A Box Can Save Your Sanity

Source

On occasion, I catch horrifying mistakes in draft:

The measurements of Dr. Doh may have unintended inaccuracies,

as he claims that: "lkkdidimm, f^%$#.. asssssssspft". The parameters

nnnnnnnolllllllllll5677777 do not apply in this particular case.

Lucky overestimates his trajectory and lands on keyboards. Flirt naps on warm hard drives, keyboards and evacuated office chairs. Unlike dogs, cats do not listen to basic commands such as "STAY OFF THE DESK! I MEAN IT!"

In a delayed moment of problem solving, I remember that cardboard boxes are like magnets for cats. There is a palpable excitement among the felines when a new box arrives. If there is a box, there is a cat in it.

Added to my desk: One box. With occupants.

Communicating With Cats

I used to consider myself a dog person. Then I ended up with cats. That is when the confusion set in.

According to scientific anthropological speculation, dogs are better at reading the facial expressions of humans, because they have a longer history with humanity.  Cats are allegedly more intelligent due to the fact that unlike dogs, who are pack scavengers, cats are lone predators that congregate into colonies when feral.  I have read several articles that wild cats rarely vocalize, while our manipulative domestic companions have learned to.

I speak science, some other languages, but mostly science. I can understand dogs, but the language I fail to master is cat.  This does not stop the self-proclaimed most intelligent species on the planet at attempting to communicate with clever cats on a daily basis.

Among one of my most miserable failures at translating Feline into English was a rescued Siamese, who looked like a grey alien crossbred with a vampire bat and sounded like the dissonant bag pipe of the cat world. According to those that love the breed, the emission of unearthly wails of despair were the Siamese equivalent of "talking" and did not require emergency exorcisms for demonic possession.

Random Siamese kitten. Not a Chihuahua.

My attempts to make first contact with the aliens in my home continue to this day.  They blink, I blink back a reassuring I come in peace. Their incessant meows evoke a conditioned repertoire of routine queries: You want food? Here you go. Not this food? You don't want food? You want to play? Want to chase the string or the ball? Neither? You want to be petted. Patted? I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT! Hey, where are you going?

Misunderstood, tail held high, they walk off. Before I question my sanity, I remind myself that many human conversations are equally inconclusive.

Russian Cats Are Evolving

It is no secret, at least in the blogosphere, that I peruse cat videos. During my recent cat video travels I noticed something, because I am strange and notice patterns in trivial things.

Russian cats appear to be evolving at a rapid rate.

In America, cats sleep in sinks. In Japan, Maru entertains by reposing in boxes.  But in Russia, cats are washing dishes.

Exhibit One: Cat washes dishes.



Meanwhile, Flirt, our resident lovable calico moron, (trust me on this, she is as affectionate as she is stupid), spends 20 minutes trying to pull a door open that needs to be pushed. I have been forced to endure her desperate struggles for years. She still has not figured it out. In America, many videos show cute kittens that are still playing with round objects. But in Russia, cats have begun imitating human behavior and are feeding themselves.

Exhibit Two: Cat holding human container with food.
 


Conclusion: The Russian cats are going to invade us. Nobody will see it coming. You have been warned. Do not worry; I am training a highly effective cat army to defend our scented absorbent kitty litter by... *plaintive meowing*

...hang on. One of our cat soldiers is stuck behind the couch. Again. Walking backwards does not occur to her. Rescue team has been deployed.

Dear Blogger: Powered By Google, Powered By Bloggers. Part 1.

I thought I should address the recent changes you have made. We need to have a little chat. Please step into my office.

1. I preferred the old word verification system. It created fun, imaginary words that we could comment on. The new verification system requires a thorough knowledge of cryptography, hieroglyphs and the evolutionary benefits of compound eyes. I cannot tell whether I am looking at an "i" with serious stomach cramps or a zombified "8". Nor do I want to squint at images of people's house numbers.
2. I do not have time for this.
3. Neither does anyone else.
4. You have taken the FUN out of commenting, which is how we communicate.
5. The new dashboard is not "streamlined" as you claim. It looks like email dating back to the 80s.
6. I miss my horizontal tabs; they were efficient. Now I have to click 3 times instead of once. Then I forget why I signed in to begin with.
7. This takes the FUN out of procrastinating.
8. Which makes me angry. 
9. Do you know what happens when I get ANGRY????

Jean Paul Sartre

10. I read a book. Made out of paper. With cats.

The Cat Video Awards

If cats had their own Oscars, their selections might be different than ours.

Best Sound Effects:



Best non-foreign foreign existential documentary: Henri

Best Action Movie (subtitled):




Harley: Hey Bambi. Whatchya doing?
Deer: Doe.
Harley: Oh, it's a game? Okay, I'll play.
Deer: Doe doe doe.
Harley: You're a...ummm...a riverdancer?
Deer: Doe doe.
Harley: Dances with grass?
Deer: Doe doe.
Harley: This is getting a little boring. The Wizard of Oz.
Deer: Doe doe doe doe dee.
Harley: No? Maybe I'm approaching this the wrong way. I think it's trying to communicate. It's Morse code, right?
f-mmpls---smlafrmp----a-k. That makes no sense.

