Move away from the window

I don't ask much of life. Really. I'm perfectly happy if I have a clean litter box, full food dish and Big Stupid is out on the front porch on her chain.
When the weather outside is delightful, I will admit to attempting a clean escape so I can jump the fence and terrorize the neighbor's children. But when it's frightful, as in "oh, yuk, it's winter," I much prefer to watch the world from the warm side of the glass.
Until recently, all was well. Then Cat, carrying out some ritual that only humans would do, covered my favorite windows with plastic – and then had the audacity to yell at me when I attempt to create a teeny, tiny hole to look through.
Of course, I pretended to be sorry. I gave her my best big-eyed look and even curled around her ankles. And all would be well if Big Stupid hadn't been put on patrol duty.
The dumb dog doesn't seem to understand that its pets versus people. We four-leggers have to stand united or before long, everything will be off limits – not only the table and the counter but the top of the refrigerator, that warm spot where the sun hits the kitchen floor and every other good place in the house.
A noise caught my attention yesterday and, with my natural curiosity a driving factor, I knew I simply had to find out what made it. That involved me jumping on the sill of a window I don't normally use – and oh, did that set Big Stupid off.
She rushed up and barked in that tattle-tale way of hers until Cat came to see what was the matter. Cat actually took my side for once, but Big Stupid won't take "leave her alone" for an answer. In her canine enthusiasm, she jumped right into my face and let off a big bark.
Well, that most certainly crosses the line of polite behavior. I let her know such actions were acceptable by a ladylike yowl and one slash of my claws toward her – I didn't even draw blood. But she's such a big baby, and so spoiled, that when she yelped, Cat came yelling.
And guess who's side Cat took?
Nope -- mine. But somehow Big Stupid got the best of the deal anyway. Yeah, I got to stay in the window where the sun was pouring in, but Big Stupid got all of Cat's pizza crust.
Dumb dog.

Tabby

(Oh, BTW - if you received a Nook, Kindle or other e-reader for Christmas, remember Cat and her friends have tons of e-books out there. You'll love them all!)

I'm sorry, you humans, but ...

I am well aware that humans like my Cat have short attention spans. I can easily stare at the same spot on the wall for an hour; Cat begins to bug me after two minutes, insistent on knowing what I'm staring at.
No offense, people, but just watching you wears me out. Life is meant to be enjoyed, you know. And in the interest of helping you make the most of yours, I'm willing to offer tips for a happy one:
There's nothing wrong with a nap, or six. 
To nap properly, you must find the right location. Warm is essential; soft is optional. My favorite places are the top of the thing that shoots paper through it and the sunny spot by the back door. Remember to stretch every hour or two; otherwise parts of you become numb. There's nothing more annoying than a numb paw when the floor is a three-foot jump away.
Refuse to eat anything that displeases you.
Cat, unfortunately, needs retraining. Last week she bought generic dry cat food and poured it into my dish. I took one sniff and trust me, that was enough to convince me not to eat that stuff. Yes, I did get a mite peckish over the next two days, but the result of my hunger strike was a big bag of the good stuff.
Let the people think they're winning.
For some reason, Cat insists that I must stay in the house while every other feline in the neighborhood gets to run free. Quite honestly, I'm very content roaming from room to room, but no way can I let her think she can tell what to do. So I "escape" every few days and take my time coming back in. The best part of all is the way she scolds Big Stupid for letting me get out. I almost feel sorry for the dumb canine -- almost.
Refuse to concede.
At a sleek seven pounds, I lack the mass to muscle anybody out of my way. I do, however, have sharp claws and a healthy hiss when I choose to use it.  Together, they keep me from having to give up my seat and send small children running in fear.
Use affection to get out of trouble.
I am not one of those disgusting cats that curl up on people's laps and purr. I mean, seriously; every heard of dignity. However, when something has happened for which I may be responsible (think overturned vase or shredded couch leg) rubbing up against Cat's leg and offering a friendly meow can do wonders.
I'd be more than happy to give you more advice, but I feel the need for a nap. If you'd like to be as happy, healthy and stress-free as me, I'd suggest you do the same.
After, of course, you've ordered Cat's newest book from Turquoise Morning Press -- yes, that one. Not only is it highly entertaining, but its cover is the perfect consistency to sink your claws into.
 

The price of keeping order

Life is difficult as a Very Important Cat. Most difficult is keeping the exploits of my live-in servant, Cat Shaffer, hidden as well as possible.
That, of course, is not easy. Despite her name, Cat is not fleet-footed nor a good jumper. She is rather clumsy, actually.
Which is why I rush up to see the action when she goes Upstairs. Downstairs is her province, hers and Big Stupid, the dumb dog that occupies space for no good reason. Upstairs is mine. It has a high wardrobe for me to sit on (and attack Big Stupid from), the kitchen sink that occasionally drips lovely fresh water for me, and a tall towel cupboard with no door, the perfect place to hide.
Big Stupid has enough brain cells to stay on Cat's big bed when we're all Upstairs. Oh, she tries to come into MY places, like the bathtub and under the bed. But we all know what one good whoosh of an un-declawed cat can do, don't we?
As she is prone to do, Cat announced to Big Stupid and me last night that she was going to take a bath. I like it when she takes a bath. Big Stupid stays on the bed and I go into the bathroom before the door closes. I walk the edge of the bathtub, play in the foamy bubbles Cat puts into the tub and yell at Big Stupid if she ventures off the bed and to the other side of the door.
The room was cozy and full of nice scented steam as I jumped off the tub and onto the floor. Instead of sitting inside the sink, one of my favorite places, I decided to curl up on the bath mat. I didn't think to tell Cat; I mean, really, is it any of her business where I nap?
Anyway, by the time I heard the water splashing as Cat rose from the tub it was too late. I was in mid-stretch, rather irritated by being awakened, when a big, wet foot came down on me. Naturally, I reacted as one must in such situations -- I bit Cat's big, wet foot.
She yelled as if I'd really hurt her. Her yelling scared me, so I went running for the sink. Cat, unfortunately, moved in the same direction. But she grabbed that towel cupboard and all the towels came falling out, all over her and me.
Well, that just made her yell more, which brought Big Stupid off the bed and into the hall. My ears could hardly stand the combination of Cat's yowling and Big Stupid's barking, so I did what I could to settle things down. I yelled back at Cat and swiped at her foot again.
Alas, she misinterpreted my attempt at peace and the next thing I knew, she had me in both hands and tossed me out to where Big Stupid waited.
We'll not go into the unpleasantness that ensued. What I will tell you is this: The dog may be bigger and louder, but mean and sneaky wins every time. As in dogs with bushy tails really should keep them out of the grip of determined felines.

Now you'll have to excuse me. I'm off to remind people to buy Cat's books, "Kentucky Blues" and "No Safe Place," both from Turquoise Morning Press. I do have a standard of living to maintain, you know.

Tabby

Tabby