Vicious Killer

                                                  [Harmoni makes a pretty good pillow.]

Ruru the Cat here.  Harmoni the Puppy is both my good buddy and a pain in my cute, fuzzy butt.  I really like that she has body heat and shares it with me.  I like that she lets me groom her sometimes.  I don't like that she suddenly barks at one of us cats just because we're suddenly, I don't know, a different cat than we were a second ago.  Nor do I like that she suddenly barks at a person just because they are a stranger OR someone who hasn't been here for a while OR coming in from the outside, even three times in a row, very same person, OR touches or stands near the door or sometimes just shuffles around a bit.  Seriously, Harmoni.  You give dogs a bad name sometimes.  But mostly, we've made our peace.  She's okay.  We'll pretend she's one of us cats because it's easier to do that than flip out just because she exists and just so happens to be a canine.  Okay, Cass, the newest in our elite feline club, and Maya, the oldest in our club, sometimes get picked on or chased around by the dogs.  So they aren't quite as happy about the arrangement.  But none of us can do anything about getting rid of nutty, excitable  Harmoni, so we survive.

                                           [Baby using Dodger as a brain-dead fur blanket.]

Dodger the Pomeranian, however, is a bit of a throw rug.  He makes Harmoni look like a genius.  Heck, he makes a rock look like frickin' Einstein.  I'm not clear on why the humans keep this useless puffball around.  We tolerate him, but he doesn't seem to care about anybody but my person's mom.  His sole job in this house seems to be to sit around and worship her.  When she walks out of the house for like a minute or something, he throws a welcome party, running around in circles and barking until all of we cats want to throw him in the toilet and flush.  Basically, he's useless.  Kind of like a hairball but with less personality and certainly no IQ to speak of.  We cats would have to turn in our cat badges to call him one of us.  

                      [Dodger growling at the object of his worship because she got too near his turkey.]

But today, he turned into a monster.  He did this once before, like someone pressed the meanie head button, and he turned from useless hairball to attack-beast.  When he does this, he grabs a turkey bone and growls over it anytime anyone just looks at it.  He acts like he is going to rip out the heart of anyone who thinks at his turkey.  I snuck up and tried to get just a sniff and maybe a nibble, and that vicious killer went for me like I was so much doggie kibble.  I don't get it.  Most of the time, he's just a useless fur blanket, but give him a turkey bone, and watch out.  I just don't understand dogs at all.  And I think I'd rather keep it that way.

They're Baaaaaaack!

Ruru the Cat here.  Seriously?  It seems we no sooner get rid of those monsters than they show up again.  Remember the baby, the toddler, and the dog [and those people who seem to have nothing better to do than to ruin innocent cats' lives by bringing them here]?  Well, this time, it was worse yet.  They were here for TWO DAYS!  And that crazy toddler wouldn't leave us ALONE!  He smacked us, chased us around while threatening us with pointy things, knocked our water dish over multiple times, followed us to places we thought were safe, stole my cheese right out from under my nose... that thing is relentless.  I think it was particularly designed with cat torment in mind.

Oh, and even the little baby human got in on the persecute-innocent-animals game.  If anyone got anywhere near him, particularly the dogs, they were bound to get pounded.  Small humans are SCARY.

And that big dog...that big, scary dog still has those big teeth.  And he kept showing them off.  Harmoni told me he was just yawning and smiling and stuff, but what does a dog know?  

Weirder still, they brought this big fluffy pink something that looked sort of like an animal but WASN'T an animal.  It didn't smell or act like an animal.  My person hauls stuff like that around all the time, but nothing this BIG.

                                                              (See?  Really big!)

We all had to cower in the basement and pray they'd leave.  It was horrible!

Here's Harmoni's testimonial.  She'll tell you:

Ruru's not kidding!  Those things are scary, all of them!  Everything Ruru says is true, except the big dog mountain really was just yawning and smiling.  Aries isn't scary.  He's just old and tired.  And he brings yummy food and treats.  So he's welcome anytime.  Come to think of it, the toddler often offered me food, especially that chocolate stuff my people never want me to have. And the little baby human kept spilling food and milk all over, so I could do my duty and clean it up.  The big, blue-haired female wouldn't leave me alone, but she ended up petting me and snuggling me.  So she wasn't all bad.  Maybe it's okay if they come back.  They give me food.  

Aw, come on, Harmoni.  You're kidding, right?  Who asked you?

You did.  

You're no help.  Dodger, come on.  You're a dog.  They wouldn't leave you alone.  Tell them how bad these horrors were.

I like people.  They gave me food.  It was yummy.  They petted me.  It was nice.  What was I saying? 


Ruru again, the only sane creature in this house.  Man, dogs are useless.  It was horrible!  A trauma!  The worst thing that's happened all week!  That's what you get when you let a dog talk.  Mutts.

