I found this on the Kittynet

A visiting preacher was invited to give the sermon at a local church. When someone in the congregation would respond with "Amen" or "That's right preacher," the guest pastor would get carried away and launch into an extended sermon. Finally, the exasperated host pastor started responding to remarks by the guest preacher with "Amen, Pharoh!"......which unnerved the guest preacher. After the service the guest preacher asked the host pastor, "what did you mean when you said, 'Amen Pharoh?' " His host replied, "I was telling you to let my people go."

Another Lesson in Hebrew

Since Tim started this Hebrew course of his it has been perfectly obvious when some sort of examination is coming up. He goes into a whirlwind of profanity, pacing, talking to himself (though I've tried to encourage him to seek psychological help), snickering to himself (the kind of snicker one puts on when something terribly evil is brewing inside that resonates funny). But quite frankly, I was appalled by the profanity. Sh**, Da**, etc..back to back; a juxtaposition of colorful metaphors. I've heard a fair share in my life, but now predominantly on those profane days Tim plops himself down in front of Hebrew flashcards and Hebrew Bible of all things -- never have I experienced so much of this kind of colorful metaphor while someone is studying the Bible. It's like he's substituted curse words for other phrases. For example instead of "And it came to pass" it's "And it came to pass wind" or whenever the term for "spirit" or "wind" is used he connotates it with flatulence. There was a remark about Moses speech at the parting of the Sea sounding as if he were trying to cough up a divine hairball graciously gifted by God. Whatever helps him remember that Hebrew! You go human! And did I mention that the reason Hebrew sounds oddly like there is an obstruction in the throat is, you've got it...it was invented by cats!

My Favorite

Princess Fluffy Tail's

favorite theologian: John Calvin and Hobbes his side kick
least favorite theologian: Karl Bark
favorite music group: Pussy Cat Dolls
favorite psychologist: Freudie Cat
favorite musical: Cats
favorite film: Horse Whiskerer

A Day in Hebrew class

I’ve managed to finally attempt a consciousness swap with Tim. He is somewhere in limbo within his shell, but I am in control. We’re in Hebrew right now.and talking about something called the Niphal – it’s apparently reflexive – “he sold himself” – I should report this to the feds – selling goods is one thing, but people? Wait, now it can be passive, “he was buried” – how depressing – “he was devoured” – yikes! My fur is standing straight on end, that is if I were in my body; I think I’m experiencing what human beings call “goose bumps.” Either that or it’s gotten really cold in this room. Wait, now reciprocal usage – “They spoke with one another” – and finally there is the Resultative usage (may indicate potential) – is eaten = is edible. The four usages…I can think of four usages to do with this stuff! All involve toilet paper. ‘Nough said. Now we’re talking about “Gutturals” – if I were in my body I’d say that I've gotta roll too; a good roll for the exquisite fluffiness of a cats’ coat. What is a participle? I understand the term “part”, but what is an “iciple” – the word rolls off the front of your tongue with the same satisfaction as the term, “supple.” An “iciple” following the other translations in the lesson must have to do with cannibalism or the human black market. In the context of the lecture guttural must also have something to do with cannibalism and the human black market. I’ve inferred that one must roll to escape such atrocities as this – how else could the lecture make sense? Just a quick note, Wait just one moment – shave me bald! – we’re talking about being prefixed and infixed – holy danderpuss! The Horror! Take me back to my body, quickly – evil humans have categories for fixing cats! Emergency times call for desperate action; no one is prefixing, infixing, fixing me! Operation kitty-piss-on-everything will commence immediately.

The Concert of the Year

Hell Fire and Burnt Whiskers! (Cosmocat forbid): Tim is searching for other humans to accompany him to the "concert of the year" tomorrow night in New York. Amy and others keep commenting on the hideous whine of the "bag-pipe" whatever it may be, so they see little reason to accompany Tim. The poor oaf, he seems vexed by the whole issue, hoping to share his o so happy aesthetic musical catharsis of sorts with others. I'd like to hear this "bag-pipe" myself. Really, I do. Can anything whine worse than a feline when nature calls and mating season comes around! I think not. Besides, Tim is more interested in the other instruments involved: the drums, the flutes and whistles, the bass, the guitar, the violin -- all strange sounding items. Could they come together to impress, to flow and to stimulate unconscious desires? Yes, we cats do have an unconscious -- haven't you heard of Freudie Cat! Oh, right, humans chose to cover his true identity with "Freud." How boring. Not to mention, he is given an appearance similar to that of the captain who sunk with the Titanic. How ironic -- the truth did sink about the issue didn't it. Bugger! Humans and their cover-ups! Cats play dumb, but act to dumb ends, never! Anyway, back to the topic at hand: Music: la musique, mon amour -- for you french felines out there with a bagette in your teeth. Perhaps Tim will choose me to go with him. Of course, the darned "pet" policies might pose trouble. Pet policies!? I'd like to patter-pet the feline racist who came up with this legislation fixed...well, maybe not fixed, but at least clawed in some sensitive region. Anyway, back to coaxing Tim!

