The Birds, the Bees and the Planes

You all think we cats have a pretty nice gig, and you’d be right about that. But what nobody understands is that it’s not easy being at the top of the food chain. We cats still have our differences. You shred a mouse, I shred a bird. All a matter of preference. Some kitties have babies, most of us don’t. Not sure if this is a good or a bad thing, having kittens. Seems to me that’s more competition for me, four or five extra heads in my area. There are only so many birds to go around. There are at least a thousand birds in my twenty acres of land. Who seriously expects me to share those?

There are two things that most cats can agree on. One, we were chosen to rule. Two, nothing in the air can ever be trusted. Flies are annoying. Birds live in the trees and as such look down on the rest of us. Forget it, tweeties. The high ground is ours. That includes the trees. If you don’t believe us, we might have to climb up one day and say hello to your cute little chicks munching on worms in your nest.

A couple of bigger birds, the hawks and the eagles, like to swoop down, and they might get a bunny or the odd rat. Only thing is, our friend Sam soon understands that there is an army on the ground. With many cats who don’t like birds to begin with. Best to stay in the mountain tops, Mr. Feathers.

Then, of course, there is the ultimate hell machine in the sky, the plane. It’s a good thing planes don’t swoop in here for worms, because then that would change the bird-cat dynamic forever. Not that the birds would know.

Andy is a nice guy, he’s the only person here who speaks German, the lingua franca of all cats. But he is a traitor who can never be trusted. Imagine the pure bliss in our house by the sea until the day he finally snapped. I trusted him. Put me in a cage like a friggin’ bird. You get used to the car, it’s a necessary evil. But the plane changes the way I see things now. So the birds have this little advantage they’ve been hiding. How come they don’t attack? One of them ate me up, but that was because of Andy’s help. Spit me back out too. And he didn’t even drug me. He and Gin are the ones in the way, clearly. He and the birds.

The kids are my allies, they don’t trust their parents either. Alliances, everyone must have them. It’s the cats and the kids versus the birds, the dogs and the grown-ups. Oh, well. Nobody said this would be easy.

If this sounds stressful to read, then I suppose it’s meant to be. Every cat needs to fly in a plane to understand what we are up against. I have been there. I still haven’t forgiven Andy…and I haven’t quite forgiven the birds. The birds, true to form with their micro-brains, haven’t talked about the planes with a claw held to their throats. They know nothing. Nothing about planes. We can’t afford to believe them right now. The moment we have a cat that size with that capacity for noise on the ground, we can talk about a balance of power.

But I am a practical cat. Why kill your neighbors when you can just as easily harmonize with them? A mouse – in your world better known as a hackysack – has entertained us for hours at a time. I hate it when they quit in the end. They play dead, and for a second you almost want to believe they are. I say our little friend just got a nice workout. Imagine what his life span would have been without me? Two years longer, but infinitely more boring. We can be heroes.

So that’s it in a flying nutshell. Never trust anything in the air. Not until we have an air force of our own. As cats, we are entitled.

Rants from a Cat

Life is good. I have the best seat in the house, up on the roof near the chimney. That is my crow’s nest, if you will. Except that I am not some peg leg peasant rotting in a net, but a royal surveilling her territory. The wildlife forest is so exciting to watch that it has increased my nap times to six hours. I prefer to have three of these naps on most days, although I realize that is not always doable. To seize a territory is one thing. Keeping it another. The stress of running a kingdom can get to you. On some days, it’s not a stretch to say that our TDS (total daily sleep) has dwindled to 14 hours on certain days. We all must make sacrifices.

You know the saying ‘as cool as a cat?’ For once, you are right about something. Cool people like to call it mojo, cred, whatever. We are cats. We don’t need an adjective to describe us. A noun will suffice: queen.

That said, every cat can also lose her cool. In a territorial dispute this morning, I had a little argument with Rudy, our residential rat near the guesthouse. I argued loud and short about where his hole was and where he could make his rounds. These never include the main house, and he knew that.

What gives you the right? Rudy hissed at me. You’ve been here for a couple of months. We’ve been here all our lives.

The main house is mine, I said. That includes roof, house, and basement. Crossing through here is not permitted. Not even for a toll. We all agreed on that here. Including the birds, mice, and snakes.

That was your agreement, Rudy protested. There never was a vote.

