAssie. And then she hid her slippers.
Also, I too am a boy cat, although not as much since they had me "eff-eye-ecks-ee-dee." They must have thought I didn't know how to spell, and their different spelling of my name must only confirm that.
The owners are foisting me on a family for the summer. A family with five teensy baby kittens. I get to be an uncle while the Alpha Male and Female are in France with my nemesis, Carlotta the stuck-up French cat. Yes, I know it's Carlota with one t. You people are real sticklers for spelling, aren't you? You wouldn't want to know what I call her behind your backs. A hint: it's another word with only one t.
I'm just bitter because I'm being displaced for another summer, and right after their daughter Ptitza
got attacked on the subway. And her male friend neither beat heads in nor smashed kneecaps. In the words of Dadde-o Male, (much-muttered after he got off the phone with his only child) "If only I woulda been there. Grr."
Maybe I'll escape and run to the City this summer and try and be a vigilante justice cat for her. Hmm.
What humans are there for
. If only humans can be better. On Mistress Seipp's latest post
, I started a catfight with some Mili Pedia who attacked the size of Luke's
sword or is it pocket knife. Mistress Seipp may be touchy on the subject of her friend's bodily functions and as a cat of her daughter, or family member, I needed to defend her. (Licking my claws.) My owner has been gracious in sharpening my claws lately. She's doing it all the time. I worry about her.
Luke Ford Fan
has been contemplating that my owner has been metamorphisizing into a cat. If she has, wouldn't this be on http://ceciledubois89.journalspace.com?
If I were a feral cat, I would immediately paw over to alleycat.org for them to feed me lavish dishes and hire escort service for me. Who says that we cats don't appreciate leggy blondes allowing us to purr on their laps? I would just adore to be that intimate with a sexy lady.
Oh if only I were a human...
My owner lately has been anxious, neurotic, obsessive over debating with boys about politics
, and asking her friend compulsively whether her underwear showed. Politics, my tail. She wants to engage in any conversation with a person of the opposite sex to push their buttons and to build her confidence. She even is spending more time in the bathroom doing G-D knows what. I even saw her the other day frowning on her complexion. She says she will give up on her bodily fur because its "too much work". No wonder she has been wearing jeans and other pants 24/7. It's stylish for us cats, but definitely not for my owner.
Purr...I worry about her.
She wants to debate because she wants attention. She wants attention to flatter herself. She subconsciously wants to make a fool of herself to add to her publicised immaturity on her blog. I can bet you five cat hairs she will copy and paste this on her blog. Just like my chum Luke Ford
does to my other friend Luke Ford Fan
Is my owner going to abandon me for the wilderness of the boys? She needs to spend more time with her dear cat and dog. Cats and dogs aren't around forever, boys are.
Just for her oblivity to my needs, I shall go and do a surprise on her pillow.
is another of our kind's journal. She trains her owner, we observe. By the way, this is Kotoka here.
didn't bother to take me to camp with her. A million scratches to her for that. I pawed through her black book and there appeared to be many birds. Why did she deprive me of such a heaven?
All I get is processed cat food of G-D knows what animal of origin while she gets to see and hear all kinds of delicious birds. She heard parakeets and saw meaty crows. If I could fly, just to enjoy one bird a day. But unless if I were Jewish or an ornithologist, I would not be allowed there.
the cat appears very mad. If I were left alone on a plane for 19 days, I would've pawed the plane to some interesting island--I would've travelled the world on a bird-tasting vacation!
The S. Africans sure love to trap their cats
. And they enjoy dogs chasing us too. Thankfully we have PETA in America.
Even in San Francisco
, cats are politically correct and used as an excuse to be discriminated. "Hey, I'm a cat fancier! I'm black yo! Give me that job!"
No wonder our way of living works best: sleep, eat, piss, eat sleep piss sleep sleep sleep. Its called catatonic-sim.
Hello darlings. Old orange Hass here.
As soon as the "owners" left this morning, I was free to slipper surf.
The slippers of the female are open-backed, meaning there is a delightful space where her toes go that would just about fit my head if some cruel creature were to cram me in the slipper, face first. But I like to use it as fairings, that is, like the windshield of a motorcycle.
The slipper is on the kitchen tile. I jump, leap, my orange and white girth flying playfully through the air, and plop my front paws into the toe of the slipper. With my momentum, the slipper and I slide across the tile four feet to the other side of the kitchen (it's a small kitchen.) After some maneuvering disguised as torturing, I can flip the slipper back pointing the other direction.
And the cycle continues, as long as the people downstairs don't hear me. If I could go out and romp with the crows and baby alligators I wouldn't need to reduce myself to frolicking with footwear, but I like to think of myself as the Anne Frank of Cat Blogs. And in the annex, hidden from the super and the nosy old neighbors, I must keep my mind limber with slipper surfing.
Surf, slip, pounce, with paws tightly coordinated into the front of the slipper. It's claw-extendingly fun.
And she wonders why her slippers are never where she left them in the morning.