To Teach The Unteachable

I’m sorry I haven’t been nearly so good at keeping up with my blogging. My time is limited on the text box and I have no idea how to turn it on. I have to wait for my person for that. Suddenly after years of being home all day, she’s gone all the time, everyday.  Personally I think she just goes outside and stands at the door, just to drive me crazy.

It’s been a happy time. My person has been bringing the sunbeam everyday. Lately, though, to my dismay she has been keeping the blinds more shut than open and I only get a 7” area to sunbathe in. I think she’s being stingy – if she just lays in the sunbeam too, I think she will understand how delightful it can be.

But I digress… The thought of the moment is, I have been more intrigued with the out of doors. In years past, when the orange door opened I thought it best if I went into the other room. I don’t know what was going to happen when the orange door opened, and it is my nature to wait to see if negative or positive things happen first, before I made myself be known. But something about the warmer weather makes the smells more….. smelly… and the closer I am to the out of doors, the more I can smell the smells.

My person and I have begun a new ritual and I’m very happy that she is quick to learn. In the morning she says ‘paper!’ and opens the orange door. I stand at the threshold and smell while she picks up some plastic wrapped thing that appears on the stoop. In the evening she says ‘poop!’ and opens the orange door again and we do the same thing. With the exception that she sets a plastic wrapped thing outside on the stoop.

I’m trying to teach the man-person a new ritual, but he’s a little harder to teach. Most nights he sits outside, close to the mesh door that slides. So when I sit at the opening of the door he is to open it, just enough that I notice but Cleo does not. Now, I’m supposed to be able to step outside onto the porch, but he doesn’t let me.

I need to break him of this habit, but I’m not sure how. Suggestions are always welcome.  

Harumph!

 

I’m grumpy today. I don’t know why, I just am. This happens from time to time, I get grumpy, I don’t know what I need to do to get happy so I get more frustrated. Then it just builds upon itself.

It started last night. It’s been very cold the last few evenings so my person took a hot bath. I like it when she takes a bath, it’s warm in the room and the steam clears my sinus (Remind me to tell you of the time I had a sinus infection and I got steamed 3 times a day). I jump on the ledge and paw at the water. When she’s done, I get on the counter and I get brushed. All these things happened and I was very happy and then it was time for bed – so it ended.

I don’t like it when happy things end, I know they always do, just as bad things end too. But it got very cold after they both turned out all the lights and got into bed. For hours it got colder and colder and I thought, now would be a good time to have another bath, so I let them know. I stood in the bathroom and yelled at them. (I never quite realize something is a bad idea until I’m done doing it.) My person hollered at me, so I stopped. Then an hour later, it was even colder so I yelled at them again and she, in turn, yelled at me. It became a vicious cycle. So much so that I forgot why I was in the bathroom yelling, I just was.

Now, I’m just grumpy. I want another bath, I want the sunbeam, I want in the closet, I want it to stop being so cold. I want to the point where ‘want’ is what I want, there is no thing attached. That’s when it gets aggravating. I want everything, yet I want nothing. Happy or satisfied is so far away, it gets me frustrated.  Okay, it’s times like these I just have to breath and get zen….  The sunbeam is here, whew! 

Ghoulies and ghosties and long legged beasties and things that go bump in the night

 

I know I’ve been so good about posting in a timely manner, and yet nothing over the weekend. Let me reassure you, it isn’t me – if you were worried, I’m fine. I have no idea what’s going on with my person though. I’ve never seen her so lazy. She’s either in bed or in the bathroom, all weekend! She never sat in front of the text picture box, so I never had the opportunity to blog. Oh well.

So, something has been happening now and again, on our roof. In the long room with all the doors, there is one spot on the ceiling that is different than the rest of the ceiling. I’m not sure how to describe it, it looks around 4’ x 3’, it bows outward, it’s a hard plastic and although I feel as if I should be able to look through it I can’t – anyway, that’s not the issue, it’s what happens on top of it, that is.

The last time the weather was beginning to get hot again, a monster would… for lack of a better word, come and visit. It would come and stomp on the plastic ceiling and cry out. I’ve heard the cry before, it’s like some kind of a gravely bark. It’s claws scrape on the plastic ceiling and occasionally I can just make out cape-type arms. Like I said, it’s a monster. From that first visit, it has come back, not regularly but occasionally.

