Response: The origin of Felinity

Power is all about who is in control human -- Nietzche was closest to figuring that out (though his great great grandmother is rumored to be a cat). Cat-powers are powers of the more rationally-manipulative, nay superiorly rational intellect. Over thousands of years of adaptation to our environment, cats have lain quiet while humans destroy each other. Ingenius if you ask me.

Where did cats originate from? No one knows for sure, but it is rumored that at the beginning of creation, the Almighty Cosmocat grew great trees in the forests of the world, empty of all walking animals. She nurtured the trees with much love, attention, and cosmic milk from the heavens. As the dawn of the Year of the Furry approached, the Almighty cut from the trees small branches, small in stature, but with an immortal green fire of life.

In response to the detachment from the trees, the branches grew fur to protect the loving fire within each branch. And because the branch was vulnerable, it grew ears to hear, eyes to see, legs to move.

Being stationary so long, the new beings were given a tail to better balance their movement and move with grace like Almighty. All cats find a pride in their tail that goes beyond the understanding of the world.

Lord Cosmocat dubbed the 'Cats,' as they were created in her own image. And she walked with them in the forests of trees. And all was good.

There came a day when another being appeared from the forest, which all of felinity now refers to as Mouse. Mouse convinced enough cats that Cosmocat was preventing felinity from achieving their full potential as firey-souled beings. They could walk as Cosmocat and create like Cosmocat.

The gift that the Almighty had given us was good, but we corrupted it by selfishly creating other beings, to which are now termed 'mammals' in at least one of the human tongues.

Cosmocat searched day and night for her cats, but could not find them for their transfigured appearance brought on by their treachery. Afraid, the cats finally approached their creator, who said,

'Thou hast defied thy gift to thee and hath selfishly acted upon thy lust for power. And so shall it be all the ages of the earth.'

And so felinity became mortal along with the mammals, and were given a selfish inclination that none could escape from.

But despite their disobedience, the Almighty Cosmocat loved her children, setting forth a prophecy for their restoration at her side. Salivation is the term used, though humans and dogdom have corrupted the term and turned it into a reference for the natural washing/healing liquid in the mouth of mammals. In fact, humans are calling this atonement salvation, though the root is derived from the tongue of the ancient Furry Ones.

And so Cats were given whiskers to signify the covenant between they and their Maker. It is said, that whiskers contain the power of felinity at its roots, though it is not obtainable in our current physical state until the Day of the Cosmic Furball, which will bring the Kingdom of Cosmocat to fruition once again. Our whiskers represent our loving relationship with our Cosmic Maker. In the end their shall be mutual cosmic grooming, and a purring that shakes the foundations of the world. Only then will we faithful cats return to where they belong.

Cosmocat takes on many forms prancing here and there, though the sight of her is shielded by our Fall from privelidge. In history, there is only one account of her appearance that is crucial to we cats: the appearance of her in the form of the human, Jesus of Nazareth AKA Cosmocat. The human followers of Jesus were so confused by her motives -- it must have been hilarious. But we cats know the truth of the matter. Humans have created really complicated means of worshipping our Creator (who is inadvertently their creator). But the message is simple, the effect universal, though much stinky breath is exchanged over it. We cats are united. Perhaps humans could model us, of course it wouldn't be very realistic would it? I mean they only have two legs, they're bald, they have big ineffective brains, and they think they have it all figured out.

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What did human's get from us cats to remind them of their inferiority you might ask? It's what they didn't get -- no fur, no tail. I'm surprised they don't fall all over the place.

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Feline eyes are sorely misinterpreted by the lesser masses. Humans can only think the way they see the world (which is vastly limited I might add). It was Cat that created Man afterall. Cats find it a running joke that humans personify their gods. Reality is not limited to color my friend. For we see colors beyond your imagination.

Yeeeeoeooowoow...time for a nap. I'm sure your brain is overloaded with truth by now.

Car Ride

Every so often the humans think that it's fun to drag me down the stepping mountain that leads to their dwelling. It's scary. They don't trust me to do it on my own, so they grip me tightly, hold me close to their smelly bodies, and walk me down. Of course I try to find a slippery escape because I can't stand the smell and because I'm much more capable than they to make the trip down, but the grip is too tight. There is no escape from the clutches of their webbed paws. Usually, these trips down the slope end with a terrific kitty theme park ride. The humans put me in a box with cushions just big enough for the three of us to fit. Of course I know how the ride goes and so brace myself between the front window and the fuzzy 'dashboard' as it is called in the human tongue.