Democracy is overrated, I told him. I think we can do away with the vote and put me in charge right now. Sound fair?

There are more of us, Rudy threatened me. More than you can kill.

Don’t bring them here, I purred. Nobody has to die.

Go back where you came from, he finally shrieked.

Not cool, I thought. I gave him a swat that sent him into the wall. Game over, rodent. The ninja turtles must find a new Splinter.

A robin in the tree wept when she saw what had happened to Rudy. He was a good rat, she cried. A good neighbor. Get out of here.

I’m sorry, I said. I overreacted. I don’t mean to do these things. Rudy will wake up. It’s just a little sprain. Or a fracture of the neck.

Oh, who am I kidding here? Why am I apologizing? I am a cat. I run the show. Rudy was a rat. I don’t need to justify my actions to you people, let alone a robin, a notorious worm eater. That rat smelled like a sewer. Taking him out was a public service. Wish I could only get more respect from you people.

I sense there is an alliance forming outside. Although I am not fluent in bird language, they love to mock me now. These birds are small game to me. I remember those crows in Dar es Salaam. Now those guys were born talking (and, yuck, eating) trash. These birds are not as brave as the crows, but they stick together.

With the circular driveway now firmly in my paws, it’s time to for a new day of land grab. Next stop, the mailbox.

Cat Respect

That's it, enough is enough. A cat has dignity.

I know I should be grateful to Andy and Gin, grateful after my sudden promotion to Queen Cat brandishing an American visa, from lowly orphan trash-cat in the mean streets of Dar es Salaam. But this family is missing a little cat respect.

They better learn it, or they will have the stinkiest cat litter ever. But don't take my word for it. The proof is in the pudding turd I have now refused to bury. I'm going to sing a little song here. This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it stink, right there in the middle of the tray. And there is more to come. Don't test me, humans, or there will be poops in the weirdest places, places you can't even reach crawling. Ever had a full shoe of turd? it can be yours if the price is wrong and you keep locking me in at night.

I believe there is jealousy involved, plain and simple. People are cattier than we give them credit for. But the fact is, we are grounded because we can't be trusted out there. People, I am a physical wonder, can leap and run higher and faster than you ever could on eight legs. I see in the dark. Do you think I was meant to be locked in at night? That's like sending your kid to bed two hours after school starts. Cat respect. Some people have it, my people don't.

That doesn't even begin to describe other differences we have. Humans, you think you're so superior. Let me remind you, you wash yourselves with water. And then you wonder why I need to lick myself clean for an hour straight after you're landfill lips have kissed me. People, I clean myself. I have the magic lick. You have bathtubs. That's like washing yourself in your toilets or me in my cat litter. I can't begin to describe how gross that is. Born that way, I guess.

But enough talk. There will be sanctions to follow. Say bye bye to that treat you receive first thing in the morning, fresh at your door. You humans leave me no choice. Nothing says love like a shredded mouse or a decapitated bird, but no more. It seems I'm not allowed to be nice to you.

This whole situation is unworthy of a cat. At night, I can hear their taunts. From the squirrel, the owl, the rats, the raccoons. Zelda is grounded, Zelda is grounded, nya, nya-nya, nya-nya, nyaaa! I don't care for that mocking tone, I have to admit. Shhh, our little rat friend is taunting me. Or it's the squirrel. What's that? All right, that's it, squirrel. I know where you live. Three trees down, right? That maple? I can climb up that tree, too. No, I don't need a firefighter to bring me down. Our next handshake might be with all five claws, mister. It's on.

My favorite place here in the woods is on the chimney. That's my throne. Come and get me there. From here, I plot my next move. I now see that I am not the only cat in this neighborhood. Yesterday, I saw a ginormous gray tabby who looked like he ate little Bambis for breakfast. But that's okay, because I will defend my turf here. I will just have to make myself as big as possible, drop my wail an octave, and the intruder will get the picture. And if that doesn't work, that will be a five claw swipe for our friend the intruder.

I am not giving up this place. In fact, I think there is enough land for every cat here. Once we all understand that dogs - and come to think of it, people - don't share the same rights we do, we will have a fish for every pot. I must do my part in ensuring our continuing supremacy in this world.

That's why I need to run patrols at night. I'll figure it out.

