A cat’s brain is not particularly large, only about twice the size of the average Irishman’s. Nonetheless, the feline mind is fertile ground for evil schemes.
Turkish — a.k.a. Turkenstein, The Turkinator, Big Pussy, Mighty Whitey, et al. — likes to sit on me. Not curl up in my lap, although he will do that about once in a blue moon, but rather sit on me. If I stretch out on the floor for some situps or in the bed for some reading, he’ll stroll over and perch on my chest, facing me with slitted eyes.
This means he wants some attention, and attention means from both hands. Let one lie idle and he’ll dig his giant shovel-shaped head underneath it. Scratch the left side of the head, if you please, then the right, but for God’s sake not both sides at once. Are you mad, sir? The universe has rules, and cats made them. Now, once more, first the left, then the right. …
I hit the deck for him yesterday, practicing a little Buddhist charity, and after a few minutes of ministrations the giant furry swine repaid me with a chomp on the left wrist. Not quite biting the hand that feeds him, as I am right-handed, but pretty damn’ close.
Miss Mia Sopaipilla is not a biter, but she also provides periodic performance evaluations. If we neglect our primary chore, described in the Employee Manual as Paying Reverent Attention to Her Ultimate Cuteness At All Times, she’ll sneak into the upstairs bathroom, pull Herself’s towels off the rack and arrange them in a cozy Mia-sized pile on the floor.
Still and all, the occasional nip and/or towel pile is preferable to the stunts my first dog, Jojo the Terrible, would pull when he felt put upon. He would pee in some obscure location and watch with barely contained amusement as I tried to locate the source of the stink, or shred whichever book I was reading. And in one memorable instance, he tore a near-perfect circle out of the center of the fitted sheet on my bed.
Mad Blog Media 
No pets for us — true animal lovers who think critters deserve to run free, unless we want to eat ’em…in that case we still want them to enjoy a carefree life outside before they end up on our dinner table! Never (knowingly anyway) eaten cat or dog but the old gag about how you never see strays outside cheap Chinese or Mexican eateries probably applies.
Just signed up to watch Saturday morning’s (US time) Giro di Lombardia on Universal Sports for the whopping sum of $2.99! For less than the price of a cappuccino you can see the whole thing via their internet video scheme http://www.universalsports.com/cycling/index.html
We’ll be up a bit early this Saturday morning enjoying an ILLY cappuccino while watching the “Race of the Falling Leaves”, admiring the scenery around Lake Como, and wishing we were there of course. We were able to see Milano-San Remo live in-person this year for the first time, but the Tour of Lombardy remains a dream… so far. We watched the World’s from OZ last week and it was nice having just the ambient sound, no “Heckyl and Jeckyl” inane commentary — don’t know whether this race will be commentary-free or not, but we’re hopin’
FTC Disclaimer — neither Universal Sports nor ILLY Caffe gave us anything for these plugs — though we’ve begged!
My cat does the same thing. but he’s getting rather old now and I’m getting a little worried. He walks around the house like he’s forgotten something, but can’t remember quite what it was. It’s actually kind of fascinating to watch him. Like a preview of things to come for us all.
Larry, I’ve almost always had a critter or two around. After growing up around a beagle (Clancy) and a very nearly immortal Chihuahua/toy fox mix (Sandy) I got my very own dog, Jojo the Terrible, at age 19. My second, Samson, was a short-term freebie I was raising for a soon-to-be ex-girlfriend, and my first fathered my third, Fuerte.
When Herself and I hooked up in Santa Fe we were working weird hours (her days, me nights), and so we bailed what would be my fourth dog out of the pound to keep Fuerte company. Well, this dog turned out to be both pregnant and insane, so we had puppies to distribute (successfully, as it turned out, though their mother proved intractable and had to go back to the hoosegow).