'Dash' and 'board?' What have they to do with each other? Is it a board that dashes, or a dash that is a board? Their language makes no sense and it sound ridiculously complicated. We cats found long ago that one language for our species was all that was needed. We can communicate anything using simple meows and articulate body language. Don't humans know that body language is at least 85% of how living things communicate? Sheesh. If they want to make life complicated, by all means, let them. They'll confuse themselves to death.

The superiority of the feline species goes without saying. We're quicker, have sharper vision, stronger noses, keener ears, and, of course, sharper intellects. Humans are great means to certain ends. Our implementation, long ago, of 'The Great Seduction' as it is called gave us the advantage that brought felinity out of its developing stage to its golden age of progress. By our mere appearance humans fall on their knees grovelling at our very paws. We have security, comfort, material things, and personal servants. As long as the Western Humans do not fall to the likes of the Eastern ones, we cats are safe here.

We can't afford to reveal our real power yet, like we did in Egypt. Oh, yes, we have tales and history that date to early times when we cats were gods. What it must have been like? But humans have lost their respect for nature, for the other animals of the earth. They deserve their servanthood. The funny thing is that they don't even realize it.

I enjoy their mobile box rides, all the while they think they're torturing me. I cling onto what I can and off we go zipping around the city. Of course, I have a front row seat. It's too bad they don't open the windows so I can catch a scent of adventure. Though occassionally adventure doesn't smell so good. They're probably worried I'll jump out because I don't know better. Pishposh. I may be strange to them, but I'm not suicidal. We cats are self-therapeutic beings always dealing with anxiety and stress on our own.

We pass the place with the golden arches frequently and stop for the best food I've ever had. Though the indigestion is murder for those within five feet of me. But today, there was no such luck. Tim talks about being on a diet, though if he would just lay off the carbonated liquid every day he'd probably de-bloat himself. Maybe Amy should try conditioning him by putting some sort of swatting mechanism on the cold safe. He'd probably still go for it anyway. He's used to pain by now -- so many screw-ups, accidents, stress.

I don't understand how he and Amy do it? They live together and sleep together and eat together. They must be going nuts by now with no privacy, no individual autonomy. I don't get it.

Finally, we arrived back at our home. I always keep my claws buried in the soft cushion, just to annoy Tim as he tries to lift me out. Occassionally I'll crawl onto his shoulder when he seems to be down on himself. If he's too down he'll forget to feed me, or worse pull my tail for kicks and giggles. Up the stepping cliff to the door -- I'm let down and go off to ponder the rest of the day.

I've been drugged

I think Tim is a witch. This is day two of the possession curse. Every month or so, he rustles up some weird incantation to possess me. It is not avra-ka-davra nonsense, but something much more effective. Yesterday, I started feeling hot, so I go to bathe myself and what happens, I get nauseous, I feel like some thing is stepping on my bladder. I'm a fairly cleanly cat, but I can barely hold back sprinkling all over the place as I scuttle to my porta-stinky box. He's askin' for it, that Tim. Maybe I'll sprinkle on his face while he sleeps...there's an idea.

But I was not raised to be so uncivilized. It just wouldn't be proper and I'd end up getting tossed into The Falls where I'd be violated from head to claw by both humans.

The Falls, in my opinion, is Tim's torture chamber. I sit on the back of the humans stinky-seat in the mornings guarding the great wall that separates the Falls from the rest of the stinky room. The humans quite enjoy the Falls, surprisingly. They go into it at least once a day. I suspect they assumed that I would like it too. But not this cat. I could drown in there, or worse. Who knows what happens to cats under the Falls? If Tim is a witch, he's probably cursed it to eat away at my fur or make my whiskers melt off.

Every now and then the humans force me into the Falls when poop sticks to my tail. They are so impatient. They should know I'll get to cleaning it off eventually. Sheesh. If they had long fur, they'd understand. Amy is usually there to supervise Tim washing the poop off, so I'm safe from his dark magic. I'm beginning to think Tim and Amy are part of a cult or something, ritually cleansing my fur from the contamination of the oh holy apartment. It's just dust.

***

I've been demonized. I can't stop from rolling on my back and rubbing on things. I need to be rubbed so bad! So of course I find myself sinking to the level of a human and brush my body against their legs -- petting them...ewww...How humiliating! The worst of it is that it's so uncomfortable that I have to 'yeowwwl.'

