Arrrrrrrgh!

Excuse me, please, for being miffed, but Cat has done it again.
Yes, she has totally rocked my world by bringing a kitten to live in MY house. She's given the thing the ridiculous name of Bitsy (as in itsy bitsy kitsy cat, a phrase she uses to torment me,) Yes, the new creature is tiny but she is also cute. And one thing I cannot tolerate is cute.
Cats are supposed to be dignified creatures. I do my best to uphold that image. I refuse to be cradled like a baby, carted around like a sack of potatoes or be dressed in silly costumes while my picture is being taken. Did the cats that guarded Egyptian royalty wear frilly dresses? I think not.
Cat can see no wrong with this Bitsey creature. Sure, she sometimes scolds fit or climbing curtains or chewing on power cords, but she thinks it's cute when the thing tries to catch the images on her computer. Let me try that, and all I get is a "Tabby, get down!"
At least Cat has the good sense to feed the intruder away from me. I'm being forced to share the litter box, which is bad enough. Do you know how humiliating it is to be using the box while that big-eyed little thing watches?
Cat swears that eventually, I'll like Bitsy. In fact, she has even gone so far as to tell the other People who come to the house that Bitsy is supposed to be my companion. Really!
Big Stupid, the dog calls Maggie, naturally adores the stupid kitten. She attempts to play with it, even though her paw is as big as Bitsey's entire body, and lets it sleep on Cat's bed at night.
Do I get to sleep with Car? No. Big Stupid has a hissy fit and barks and growls until Cat yells and I'm forced to leave.
I attempted to escape this horrid situation, but something even worse happened outside. The Sara Thing that lives next -- I believe she's Cat's offspring -- came over last night. I rushed through the front door before she could shut and sniffed the sweet air of freedom. Oh, but not for long.
The Thing from next door opened the back door, my usual entry after I managed to get outside, and called the cats from her house. Noel I can almost tolerate. But Chica hates me; the feeling is mutual.
Before I could even chew grass or jump the fence to next door, those cats were heading toward me, growls rolling from them. Chica had evil in her eyes so in self-defense, I had no choice but to go back into the house where that wretched little kitten had presumed to take control.
The lack of respect by all concerned was appalling, but I'm going to forgive them this time. But next time, they're in for the full Tabby temper tantrum, I swear.

P.S. I still haven't been featured in any of Cat's books. This fall, when her new novel "Keeping Secrets" is published, I sincerely hope she's rectified that mistake. Or at least not made Big Stupid or Bitsy a chaacter.

Have a happy, everyone!

Ah, yes, it's Christmas! Cat finally hung my stocking on the staircase beside Big Stupid's and I think I saw her sneak something furry in. I'm hoping for a hamster, but it's probably just a toy. Sigh.

Cat also ran an extension cord out the front door for lights on the railing and a tree she has out there. I hope the neighbors appreciate it, because I'm finding it hard to take a snooze anywhere without shimmering lights bothering me. Not, of course, that I mind the Christmas tree inside the house. I can hide behind the pile of packages and scare Big Stupid when I jump out. You think she'd catch on, but ...

My favorite place of all time is The Village. Cat had it long before I came to organize her home and life, and every year she rearranges things to create a city and a farm with lots of people and stuff. I decided early on this season that if my life had to be disrupted by her going all goo-goo over a bunch of fake buildings and trees, I might as well enjoy it.

So what are you doing to celebrate the season?

Tabby recommends Cat Shaffer's new historical suspense novel, Bittersweet, as an excellent addition for all those folks who get e-readers for Christmas (and yes, it's available in print as well.)

It's about time!

If you've missed me, blame Cat. First she bought a new computer (do you know how hard it is to study the manual without opposable thumbs?) and then she enticed me to lay around and do nothing by putting a wonderfully soft, fluzzy blanket on my favorite chair by the window.

Like solar lights, I do believe I've soaked up enough sunlight that I'm fully charged. Which is good since Cat put up a Christmas tree.

This is NOT one of those four-foot ones she usually has. (She's quite devious and tapes the tree to a table, As if I would even think of toppling it.) This one is taller than she is with bright lights and lovely ornaments hanging just within paw reach. A mountain of boxes with paper on them surround it, summoning up visions of running across the house and diving right into them.

Alas, Big Stupid will not allow such a thing. Just because she's a dog, and just because she lops all over Cat's lap in the recliner, she thinks she rules the house.

As if.

In the interest of pretending to keep peace, I allow Big Stupid to run me off when Cat's around. When Cat's gone .... let's just say that what happens in the living room stays in the living room. But there's nothing quite as fun as bouncing from the pew to the couch and back again, cutting closer and the closer to the tree each time.

I know what you're thinking: Sooner or later, I'm going to fall, the tree will go down and all those packages will be smashed. Cat will come home, see the mess and ...

Yes, amid the destruction she'll see one of Big Stupid's toys I dragged over and maybe even a few dog biscuits crumbs if I can find some on the couch. And then let's see who gets to sit on her lap!