Cat and Mouse

This is Ruru the Cat.  Remember how last week, Baby, my annoying sister, told you all about what an awesome huntress she was?  How strong and saucy she was and that all fuzzy animals from everywhere ought to fear her?  Turns out the little red light our person's dad uses to make us chase our tails around the house is in more danger.  Heck, even Baby's tail is in more danger than a mouse.

Today, my people found a mouse in a bucket of dog food.  They tried to get it into the toilet, but the fat thing jumped right over the toilet and hid in the bathroom.  They tried locking Toothless, my silly brother, in there with the mouse, but he didn't even notice it.  Had he captured it, he would have left nothing but a head.  We've seen him do it, too.  But he didn't so much as smell it.

But Baby walked right in there, right to its hiding spot, grabbed it, and took it to the arena humans call the living room for play time.  We were all prepared to be impressed.  She growled at anyone who tried to take it.  I wanted it, and she wouldn't even let me sniff it.  It was HER mouse.  She was going to PROVE she was the best huntress of all.

It wasn't five minutes before the stupid mouse slipped away and hid behind the bookcases.  Man, that Baby is hilarious.  She thinks she's all that, but she's not.  See, I'm much more efficient.  I caught one a few days ago, killed it, and kindly left it for my person to find.  I want her to learn to be a better cat.  She doesn't get it any better than Baby does.  Silly Baby, go back to chasing your tail and that red dot.  You may even catch them sooner than you would a mouse.

                                                             ***

Squeekums, here.  I sneaked over here to borrow the computer.  Those silly cats think they caught me.  By outsmarting every cat in the house, I have completed my initiation to become Head Fuzz, Chief Leader of All Rodents in this human dwelling.  Thus begins our plan to properly honor those who have been taken to Volehala by taking over.  Mwahahah!  Oops.  Gotta go.  

                                                   ***
Ruru again.  Where'd that come from?  

Drama, Drama, Drama

    [See my noble efforts to get the sandwich, and the sadistic smile on the face of that human.]

Ruru the Cat here.  Baby keeps bugging me about taking over the blog for a day.  I was going to tell you all about how my person's dad tortured me by holding a sandwich just out of reach and wouldn't even give me a taste.  Well, not a very big taste.  It was going to be dramatic and moving.  I swear.  But I'm just gonna have to let Baby take over this week, so I can get her to shut up.  So here she is.

               [What a divine feline, deserving of worship, looks like.]

They call me Baby.  It is condescending and ridiculous.  In my mind, I am Me, Empress of the Universe, Center of all Meaning, Goddess of the Hunt, Keeper of Chaos, Executioner of all Things Small and Yummy.  I have played rodents to death.  I rule this house.  Do not treat me with condescension.  

[What an ugly, worthless Beast looks like.]

The humans have done something unforgivable.  I can almost pardon the silly epithet with which they call me.  I even acknowledge their existence when they use it.  No, they have done far worse:  they have brought in a stranger.  I'm not talking those dogs that come and go or even the toddlers and babies and other humans beneath my notice that spend little time here.  No, no.  I'm talking the Beast who is still here after multiple weeks.  It showed up, and I expected them to kill it as it deserves.  

     [Look at the way that pathetic dog hobnobs with the enemy.]
The dogs ignored it and now sometimes sit with it.  The humans embraced it.  The other cats occasionally hiss at it but mostly act as if it's one of us.  But they do not understand the depth of this creature's depravity.  

                [That Beast in front needs to die!!!]  

It is a foreigner.  It is not our blood.  It is undeserving of life.  It must die.  Ruru spoke of this Beast once in passing, but she hasn't mentioned it once since.  She needs to rail on its existence.  She needs to call out for its demise.  I hunt it throughout the house, perching outside any room that harbors it to behold its every stop at the litter box, its every presumption at eating my cat food.  I hiss or growl at it, and finally, others are reminded of its monstrosity.  But most of the time, I am the only one who gets it, the only one who understands the purpose of the hunt.

Ruru the Cat again.  Man, alive, Baby, over-the-top much?  Cassandra isn't that bad.  She's just a tabby.  I don't like it when she eats my food or gets in my face, but seriously, Baby?  You need a life.  Not kidding.  And get over yourself about what a great mouser you are.  It was one baby vole.  Once that you played to death.  My death count is a lot higher.  Go dive in a pile of snow and take a chill.

                                                 [How to cool off a mean old cat like Baby.]

Not funny, Ruth. 

Actually, it's pretty hilarious.  And don't call me Ruth.  I hate that name.  So much for letting Baby borrow my blog.  Now, she'll be all uppity and insufferable for the next week.  I wonder how soon I can sneak her outside and throw her in the snow.