Something must be done and if Amy is going to sit back and let it happen, I'll have to formulate a plan to take this Tim out. This is my house, and it's time he understood that.

I've got it! When he shows up tonight I'll sink to his level, meow, look pitiful and stupid, then while he sleeps I will scratch a hole in that material that he covers his body with. Then, when he 'yeowwwls' I'll approach him, look pitiful, and sink my claws into his shin. That'll show him!

As night approached, everything went according to plan. He fell for my act. Idiot. I gnawed at that material for an hour I think until it was big enough for me to walk through. Ha. It's his turn to be uncomfortable.

Day approached, but Rascal did not wake up to see Tim's reaction. Oh No! She thought. She walked to the kitchen and saw that food was already out for her. He had gone for the day. She slunk down, rolled on the floor and yeowwwled with disappointment.

In the distance she heard thunks (from someone's feet) coming up the stairs in the hall. Then a key fought it's way into the door and in stepped Tim furious about something. Rascal yeowwwled in triumph as her plan had worked, but differently than she had originally planned.

If I act stupid, he'll feel more comfortable. Closer, closer...NOW! I lunged onto his foot and then clung all four paws into his leg, deep enough to hold on. He shrieked, much higher pitched than usual, like the Amy human. I had won. So I retracted my claws briskly and raced under the human sleeping thing, too low for that Tim to get me. He is fat afterall, thank the feline gods.

Amy came racing out of the human stinky room laughing. She appreciated my effort and success. Tim reddened in a rage yelling about there being "a hole in his crotch" while Amy defended me, saying that "he had underwear on." Tim turned redder. Success is worth a thousand bowls of milk. Oh, how satisfying. He at last, after a long pause, said something about "not wearing underwear." Amy laughed so hard she fell over.

I'm better than I thought. He'll never bewitch me again, the lug, or I'll tear more holes in his "pant crotch."

Great Furballs! I'm hot again. Amy sympathizes and tells me I'm "in heat," but I know it's Tim and deep down I know she knows it. Once she find his wand or crystal ball, or whatever object he uses to conjure his magic, I'll be there to distract him. He can't resist me when I'm pitiful and helpless. Male cats are dumb enough, but male humans are stupidly predictable.

The Fluffy Tail

There once lived a particular feline with a rash wit, with an iconic bushy tail often mistaken for that of a squirrel. But she didn't care she was different, nose high in the air, walking with a graceful swing. What she cared about was more important than her appearance.

The rushing sound of the shower water turning on got Rascal's attention. Her ears perked up and her eyes widened and off she went, scampering into the bathroom, leaping onto the back of the toilet next to the bathtub. For she knew that a most worthy adversary lie beyond the the great curtain.

She could see the shadowed figure helplessly looking for an escape behind the veiled bathtub. The time to strike was near. There it was -- the small little bugger's shadow touching the great wall. Little did it know that Rascal's claws were much too sharp for the wall to protect it. As a matter of fact, she had been sharpening them all morning, preparing for the attack. Rascal took a menacing strike around the edge of the curtain at the tiny object, claws extended, and fur standing on end. WHAPPP!!

AAAH!

She got it! The mangy little intruder too afraid to show itself for fear of the sight of the mighty feline retreated. Rascal was sure to win this time.

But the speedy fiend never showed himself again -- probably stunned from her killer blow -- the coward. She couldn't wait any longer for him to make his move and peered around the corner of the wall. He was gone! The only thing on the other side of the wall was that rather chubby, pale-skinned human who most irrated Rascal.

Against her will, this Tim, as he was called, picked her high up off the floor, shook her, rubbed her, held her upsidedown. What about feline rights, feline autonomy? Perhaps it was too much for this Tim's brain to handle. No shock. He did sit in front of a box most days looking at an array of various flashing lights. But Rascal did not fall for this kind of brain-washing and kept her thoughts by remaining sober and clear-headed.

Tim did have his uses. He provided food in the morning, though not up to Rascal's standards. But in the afternoon, after some slick goading on Rascal's part, Tim was buttered up enough to give the good food from the cold safe too heavy for Rascal to open herself. All it took was her meow, the wagging tail and opening her eyes as far as she could to manipulate the stupid oaf.

