And now there are two

As my Faithful Readers know, I share my abode with Cat Shaffer, my favorite writer of all time, and an overgrown mutt I prefer to call Big Stupid (see below). Now Cat, who is so misguided, tells everyone that Big Stupid is actually a great big Sheltie, and her name is Maggie.

Since Big Stupid was here before me, I assume that in a moment of madness, Cat decided to get a dog and, when her senses returned, came for me. Although I prefer she not hold me or spout that "pretty kitty" nonsense at me, I will allow her to pet me since she rescued me from a cage at the animal shelter when I was just a wee kitten.

Side note here: At least the shelter did one thing right. They kept the dogs on one side of the building and us cats on the other. Although, with their brute force, the canines might have helped us with the escape we had planned. Hmmmm ...

Anyway, Cat's People live beside us. Her girl and her girl's girls have three cats, which I think is absolutely marvelous, even if they get to run around outside and I don't. I mean, the more cats, the better, right?

To my shock and horror, I looked out my favorite window and saw something big, black and noisy tied to the porch at her People's house. Although I rarely lower myself to listen to a thing Cat says, I paid attention for a time and discovered the big, black, noisy thing is called a Bella.

And it's a dog.

Yes, another dog. A black lab, I believe.

I suppose I can endure its yaps and barks if it stays over there. But one of Cat's People brought into my house to give it a bath. Personally, I can't see the reason for a bath. If it would just learn to groom itself like decent cats do, it would be far better off.

Anyway, they took the Bella thing upstairs. I heard water run. I heard a Girl shout something about being all wet and then the Bella came running downstairs, shaking water everywhere. Let me tell you, it was almost more than a civilized feline can endure, hearing loud shouts of "No, Bella! Stop, Bella! Get outside, Bella!" echoing through my house.

I find it of great interest that the Girl People did this while Cat was away. As soon as she walked in a short time time, I tried to tell her about the horror I was forced to endure. I used my most cultivated yowl to inform her about the stink of dog shampoo lingering upstairs, the damp towels on the bathroom floor where I like to lay in the sunshine and their audacity in using our facilities to bathe a Bella.

Poor, feeble-minded Cat. She refused to listen to a word I said. And to add insult to injury, she actually petted me on the head and said, "Poor baby. Did you miss Mommy?"

Oops, I hear her coming up the steps, so I must abandon her computer and sneak back on top of the printer, one of my favorite places to sleep.

Oh, and in case you didn't know, you can now buy Cat's most marvelous romantic suspense, "No Safe Place" from Turquoise Morning Press, as an e-book or in print. Be generous and buy one for yourself and one for a friend. Maybe the royalties will enable her to buy me a better band of cat food!

Tabby

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!

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

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

What a feline wants ...

Greetings in this new year from Tabby, Cat's cat.
Since Cat seems inclined to write books, muttering about deadlines, instead of Important Things, I have volunteered to become her blogger. I will, of course, tell her about this eventually. In the meantime, mum's the word, okay?
What qualifies me to serve as her voice to you, her adoring fans?
I am a cat. Nuff said.
What, you want more. Fine then.
While modesty forces me to stop just short of declaring myself her muse, consider this: When she is at the keyboard, I am perched on her printer, only feet away. When she pauses, I glare at her. On occasion, when minutes go by without the sound of keys being hit, I actually lower myself to speak to her.
You'd be amazed by what a well-placed "Meow!" can do.
I hope by now you've purchased and read her fabulous "Kentucky Blues." I've read the reviews of the book, and while critics praise it, I am disturbed by one glaring omission:
No one mentions the cat!

Unfortunately, her newest novel, "No Safe Place," doesn't have a cat in it. I've read some blah-blah about it in reviews, about how wonderful the characters are and how the suspense is exciting, but here's the real scoop:
Cat's heroine works at a diner!
I must say, every time I sneaks to the computer after she foes to bed to proof-read her work, I look to see if she mentions food. It's thrilling to read about meatloaf and chocolate cake and all those wonderful things she makes for herself and selfishly refuses to share with me.
(An aside here -- the dog gets bites, while I'm forced to survive on dry food because I refuse to sit like a fool at her feet and beg. That's the price I pay, I suppose, for keeping my dignity.)
Now that I've made your acquaintance, I hope you'll come back from time to time for a cat's eye view of Cat's life. And do be sure to drop by www.turquoisesmorningpress.com to see what's happening at her publisher's, and remember, you can buy her books in e-book or print wherever such things are sold.
Which is NOT where you can also buy toy mice -- I've already checked.

Tabby