Christmas Day Catblogging
Since I’m home for the holidays and my folks have three cats, I thought I’d partake in a blogging tradition as old as blogging itself: catblogging.
Pee Wee (above) is the least social of their three cats. I’m not exaggerating when I say that he appears to view humans as a kind of necessary nuisance. His attitude towards people ranges from mild annoyance to outright pique. Still, though, I find myself respecting him for his flintiness.
Except, of course, when we get out a jar of baby food and he comes running and throws himself abjectly at our feet, playing cute to get a treat. Then he’s just selling out to The Man.
Missy (above) is the youngest of the three cats. She is a real FAP — a Feline-American Princess. Everything must be Just So for her to be happy. Example: we are always refilling her water bowl with fresh water, but sometimes she decides that water isn’t fresh enough — so she will jump in the sink and wait for someone to turn on the tap so she can drink straight from the faucet. But — and this is the true Missy touch — after you turn on the tap, she won’t drink until you leave. You want to watch me drink? How gauche! I don’t drink with the servants!
She can be very cute and friendly — much more so than Pee Wee, who reminds me more of a militant Black Panther circa 1971 — but you just have to remember The Way That Things Are Done.
Last, but certainly not least (insofar as he weighs a ton), is Victor (above). Victor is the oldest and strangest of the lot. All his life he has behaved as if he was convinced that he was a dog trapped in a cat’s body. When people come home, Victor comes running to the door to greet them. If you pick up a toy and pretend to throw it, Victor will go tearing after its imagined trajectory. Unlike just about every other cat I’ve ever seen, he loves being picked up, played with, and generally messed around with by humans.
Friendly, eager, and dumb as a post — like I said, he thinks he’s a dog.
The main pursuit of Victor’s younger days was figuring out new and exciting ways to knock things over. If there was anything in the house that was even close to the edge of a table or nightstand, he would take it as his mission to help it meet its destiny on the ground. Nowadays he’s mellowed a bit, but he still enjoys the occasional bout of destruction.
He also loves to go tearing through the house on running jags for no reason. Like an SUV, because he weighs so much, he does not corner very well once he has built up some momentum. When he hits a tile floor, this results in the sight of a huge white ball of fur sliding across the floor at high speed, with legs clawing frantically in the opposite direction trying to stop the skid and change direction before he careens off into, say, the living room. Ten years of having to do this maneuver has yet to convince him to modify his approach to crossing tile floors. Some people never learn.
Happy holidays, everyone!