When we moved to Weirdcliffe, well, a country couple needs cats to combat the mice (we got two, Ike and Tina, from a friend in Wetmore). Fuerte eventually went west, as did dog No. 5, Bandit, in regrettably short order, followed by Tina in Weirdcliffe and Ike (a.k.a. Chairman Meow) here in Bibleburg.
We had just gotten Turkish to keep Ike company when the Chairman passed, and almost immediately thereafter got Mia to keep Turkish company. So now it’s just the four of us here, which is plenty. Herself has casual access to more critters as a volunteer for the local Humane Society. But so far she has shown admirable restraint and not brought any of them home.
I like having our two fuzzballs around. I talk to them as though they were human, same as I do with Republicans, but I listen more intently to what the cats have to say. They also are absurdly self-centered, small-minded egomaniacs, but they purr, and shit in a box instead of your life.
Sharon, I know how you feel, having outlived a host of many furry friends. Innocent of original sin, they should be immortal. But maybe they’d miss us as much as we do them.
Like Larry, we’ve never had pets, and never will. I think it’s some gene implanted years ago: you’re a pet person, or you’re not. And I am most definitely not. I actually have a full-blown phobia of dogs, but that’s another story.
However, your last two paragraphs above Patrick gave me a new sense of what having the cats around mean to you and Herself. Thanks for that – it gives me a bit more understanding of the whole “pet thing” I see with friends and family.
Currently, we have 2 fish, 2 cats, 2 dogs, 2 horses, and 1 eight-year-old daughter. We are in deep. We truly love and care for each one of them, although if you ask them, I’m sure we could do a little more. Each one was a rescue or a stray (except for the daughter). Everyone of them is fixed (except for the daughter). Everyone of them is current on their vaccinations (including the daughter). We truly love all of them (even the daughter).
I save a cat’s life – technically true – but who am I kidding – I know better!
It will be 2 years on the 27th since my dear kitty died – a little more than a year after Ike.
“She’s not lost – she’s always with me.”
I do have a wonderful male cat who is much happier being a ‘single’!
Libby, I know how you feel. I still dream of long-lost friends, most often Fuerte, who was a real blessing. What a fine companion she was.
I sometimes think Turkish would prefer to be an only cat, but now and again he and Mia romp around the house like kittens, chasing each other from room to room, upstairs to downstairs and back again, and then it’s clear that he’s not content to socialize solely with lower-order life forms.
David, I get the no-pets mindset — plenty of our friends get along fine without them, and the deranged cat/dog lover is no fun to be around for anyone. Also, anyone who has had a cat, dog, budgie, hamster, lizard or what have you has had a moment or two when they think, “If only I didn’t have Squeaky to deal with, I could (insert your wish here).”
But then some critter crawls into your lap when you’re sick and starts buzzing (preferably not a rattlesnake) or when you’re depressed does something weird and ballistic involving a curtain, a lamp and the ceiling, and suddenly you realize that it is a symbiotic relationship, and that the treats flow in both directions.
Mia bears a more-than-passing resemblance to my furry roommate, a large Russian Blue named Sterling. Like your Turkish, he also has an penchant for parking himself on my chest and purring with an almost smug resonance. ‘Yes,’ he seems to say, ‘you are indeed blessed with my presence even when I savagely pounce on your toes at 2AM.’ His feline dignity, however, goes out the window when he sleeps. On his back. My phone’s camera has taken countless pictures of him, including the “your-camera-woke-me-up-now-please-go-away” expression. His best stunt is the way he greets my occasional female party guests. Once you’ve seen his incredibly effective shmoozing technique, you’ll swear he’s a reincarnated Las Vegas lounge singer. No ladies, you *can’t* take him home! But you can visit anytime you want…
Fuerte – a love story – thank you!
The treats do flow in both directions.
If readers have not read Fuerte, they should. It will bring a tear to your eye. With both of our hounds now into the Fall of their years, its something we occasionally think about. With Fuerte, O’G, as usual, shows why he is the writer and I’m not.