On Tolerance

Let’s face it, being a cat is a pretty cool gig to have. You have the best of both worlds. You can be part of the great outdoors, making a dozen new friends a minute, like me. Or you can be a part of the great indoors, where love, warm beds, food, and twelve hour naps await you. I don’t really have to answer to anybody – unlike our slobbering, dung loving canine friends – and can name my own price.

The only thing you really need to worry about is the kids kicking you in the head at night, or a bear or a cougar taking you out. That, or getting run over. More about that later.

Making new friends can be tiresome, I know. I think some of the neighbors around here need to get used to a cat’s love, or my clawed high five and my pouncing hug. Only yesterday, a cardinal came for a visit. Pretty bird, that one. A little too pretty, for my own taste. I don’t think any animal should be showing off like that. At least not in my territory.  

Oh well, I had to suck it up and give her a warm welcome. Tolerance, Zelda, my dear.

It seems the cardinal was napping a little and never saw me coming. Imagine this: I jump up to greet her, and disaster strikes. My claw gets caught in Ms. Cardinal’s feather. Then it’s the crazy bullet theory all over again, because from there, multiple claws start the shredding process. Didn’t really hurt her, except for its fur, its skin, and its heart. Prissy Ms. Cardinal didn’t care for that and went to sleep on the spot. Now this is getting on my nerves. Am I that boring that I put everybody around here to sleep? Why aren’t animals around here up for a little hide-and-go-seek, hopscotch, or an occasional death match? Is it because I can’t fly? That must be it. I still wouldn’t kid me over it, my bird friends. I might have another friendly high five here somewhere.

That little slip aside, I have plenty of company around here! My family, especially Andrew and Gin, is beginning to grate on me with their restrictions. Telegram, Mr. and Ms. Mensa: I am a cat. I can see in the dark and have ninja powers beyond your imagination, yet you people seem to think you can restrict me. What part of the word ‘nocturnal’ do you not understand? At that time, the party is in full gear while you go to sleep. And I can’t go out at night? Bears, cougars, and freezing cold nights are not valid excuses for keeping me locked in at night. I, too, was born to kill have a good time with my archenemies who will be snuffed out, one by one, family by family rich animal companionship all around me.

Okay, so the night is not all gravy. That’s when cats get run over! Although we can see at night, people are blind. They do stupid stuff in the dark, like drive. They walk around like a mouse whose tail has been bitten off. Blind as bats. I’m not sure I want to be around them at night.

But there you have it. The worst thing about being a cat is tolerance. You heard that right. Tolerance is a people pleaser. I still think I as a cat must make the ultimate sacrifices to be loved. I, for one, tolerate dogs. They get too close to me, though, and it’s a can of whoop ass for you, Lassie. Why, oh why, do people love dogs so much? Well, dogs kiss their own asses non-stop for one. Not hard to do, being that they love to kiss their own so much. Although I could, theoretically, it’s a practice I’ll pass on.

Not Rover and Scout Brownnose, though. They greet each other with a lick. Shudder.  

Where is everybody?

Sometimes, I don't understand animals around here. Some of them are acting like I'm Godzilla about to raze their village.

Only yesterday, I found a mouse hiding in the shrubbery. Now here's what I don't get: instead of coming out to greet the new kid in town, the mouse hustles to his next piece of cover, a little cardboard box next to the trashcan. What is it with manners around here?

Okay, so the mouse didn't see me, I'm thinking. It happens. I admit this is a large strip of forest. There are predators out there, like birds, snakes, and...well, I can't really think of any other. Anyway, the poor thing has probably been blinded by the sun. In that case, let's make it a little easier for him. I slowly crawl toward the garbage can, slowly, so as not to scare him. And the next thing I know, the mouse dashes out toward the flower pots. I'm beginning to like this game. So the little guy is playing hide and seek? Nice. Game on.

After repeating this cute little cat-and-mouse game (still don't know where people got that expression from), it suddenly dawns on me that the mouse might actually be blind. That song 'Three Blind Mice'? There must be some truth to that. And what if this one is one of the famous three musketeers? But then, I am thinking, how will the mouse know that I am here? And where is the fun part for him in all this?

All the mouse needs is just a little excitement, I am guessing. So the next time the mouse tries to scurry for a little hiding place, I pounce on him. There! Didn't think I could catch you, did you? But I am not a cat to shortchange your entertainment dollar here. With a quick flick of the paw, I launch the mouse into the air. I can hear a loud exciting shriek coming from the mouse, like those kids on the swings or adults on roller coasters. That mouse is having the thrill of his life. See? There are cats that can do good in this world.