Tabby

P.S. Still Christmas shopping? Why not order copies of "Bittersweet," Cat's historical suspense, for all your friends. The only thing that could make it better is if she'd given those folks a cat.

Really - have some dignity!

No, despite what you may believe, that cat laying under the wheelbarrow full of weeds has not gone to that great mouse hunting ground in the sky. She's sleeping.

Noel (the People say she was named that because Santa brought her) is bossy, fussy and often crochety. Despite my attempts to correct her, she believes that MY house and MY yard belong to her, simply because it connects to the house and yard of her People next door.

Her red-haired Person calls her the matriarch of the neighborhood, even she's never had kitten one. And her Person expects the rest of us felines to kowtow to Noel.

Yeah, right.  Personally, I think the world belongs to the young  and adventurous, which would be moi.

My person Cat doesn't understand that either. The other week, I decided since the night was much cooler than the day to take advantage and get a little air. I do tire so of being confined behind doors. Sitting in windows lets me feel a little breeze, but on occasion, I appreciate the feel of grass beneath my feet and the wind in my fur.

Cat has trained well. She knows to leave the back door open a little ways so I can get in when I'm ready to eat or it's time to sleep. And yes, I heard her calling my name and threatening to shut the door, but really. You can't always believe People, you know. Like saying "we're going for a little ride" when in reality, you're being hauled to visit the blasted vet.

BUT SHE DID IT!

That's right, she closed the door and trapped me outside. In the night. With Noel and those other cats that descend upon MY yard.

Fortunately, her Person friend staying with her let me in, told me how much she missed me and told Cat I was back. You'd think if Cat had been so concerned, she'd have gotten her lazy self out of bed and come down to feed me. But no, she simply turned over and went back to sleep.

Although I suppose she can be excused. I saw Cat hauling books out to the car and realized that she's been working hard introducing her new book "Bittersweet" to the People who read. It really is a wonderful story, despite it's lack of a cat anywhere in its pages.


I've advised her that the best books in the world have cats in them, but she's been snippy with me since my 36 hours spent outside. And I fear if I push her too hard, she'll put a cat in all right -- one just like Noel.

Okay, YOU decide

There seems to be some question about whether dogs or cats are the smarter creature. My own servant, Cat, refuses to give her opinion publicly, although I have overheard her bragging about Big Stupid (who Cat calls Maggie) and the dumb dog's ability to follow complex commands and retrieve every toy by name.

Like many humans. she fails to understand that unlike a dog, we cats will never lower ourselves to do silly tricks like sit on command to get a dog biscuit. I mean, really. Talk about undignified.

I've decided to simply present the situation to you and allow you to make up your own mind. You will see pictures of me, the dignified creature sitting on the back of a chair in the warm house, looking out the window, and Big Stupid, stuck on the porch on a chain until Cat remembers to let her in.

So tell me, which are smarter, cats or dogs?

Tabby

P.S. If you're looking for the perfect Valentine's gift, check out "Be Mine, Valentine" from Turquoise Morning Press -- Cat and 11 of her friends have wonderful stores in it!

And she can't even drive ...

I may have mentioned that Maggie, the big Sheltie that occupies space in my house, has occasional flashes of intelligence that nearly equalz mine. Take last night when she was playing cars with Cat.

The treadle sewing machine on the stairway landing is my favorite place to sit. It gives me a perfect vantage point to gaze through the open stairway and watch Big Stupid (my loving nickname for Maggie) suck up to Cat.

Sometimes it works. Not like I'd ever lower myself to look sad-eyed in order to get a handful of popcorn, but it works for her. And she's also trained Cat to trade food she likes for stuff she's not supposed to have.

If only I had the power of speech, I'd tell poor Cat she's being suckered. Like last night's little toy cars.

Cat bought them for the boy that comes sometimes. He comes with Our Mark, the guy that calls her Mom. Anyway she came home one day with a whole package of those cars and the boy played with them and put them somewhere.

Maggie found them. Cat thought it was cute and said, "Trade, Maggie?" and gave her a puppy biscuit.

That was the red one. The dark blue one got her a peanut. The light blue one got her a cracker. The green one got her another biscuit. The yellow got her some puffcorn and Cat yelling, "Where are you finding those things?"

The best moment, the kind we cats live for when forced to share our abode with a dog, came when she found the white one.

"Give it up, dog, you cannot eat a Mustang!" Cat yelled as she threw yet another one of those hard biscuits at the dog and grabbed the car. Before Maggie could find the hidden cache of cars, Cat had her out the door and on her doggie cable on the front yard, out in the frozen snow.

Me, I enjoyed the show immensely. Enough so that tonight, when Big Stupid and Cat go to bed, I may knock all those confiscated cars off the dining room table and put them back under the sofa, right where I told Maggie  she could find them.

Ah, yes, life can be sweet.

Tabby Cat

P.S. Remember, I can only get the good cat food if you buy Cat's books. Check them out at turquoisemorningpress.com