Why do the weirdos always find me? Maybe if I ignore her she'll go away?

Harley: HEY! WTH? DOROTHY! WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH YOU?!
Deer: Doe big.
Harley: I don't know what you're talking about.
GO ON, SHOO! GET OUT OF HERE!
I SAID NOW, DEER TOURETTES. Go impress the tall green stuff over there with your tap dancing.
You're not a bull, buckaroo.
VACATE MY PREMISES OR I'LL EAT YOU!

Jeesh. Wildlife walks onto my property and shows no respect for the food chain. What's the world coming too?

Eulogy For Spawn. The Cat Who Did Not Like To Be Touched.

Source: Wikipedia

Spawn was one of Terry's gifts. His history was unknown, except for the fact that he was too aggressive to remain in adoption for long and had been returned to the rescue group.

We speculated that he was likely a purebred Maine Coon that had failed to meet the personality expectations associated with the breed. Spawn was the most beautiful cat that I have ever owned or was owned by. He was black, long-haired, lion-maned, big with large tufted paws and green predatory eyes. He somehow managed to make any posture look regal.

Unfortunately his beauty was only fur-deep. He was deceptively friendly, would greet everyone, invite being petted by rubbing against legs, hands and heads, until he would deliver one of his bone-scraping bites. The predictably unpredictable sequence of events was nudge, pet me, purr, *CHOMP*...Emergency room. Repeat. New visitors, drawn to his beauty, would be met at the door by a stern and well-rehearsed: "don't touch him, he bites". I felt an odd sense of camaraderie when I discovered that the writer and artist Neil Gaiman was dealing with similar feline issues. 

For a while I considered Spawn my animal whispering failure. The biting did not stop. His idea of playing with the other cats was to chase them off his favorite furniture, then ignore them. His other hobby was stealing and shredding their toys.

He liked human company and he would always join us on the couch to sleep through a movie. It took some time for me to realize that while I was trying to socialize and train him, Spawn was asserting his own personality and training me. What he was clearly trying to tell me was:

"Alright, human. Here's the deal. My ancestors used to set sail with the Vikings, hence the water-resistant fur. Notice the big paws? They were made for walking on the snow. Got some Siberian from my mother's side.
All this incessant absent-minded stroking of fur is aggravating. Try it on the bimbo calico in the next room. She lives for that sissy stuff.
When I roll on my back, it is because I am happy or hungry. It is not an invitation to rub my belly. How would you like that?
Yeeahh. Didn't think so.
Gotta stay in shape though; you throw a ball, I'll fetch it for ya'.
There's a squirrel that needs my attention. You're dismissed."

I shall miss my majestic untouchable beast.

If Cats Ruled The World

We would live in colonies without hierarchy.

There would be no wars. Only the occasional posturing, hissing and growling.

Our mothers would teach us to play with our food.

The Olympics would include: Short-distance rolling, endurance napping and target grooming.

There would be no catnip doping scandal.

The government would offer cuddling rebates for energy efficiency during the winter.

Everyone would be responsible for their own waste disposal: Don't forget to dig, deposit and cover.

Vacuum cleaners would be banned due to noise pollution.

China would manufacture high quality bottle caps, string and other battable objects. 

['battable': See Revised Cat Dictionary]

We would get to play with new kittens several times a year for early human training, behavioral conditioning and educational purposes.

I have to go. My master just purred my name.

Top 10 Reasons For Posting A Video On My Blog

1. It must be shared because it is humorous or inspiring.
2. I do not have the time or inclination to finish my drafts.
3. Lassitude.
4. I like multimedia.
5. Sometimes videos are better than television.
6. Great filler post.
7. Good reason.
10. And ten.

What better way to celebrate my first post of 2012 than with an amusing commercial?

Cats Training For Something

Exercise Video with Sparky and Jet:




Sparky: I'm Shparky, cuz I'm bright. I make mashine go.
Jet:      I gotta work off those treats. They call me Jet. Ready for takeoff, Sparky.

Sparky: I make mashine go fasht.
Jet:      Look. I run so fast my paws go blurry. 

Crowd:  Run Sparky, Run!

Sparky: Yeeeeeaaah! Look at me go weely fasht.
Jet:      I'm hungry.
Sparky: I make mashine go shloooow and shtop.

If you're celebrating a long weekend do not forget to exercise. What am I saying? I am not your coach.

Have a great weekend.

This Is Lucky

Terry is one of the most manipulative women I know. At the end of our conversations, I always end up doing something I was not planning on or did not think I had time for. One evening, a few years ago, she made one of the most memorable calls and I am grateful that I picked up.