Following the mouse's bungee jump, the mouse moves a little slower, he's not as agitated anymore. That's good, now we have finally established the most important element in this friendship: trust. I knew he would come around. He sits at my feet, peeping and wincing. Okay, then. The mouse wants an encore. It's nice to be appreciated. I flick the mouse up again and watch him fly end over end through the air, a long shriek accompanying him.

The mouse isn't running anymore. And why would he? This is the biggest thrill ever for him. So next, I decide to take him to one of my favorite places near the balcony. I can hear him shriek a little more while he's wiggling in my mouth. Understandable, that's the fastest he will ever go, and he knows it.

So the mouse has had a bungee jump. Now it's time for cliff diving. Again, I flick the mouse into the air, but I must make sure. My right arm recoils before giving him a good swat over the balcony railing. Wow! That mouse can fly for a mile! Again a long, piercing peep. Sad to think that the mouse, before I arrived here, didn't have any fun. He's made up for that in one short day.

I jump over the balcony railing and find the mouse lying motionless on the ground. All right, so the little guy's a little tired, I'm thinking. I don't blame him. To gather his bearings and be ready for tomorrow, he will need to rest.

I let him sleep. Good night, mouse. He's so tired, he looks like he's out cold. Hmm, maybe this is not the right place for the little guy. I take him in my mouth and bury him in the ground. There, now he's safe. Sweet dreams, fella.

A Cat's Life

At some time, life had to get better, I figured.

First of all, you are reading this correctly. I, a cat, understand your language perfectly. It took a while to put two and two together with all of the words you used, but here I am, a cat with her own blog. Ever see a dog do that? And if you are thinking I actually wrote this, you're mistaken. Cat's don't write. We dictate.

When I was still living in Tanzania, I was limited with my freedoms. Nobody can blame me. It is heartbreaking to look outside and watch a couple of completely disgusting degenerates patrol the land every morning. Dogs. I could smell their disgusting mouths from two floors up. Dog breath is the worst thing invented since water.

For the first two years of my life, I was what people would call a domestic cat. Just a cat enjoying the great indoors. Anybody who thinks there is no action in a house is sadly mistaken. I have five lizards and five hundred cockroaches who will unanimously confirm that I am the best playmate they ever had. It's only sad that none of them are alive anymore to back me up here.

The drawback about being an indoor cat is the fact that some of your best friends outside will have to play without you. I have conversations every morning with the birds, and I feel their pain. The birds want to be somebody too. Having bird friends is one thing, but every bird wants to be special. Every bird wants to be the one who knows a cool cat.

There were the snakes, too, of course. I would watch them slither through the tall grass, each one of them beckoning to me: ZELDA! ZELDA! here we are. We are nothing more than a long strand of thread built for your entertainment. Those poor snakes: they, too, would have to play without me. I admit it didn't help that the dogs wanted to play with them as well. The snakes didn't seem to enjoy the dogs as much. Must be that godawful smell.

I suppose I should be grateful for being in America now. I was a Tanzanian orphan kitten, and now I have a passport to America. Not bad, huh? Suck on it, dogs of Tanzania. The drawback is that my worst dream came true on my way here. Two words: jet engines. My eyes have seen the coming of the devil. And it was that dumbass of a father who put me on that plane. Andy is his name. Put me in a damn cage and on a plane. I will never forget.

Now that there are no dogs around here, I think it is time to proceed with my next plan, which is to take over the neighborhood. For now, I will simply scamper up the roof and study and observe in between my five hour naps. There is plenty of time to watch and learn. Plenty of birds here. They sing so nice and love feasting on insects - I can live with that. The problem is, I will need to take one of them out, just so the birds remember who is boss here.

There are other critters. One is a squirrel. The oldest boy in the house, Axl, taught me that word. There are chipmunks, snakes, and the (absolutely disgusting) smell of other critters here.

I will need to proceed with caution. From the family's conversations, there seem to be bigger animals around here, like bears and mountain lions. Somehow I doubt they will want to play with me.

But first things first. I need to take over the neighborhood one blade of grass at a time. For now, I am only a princess. The next step is to be queen.