Sunday, January 4, 2009

Felines...whoa whoa whoa Felines...

I've been a cat lover since I was 4, when my sister brought home our first kitty, Tiger, an amiable sort who came seeking tuna and set up shop with us for 16 years...

(If you really think about it, what a strange concept it is owning a pet. You basically grab a living creature -- many times from a different environment -- plop him/her in your household, assign a name and let it flow. No blood ties, no familial connection. How many of us could handle such a transition? One that doesn't involve a beach house and live-in masseuses, of course.)

Not to slight our canine friends, who I have admired for many years, but there is something about the independent, almost FU attitude of cats that has always intrigued me. Of course, at the end of the day, I want a bit of affection from my felines...I figure if the wife can provide some, why not these furry creatures who lay around all day, eat and poop at our expense.

Currently, we own three cats: Simba, who we've had for 14-plus years (basically the length of our marriage), Sammy, a resident of 5-and-a-half years, and our newest addition, a Tasmanian Devil we have dubbed Ricky (see menacing figure above). At six months old, this creature has entered the scene kicking ass and taking names, completely disrupting the rather sedentary life S & S had established.

We've tried various way to take the pressure off of the elder kitties: Bonnie's newest trick is a laser that catches Ricky's attention (diverting it from Simba's and Sammy's tails) and sends him flying around the room in a fruitless search for the elusive light. It's working so far and I'm pretty sure the wise elder Simba shot me a thankful glance earlier this evening. You're welcome, old friend.


  1. Oh no...has our newest kitty friend found a way to penetrate the Wall of Bettas? This doesn't look good for young Ricky.

  2. He looks very innocent to me, very sweet. How could he possibly be that much trouble?

  3. Over the winter break, my sister visited with her kitten (named Kih-TUHoen', a name only my sister can pronounce correctly). She too had her cat chasing a laser dot, and all I could think was, she's GASLIGHTING that poor animal just like Charles Boyer gaslighted Ingrid Bergman. It's just a matter of time before the feline loses all ability to discern reality from illusion and starts trying to eat invisible food.

    BTW, Sir, your dear wife says you're looking to build readership. The best way is to get out to other blogs of like-minded folks and comment on their posts. Ask them to visit you. It takes a bit of work up front, but after a while you'll have some steady blogfriends.


  4. When I was a kid, cats used to literally follow me home. I'd stop and scratch their ears, and then they'd just come on home with me like I'd signed a contract.

    Our dog...was not amused. :)

  5. You must have something new to say by now. We're waiting.