Terry: Hello, it's been awhile.
Me: Hi Terry, how have you been?
Terry: Fine, racing around, the usual. We're on my way back from "Unpleasantville". (Terry does not waste time talking about pleasantries or the weather, she gets right to the point).
Me: Long drive. How many?
Terry: 25 were scheduled for tomorrow morning.
Me: That's a lot, they called you?
Terry: Yes, pick them up or we'll destroy them.
Me: *Sigh*. It never ends.
Terry: I'm hoping you can take one.
Me: Terry, we're at maximum, really I can't take more.
Terry: It's a kitten.
Me: Kittens are easy to adopt, everyone wants a kitten, Terry...
Terry: It's a special needs kitten.
Me: *Pause*. Terry, we have Spawn, (not his real name, but it should have been).
Terry: Just separate them, even if it's just for a few weeks, until we can find a permanent home.
Me: Terry, two is our maximum, I don't have the time to supervise a special needs cat...
Terry: Kitten. Gorgeous little tabby. Very friendly, absolutely adorable. Purrs constantly.
Me: Terry...
Terry: You are sooo good at this. You're our cat whisperer, no one wanted Spawn because he was so aggressive. (I told you she's manipulative).
Me: He still mauls me.
Terry: He's alive. What's a little bite?
Me: *Sigh*. What kind of special needs?
Terry: Healthy, but some mobility issues.
Me: Fine. We'll foster him, but just for a couple of weeks. Is he Vet checked?
Terry: Yes. Healthy.  My battery is low and I still have some calls to make, I'll drop him off later on.
Me: Hello? Hello? Terry...?

***

Lucky was about 8 weeks old when I got him.  He could not walk, kept rolling to the side and lost his balance.  It was like living with a drunk toddler. Lucky has Feline Cerebellar Hypoplasia, a condition that affects his motor skills, but not his higher functioning.  It usually happens when a pregnant cat (usually un-vaccinated stray or feral) contracts an infection or is malnourished.  The cerebellum of the kitten, while in the womb, doesn't develop properly and the signals aren't getting to the muscles.  It is not contagious and does not cause any pain.

I thought it was important to share Lucky's story with you. There are bigger problems in the world, but if you're thinking about adopting a cat, saving a CH cat can be an incredibly rewarding experience. I came across this video some time ago, when I was looking for some practical tips on how I could adapt his environment to suit Lucky's needs. I still enjoy watching it, Charley (the CH cat in the video) is now 5 years old and doing well.

This is Charley:



CH cats do not deserve pity, but a chance at life. As I type, Lucky is playing with one of his toys.  He's the friendliest little guy, gets along with everyone and does not let the occasional tumble deter him from living his life to the fullest.  He enjoys belly rubs, hydrotherapy (in the bathtub), daily massages, long walks on the beach and probably thinks everyone else walks funny. He reminds me everyday that life is not perfect, but pretty good.

HumorouS VideoS. The Living with Cats edition. Redux. Bonus: Amazing Discovery of New Penguin Colony

Since it made not sense that the YouTube user who originally posted these videos decided to commence legal action against him/herself, I kept the original post, checked back and there they were. May have been a glitch or the matter was resolved over a bottle of fermented potatoes.

Who moved my potato?

"WAS THERE SOME PART OF DO NOT TOUCH MY POTATO THAT YOU DID NOT UNDERSTAND? 

WAS I SPEAKING RUSSIAN IN FRENCH?

NO?

THEN DO NOT MOVE OR THROW MY POTATO IN THE GARBAGE AGAIN, HUUUMAN!!!!!!"
Note: This is an example of aggressive/excited play. Probably a repetitive game as the potato must remain under the fridge at all times.

Since I live with them, I sometimes wonder who is entertaining whom: 


What is it?
It's a mouse? I'll stalk it down. It's not a mouse. Oh! It's moving. I'm a bunny.
Bunnies are scared. I'm a PREDATOR!
*freezes* Whoa! I'm a meerkat?
"Curiosity...". Naaah. Approach with caution.
Back up. Back up. Phew. It stopped.
Here it comes again. I'm a squirrel? A kangaroo? I have 2 paws. No, I have 4. What do I do with them? I'm so confused.
Oh, yeah?! Are you movin' at me? Cuz you ain't movin' much.
I AM CAT! I CHEW YOU!

Just in case you have not seen this amazing new discovery of an astonishing colony of penguins or the previous videos are pulled again just to drive me crazy:





While it may seem like this is turning into a video blog, I have simply been too busy to write, but thought these were worth sharing. Have a nice weekend.

Humorous Video. The Living With Cats Edition, revised.

Remember this? Still wondering why you are waking up before the alarm goes off? Or why you are still feeling tired when you do? This may serve as a little reminder. Provided that you actually live with cats, otherwise you may have other issues.

Author's disclaimer: I do not play silly games like hide and chase. I certainly do not play throw pen off the table and I will pick it up until feline tires of it, nor do I give up my favorite chair, just so furry can nap a few more minutes. In addition, I do not use words like "cute" when they block out the light with a paw over their eyes while sleeping.  Obviously, I also do not watch "cat videos". The author of this blog denies any such ludicrous allegations.

Addendum: There were two more videos posted here, which have been taken down by Youtube since I posted them.  Of course, I am now contemplating Murphy's law and thanks to a fellow blogger, Robert the Skeptic, for alerting me.

Il Gatto Nero

Thumbs up or down?




If Emperor Nero develops his polydactyly into opposable thumbs, we're all in trouble.