What’s odd though, in all my days of being a ‘scaredy cat’ (according to my person), even when I was very scared I was more curious. I wanted to run away but I couldn’t, I had to find out what this monster was, why it was there and what he wanted from me. I never did find out, maybe if it comes back, I will. One thing I did find out about myself, I guess I’m braver then I thought.    

To sleep, perchance to dream

 

It is said that cats sleep up to 18 hours a day. I will not disagree or plan to disprove that. We do and we embrace it. I am just taking this time to list off the various places I sleep.

On the bed, between my person’s legs

On the bed, stuffed under her arm, my head shoved in her ear.

On top of the dresser, inside the walk in closet

On the top shelf of the walk in closet

On the writy tablet thing by the text picture box in man-person’s space

On both cushy swivel chairs

The footstool

The top of the back of the big comfy chair

On the floor where ever sunbeam is

On the couch

On warm freshly laundered clothes

On the new white cashmere sweater

When all the blankets are piled up

In an empty laundry basket

On the comforter, when it’s piled on the floor

In the back corner of the closet, passed the old TV, on top of her cold day clothes, under  her dresses

On the yellow pillow

In a doorway.

I think that covers it.

Good night.

It's a bright sunshiny day

 

I don’t believe that anyone or anything on this planet can say they know how everything works in the world. From poets to engineers there is an aspect in everyone lives, that at one point they think to themselves, ‘I have no idea how it happens, I’m just glad it does’. Not everyone does, and may I say, it’s a smart person that can give in to the mysteries of the universe. What gets me is the knowledge of how something works, it just won’t.

Now, I am a cat, my resources are limited, hell, my dexterity is limited – I have no thumbs. I can’t pick up a pencil or open a round doorknob or spin a top. When all the persons are gone, not being able to open the blinds is mildly aggravating. When they are home and I believe it’s time for sunbeam, I’ll let them know to open the blinds.  Now, how this works is – at some point during the morning one of them has brought the sunbeam to the window and when I’m ready they open the blinds. I just don’t understand why some days, neither one of them brings the sunbeam.

Sunbeam is warm and lovely and it’s here most days. Sometimes it shifts to various parts of the room and it stays there for weeks, months even and then it changes back, like a cycle. It’s fun, I like sunbeam. I don’t understand why they wouldn’t bring it. I try to tell them that it’s not right but all they do is say words at me and then pet me. I know they mean well but it’s just so simple. I will never understand.

No man is an island

 

Cats are thought of as solitary animals. From time to time I tend to agree. Dogs are pack animals, so are elephants – well, actually a group of elephant are a parade or a herd, either way, when it comes to cats, no one can really agree. Enough about that, let me get to the meat of the matter. For a very long time, I was an only cat. It was just my person and I. Sometimes there would be roommates, occasionally those roommates had animals, I liked them just fine-ish (remind me to tell you about the teacup Chihuahua) but at the end of the day, it was just her and I. Until a few years ago.

It was when the weather gets colder and my person and I had already been living with her man-person for a handful of years. One day, my person’s friend, curly haired lady, came over with a big pink box. The pink box (gasp) meowed. Inside was Cleo, maybe 12 weeks old, and let me tell you, I was not happy. But, after a couple of days, and an hour being locked in the bathroom with the 4 of us, I began to enjoy her company. It was the first time in a long time I ran up and down the halls and played and shared my food, it was a wonderful decorated living room tree time. But then, something happened.

Curly haired lady came back, she frequently visits so I didn’t think much of it, but when she left – I couldn’t find Cleo. At first I figured she was in a new hiding place, as cats we find them all the time but she never came out. I looked and looked, nothing. At one time, I thought she needed coaxing to come out of her hiding place so when my person was at work and her man-person was home, I took all the toys Cleo played with and brought them into the hall and yelled as loud as I could over and over, she never came out. She was gone.

The story, obviously, has a happy ending. Curly haired lady brought Cleo back. I still don’t know why she had to go, maybe it was to get the rest of her things or something. We’ve been all together ever since. I always thought I enjoyed being an only cat only to have my opinion be changed. Unbeknownst to her, Cleo has taught me a lot , mainly she taught me that not all outside people that knock on the door will harm me, which is good. Cleo is a bit skittish around curly haired people, but I keep trying to remind her, no one is going to take you away again. 

