Weird Thing

Ruru the Cat here.  A weird thing has appeared in my house.  I'm not even sure what it is.  I think we have two other weird things kind of like it.  It's fascinating, let me tell you. It's little and, well, yummy-looking.  Except for the spikes.  Not sure I want to eat the spikes. It sits under glass, which makes it both difficult to reach and all the more tantalizing. It moves, so I know it's alive.  It's even in my person's room, which should mean it's mine, right?

I like to sit on its cage and stare at it.  I'd be even happier to get my claws on it.  I want to take it out and play with it, but the people around here won't let me.  I guess it's because they don't want me eating it.  Silly humans.  Why bring a little yummy something in the house if it's not meant for my stomach?  I just don't get people at all.

Gone fishin'

Ruru the Cat here.  I have met the love of my life!  They're goldfish crackers!  I imagine a real goldfish would be better still.  But these things are a slice of paradise, I tell you.  They taste like cheese, and nothing (except bacon) is better than cheese.  But these little things are awesome.  They come in a BIG box.  All you have to do is reach into that fabulous box and fish yourself out a lovely slice of heaven.  They're salty and milky and just so good.  

There's one little drawback to those little bits of yumminess.  The people don't like you stealing them.  Can you believe that?  You'd think they'd be happy to share such goodness with their favorite cat in the whole world.  But usually, I no sooner reach my cute little paw into that sea of golden glory, and a human comes screaming at me to chase me away.  Really?  Even when I purred so cutely, they still don't want to let me take those from the box.  

But then I purred sweetly and gently and rubbed up to my person, and she grabbed me a handful.  My own handful of happiness and joy.  Can I tell you how much I love my person?  My person is wonderful.  So are crackers.  Goldfish ones.  You should try them.  

Home?

[Me, looking friendly and not vicious.]

Ruru the Cat here.  I've been feeling kind of bad for the newest member of our cat crowd.  She still doesn't seem very comfortable here.  I tease Cass or hiss at her sometimes, but she looks at me like I'm gonna eat her or something.  Really?  Do I look like a psycho?  I don't think I look particularly vicious.  She's even jumpier around the dogs.  It doesn't help that they snap at her or yip at her and stuff.  She's just not one of us, and I don't know what to do to help her feel more comfortable.  Toothless plays with her.  I let her eat her own food.  You'd think she'd chill out.  Anyway, best I can do is hand over this blog to her just for this week.  

                                 

CASS: I've been a loner all my life.  I don't remember my early life.  I don't remember my mother.  All I know is I fended for myself like a wild cat, fleeing from owls, raccoons, a coyote or two, hawks, larger cats, and scariest of all, that big, hard, unnatural strip of black where large boxes zip by and do their best to kill you.  I've gone days without food or water.  

One human was kind to me, an older one who lives across from where I am now.  He fed a lot of us and didn't call us by any kind of a name.  He'd give us food and pat us on the head.  He seemed like the nicest person in the world because he was kind to us.  One day, I was ready to have a litter of kittens.  He took me inside, where it was warm, and there was food. It was lovely.  I'd never met such paradise.  Then the kittens got bigger, and we were all outside again.  They went their way.  I stayed nearby, waiting for food and the occasional head pat.  He treated me the same as all the others. 

                                     [Cass, looking unsure of what to make of house, animals, or people.]

Then I ventured across the street, and there were more people delighted to pick me up and hold me, pet me, feed me, and water me.  I'd feel the warmth inside their house but also dangerous smells as well.  I found their house fascinating and terrifying all at once.  Then, one day, they took me inside.  And it was worse and better than anything I'd ever encountered.  Foreign cats hissed at me, attacked me, and dogs chased me around.  It seemed like they had a million mean, vicious monsters.  

Hey!  Watch it.  I loaned you this blog.  I can take it back.  

Well, you all seemed like monsters at the time.  Remember that any cats outside our little group that I met seemed to want to kill me.  And dogs have always been killers.  

                        [Dodger=not scary]

Ooooh!  Scary Dodger!  He'll lick you to death.  

It's my turn.  The people offered me fresh food and water every day.  They pet me and held me and made me feel safe.  But it also frustrated me that, at first, I was kept in a separate room from everyone else.  It made me feel safe but also trapped.  I made a run for the exit just once.  Then they pulled me back inside.  Soon after, they hauled me somewhere scary with even more cat and dog smells. I was knocked out, and when I came to, part of me was missing, and I had this big gash underneath that was all stitched up.  I hurt everywhere.  I have no idea what that was all about. 

You were "fixed."  Happened to all of us.  I don't know what's so broken about us cats that people have to fix us.  People are weird.   

                     [Cass facing off with Baby.  As usual.] 

But now, I've been allowed out of that tiny room.  I'm fed every day.  I still feel like I have to hide because that one cat named Baby has it in for me.  She wants me dead.  I can take her, I think.  But otherwise, it's not so bad here.  I think I'll let them take care of me a while.  

                              [My person being awesome]

Not so bad?  We're AWESOME.  Especially my person.  She's the best person in the world.  Except when she sticks her finger in my mouth or my head in hers.  People really are weird.  But we're fed every day.  Not enough, but I'd happily eat a whole bag of food every day if I could.  My dream is to be the fattest cat in the WORLD.  There's always someone around to pet us.  They give us water.  It's not always the warm bathtub water I like best, but it's really awesome here.  Except Baby.  But nobody likes Baby.  Don't tell her I told you that.  She'd probably eat me.   

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.