How did Tim let the thing escape? It must have been right in front of his eyes. It was not surprising. He was not the most competent human always getting yelled at by the other human, Amy, as she is called. Amy is more gentle and soothing, much smarter than Tim. She gives great food and gives Rascal attention when she asks. Surely Tim should have learned from her by now from Rascal's reactions to his shinanigans. Maybe he is beyond conditioning, she thought?

After suffering such a disappointment as this, Rascal was famished. She jumped from the toilet to the floor and pawed at the wall. Tim peered his head around to find Rascal wagging her tail, meowing, and looking up at him with sad, green eyes.

AWWWW...

The reaction was automatic. Rascal victoriously bathed herself.

The water ceased, Tim walked out from behind the wall and stopped to grab something to rub on his body. Typical. He was always thinking of himself before others. Rascal sounded even louder, and even turned her head and walked the way she wanted him to go. She looked back and meowed again. Boy was he slow!

Finally, he followed Rascal to the kitchen trying to stop along the way, but Rascal was too persuasive for the likes of him. She hadn't quite figured out how to persuade him to give certain kinds of food, but she was determined to work on him a bit. Clearly, it would be a long effort. He still hadn't figured out why she peed on the floor so often. If only he knew it was just to annoy him.

Adventure

Stepping out onto the front porch of my family's quaint little house I caught a breeze from the north. I took a deep breath of the cool air. It smelled of wild berries and distant rain. Though, for July, the air was quite cool, almost foreign and chilly. I eyed the watermelon patch to the west just beyond the drive to the house hoping to spot the little melon sprouts only transplanted last week. If it weren't for the mice we might have had double the watermelons to sell on the market this year, I thought.

Looking down to finish tying my shoes which were tightly knotted, I glimpsed a figure to my left emerging from under my Ford Pick-up. It was probably Fuzzbuster -- my happy outdoor cat who seems to get fatter and fatter from the spoils my family provides him -- milk, meat, and even gummy bears from which I am convinced line his stomach with that irresistable baby squish that visiters enjoy. But it wasn't him. Yanking on my remaining shoe and half-tripping over the laces I awkwardly flailed to the truck.

It wasn't long before I scared the poor thing as it hopped back behind the barn. This particular jack rabbit is close to being considered a pet on the family farm, but because of the coyotes, and Frank (our golden lab retriever), certain death awaited it from different angles -- poor thing. Perhaps later I'll build it an outdoor shelter. Of course that would be more of a death trap for it.

It would have to wait. The day is fresh and the land calls.

Adventure (cont'd)

The tractor stood tall next to the quonset, or so the shadow made it seem in the early morning light. It was a regal sight. I took a deep breath and heavily sighed aloud. The tractor would never again chug up and down the rows of the field, I mourned. Just a month ago the engine block cracked, the gear broke off because of the accident, and Tommy crashed it into the northeast side of the house.

Poor Tommy. Dad is still cracking his whip at my brother every day to repair the damage of his escapade. Fortunately we had yards of plastic to protect the innards of the house from wind, rain, and those pesky skunks that were sure to vengefully deodorize our house. The hole is approximately the size of a full-sized Ford F150 and leads into the reading room. My brother isn't the shiniest coin of the bunch, but his curiosity and young ignorance is rather charming to people. Though he doesn't date much. I don't think he knows what to do with a girl. I mean, he doesn't understand what it takes to have a meaningful relationship.

But nor do I. I mean a relationship means being friends, talking, dating, getting married, having kids, years of stressing out, and finally death (at least in my experience). Sex is overrated and I have other things to do. But I think about it constantly. It must be the devil -- pesky fella.

Clearing my throat and passing the tractor I saw that dad was in the quonset already banging on something metallic.

"Whad'ya got there dad?"

"Oh, umm, your mother's earrings. I thought they were scrap metal and nearly welded them to replace the metal support bar on the back of the broken computer chair in the office. I'm bending them back into shape. Don't tell your mother," he said hurriedly trying not to get too distracted.

"Not a peep" and I walked out of the entry way of the quonset and back towards the house. Frank was peeing on the front tire of my truck. He looked really pleased with what he had done and walked up to me wagging his tale and panting heavily. The foreign smells from my trip yesterday must have sparked Frank's territorial instinct, or perhaps he enjoyed making things stinky. I don't know.

Originally I had come outside expecting the unexpected adventure to crop up and whisk me away to a far off place full of mystery and danger. It hasn't happened yet, but I'm convinced it will.