Turkish delight …

I saw a wonderful documentary last week, about street cats in Istanbul, where hundreds of catsthousands of them roam freely, and have for thousands of years. In the film, Kedi, we meet seven of them.

To be perfectly honest, much as I love cats, part of me wanted to see the film and part of me didn’t. I hate to see animals (or people) suffer and I was afraid these pussycats would look Continue reading

A word to the not-so-wise …

I’ve got two cats. Sundance, a ginger tabby, and Bartlett, pictured here on the right. They’re quiteIMG_0352 different.

Sundance is interested in food, me and getting into trouble. When I’m on my computer for too long he sits on the keyboard. When I’m trying to get dressed to go out he swats at me incessantly. If I ignore all his efforts to get my attention he misbehaves. Television bores him to tears and if I put it on, he either barrels out of the room or goes to sleep.

Bartlett can’t get enough of me either and loves cuddling more than Continue reading

Woe is me …

Here it is, almost Christmas and she’s pissed at me.  I thought this was the season to be jolly!  You know, HO! HO! HO!  Fa la laXmasCat la la and all that jazz!

Harumph!  All she is, is grumpy!  No Christmas spirit what so ever!

S-C-R-O-O-G-E.

She knows I need a lot of attention.  All that bull about cats being uppity and independent is just that:  BULL!!  This isn’t her first rodeo.  She’s had plenty of cats.  She knows the score.  She KNOWS what we’re like.

So I want to be petted.  So I want to be hugged.  So I want to cuddle.  So I want her to Continue reading

Day 16. Hiding Places

The last time I wrote about Bartlett, I briefly mentioned his fondness for box springs; and said I’d elaborate at another time.  Well, that time has come.

He was out of the guest room, roaming free in the house.  I honestly can’t remember how long I’d had him at this point — I’d say probably no less than six months and no more than a year.  I was going away on a business trip and had my suitcase on the bed, so I could pack.  I know cats don’t like it when we pack.  I have a friend in Montreal whose Persian would pee in her luggage each and every time she was taking a trip.

So I wasn’t in the least surprised when all three of my cats (Zazu, Sundance and Bartlett) were full of nervous energy — jumping on the bed, off the bed, up and down like bouncing balls.  Climbing into the suitcase and refusing to get out again.  Burrowing under whatever clothing I was putting in.  I’d get rid of one cat and the other would take over.  When I opened drawers to get stuff out, a cat would jump in, making a holy mess.  Frustrated, I decided to let them have their fun and get it out of their systems, while I had some dinner.

Only an idiot trys to outsmart a cat.  Remember this.

Dinner over, I went to put the garbage out — I’d forgotten the next day was pick-up.  Then I hauled my sorry ass back upstairs to my bedroom, to finish packing.  Zazu was fast asleep in my suitcase.  Sundance was curled up on a pile of clothes, that were laying on my bed, waiting to be packed.  Bartlett was nowhere to be found.  Thinking nothing of it at first, I got on with the task at hand.

By the time I got to my toiletries, he’d been MIA for a while.  Too quiet.  Too long.

I looked in every drawer in my bedroom.  I looked under the bed — not just looked, by the way.  I got down on the floor, on my stomach, and literally slid under the Continue reading