Alas, poor Sabastian! I knew him, Horatio

 

I’m not really a ‘play’ type of creature. I do play. I will chase Cleo up and down the halls, attack her when she’s sleeping, give in to the string on the stick, but in general I do not play.

 Cleo plays, Mon Dieu, she plays. She goes to the point of doing parkour down the halls (it’s quite impressive, she can jump almost 6 feet). She even has a toy box that she gets into when she feels the need – she hasn’t quite gotten the hang of putting them away and it just clutters the place. I think it’s nice that she is so active.

I’ve only had one toy that I truly enjoyed and that was my flat mouse. Secretly I named him Sebastian, I like to say it was after Sebastian Cabot the Italian explorer and navigator but it was Sebastian from Little Mermaid. Sebastian was simply made, just a piece of suede in the shape of a mouse. Maybe some whiskers, maybe some eyes, that wasn’t important. I would play with him for hours, even now, if I knew where he was I would chase after him, stop, smell him and then just sits there. Happy times.

As all good things do, this one too, came to an end. By the time I lost Sebastian he was full of rips and bite marks and was as hard as cardboard. Perhaps he decomposed under the couch, who’s to know? I do know I loved that flat mouse.

 “Thinking of you where ever you are- We pray for our sorrows to end and hope that our hearts will blend…” – Shiro Amano

I’m not picky, I’m particular

 I don’t believe it’s wrong to want what you like enough to wait for it to appear. I think if you settle for second best, you always ponder how wonderful it would be if only you had what you really want. And doesn’t that short-change your life, in the long run, when you settle? Let me clarify, I’m not saying that if you have a crush on George Clooney you should wait for him, instead of dating the nice man from accounting. If you’re waiting for George Clooney to ask you to marry him, you’re delusional, plain and simple. Even if you’re dating George Clooney, he won’t ask you to marry him.

I just like things a certain way. For example, I do enjoy being brushed, but only on the bathroom counter, only after my person has taken a bath and only with her man-person’s hair brush, I don’t like it any other way. I like basking in a sunbeam, but only in a specific bedroom. I like the expensive cat food, but only in chicken (I loathe fish). I will snack on the tidbits of food that have fallen to the floor, but I will not eat the exact same thing if you try to hand it to me. I will only lie on my person’s lap and I don’t like strangers. It’s very simple, it’s just specific.

I’m a true proponent for trying new things, new things are wonderful until I throw them up.  And then occasionally I will need to be reminded that I don’t like something when I’m sticking my nose in it. That why I keep my person around, she makes sure I don’t ‘retry’ a new thing.  

If people wonder why I’m difficult, I’m not. It’s their perception and their opinion. I can’t take that from them.  

Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.*

 

One might think, because I am so attractive that I can’t see beyond my own beauty and find another attractive. Alas, that is not the case. I was once in love, if you can call it that. We never dated or spoke much, I never knew his true feelings, but I knew mine.

He was an all white Canaan dog. Strong and silent, never caught his name. Occasionally he would come over into the space I lived in and I would rub against his legs. He really didn’t know how to take it and I didn’t care.

By the way, you read that right – dog, he was a dog. I don’t feel the need to explain myself and I was surprised as to my reaction to this dog when I met him. Open your mind and don’t judge.

Anyway, the Canaan dog moved away, or that’s what I tell myself. Just one day he was gone, no explanation, no note, just gone. I didn’t cry because, to be honest I didn’t realize he hadn’t come by in a long long time, until it was a long, long time – by then I didn’t care. So don’t cry for me, I’m fine. 

*Quote from Kahlil Gibran

The Sophie Loren Of Cats

Hello,


My name is Stella, and I am a very attractive cat. I am 11 years old and for as long as I can remember, I have been an attractive cat.


I live with my person and her man-person. There is another cat here, her name is Cleo and she's not as attractive as I am. She is a very cute cat, but not beautiful per se. It's like comparing Sophie Loren to Shirley Jones, both are appealing, but very different 'attractive' wise (and if you don't know who these actresses are, look them up on IMdB). I'm the Sophie Loren of cats. Chances are high I will post a picture or two of Cleo, I enjoy her company and she keeps me fit by chasing me around the house. 


Anyway, I thought I should get my face out there, I don't want to deprive the public of such attractiveness.


Included is a picture of myself and Cleo. Yes, she's upside down and a little daft at times.