Humans need to get a life

Sporadically each day Tim comes into the home abruptly, usually waking me from my oh so precious cat naps as his giant feet creek the floor tiles (If I could speak his language I'd nag at him with "fee fye foe fum"). What I just do not understand is the amount of time any human being puts their head in a "book" or sits in front of one of those bright boxes, um, "compewter", something like that. They stare at those things longer than I can stare at anything! I have no problem with them staring stupidly into these items, but for goodness sakes, none of us lives forever! If I were to average the amount of time Tim sits in front of these items and subtract that from his total life-span he'd be less than fifteen years old in human years. Time well spent? Time will tell my furry and imaginably furry readers. Meanwhile sit in front of your time-consuming products while we cats snicker at your "time well spent"?

Fortress of Solitude

It's finally happened. My two servants have rebelled against me and enslaved me in a steel cage just outside their door. When the pushing gets hard what do they do? Blame the feline of course...the tendency of, oh, how do feline sociologists term it... feline fault. No, the situation is not fair, but the humans cannot see that. Perhaps if their vision were a tad better... But no matter. Escape tactics are already underway.

A Tail for a Tail

I suspect my human pets of being unfaithful...They have been staying out past curfew and come home smelling somewhat ripe and very adulterous. I think their are other felines mocking me, curtailing my authority -- a claim that is rightfully mine! Now, I'm not normally a jealous sort of cat, not normally upset about such feeble matters as this, but I can't believe they would betray my trust like this! How dare they! After all I have done for them, providing them with attention, warmth, entertainment, and the most beautiful furry-love they could ever have imagined or wished for. Furry-love, above all is what binds we cats to all of creation. Selfish though we are, furry-love is there to remind us of our past and hope for the future, not to mention a directive on how we are to treat others. For my humans to shame my expression of furry-love to them is a cosmic wrong...!

Now is the time to implement operation "love-cuddle and nip." Those of you who aren't familiar with this particular strategy, which has been a particular kitty-clan tradition for as long as I can trace it back, it involves the superlative expression of furry-love to another. And when the 'other' becomes extremely comfortable -- slowed heart beat and deep breaths -- cha-ching! Vengeance! with a nip to a known sensitive region. The small bite must be enough for the recipient to retain the memory -- the two extremes, comfort and pain, in an instant must shift to achieve this prime objective. You have to admit that this punishment is far from being a tail for the tail they dealt me...

They're home...must go...may the whiskers of cats tickle and comfort you always...and show furry-love to each other...oh, and remember that the "love-cuddle and nip" strategy always works...always...

Princess Fluffy Tale's impression of snow

Baby Update

This sonogram picture was taken last Friday...our son is now beginning to gain fat, his brain of course is still developing, and as you can see he's taken a likening to sucking his thumb if the opportunity floats his way. And, if I haven't already given it away, we are having a boy. The pre-birth check-up went well. His organs are working properly, he is making breathing actions, though he won't be doing the real thing until after he is born. Amy and I can now push on her tummy and have the baby punch and kick at us, which has been the joy and climactic moment of many-a-busy days. Now I must get to class...more to say...but later...

Aerobics and Aesthetics

Sparkly Lights and Reflection

Again, the greenery goes up, our dwelling becomes a sight so bright that you can see in every nook and cranny of the house -- it needs to be cleaned, by the way. Little twinkling lights rejected by the opacity of the green shrubs creates sharp shadows and eerie effects on the walls of our abode. I can't help but wonder why this is necessary in the human world -- redundancy or maybe cycles to pass the time. 'Tradition' means little to we cats, which is paradoxical since we value our own theories of metaphysics, cosmology, etc. We just don't let those pesky 'traditions' (for my human fans) get in the way of what is happening in the present. Dependency is something we devalue in the temporal...it's a human trait. Though I suppose we share some traits (biologically) with all species...but we can't help but notice our superiority above that of humans...ha...their time is running out and ours is just beginning in hopes of Cosmocat coming to retrieve his faithful cats. Cats rule, and humans don't get it...

I just wish they'd keep the bright lights off at night for sleep sake. My whiskers are starting to twitch from exhaustion...

The following picture is what I think of this "Christmas" notion that Amy and Tim go a little loopy for:

Pre-linguistic Christmas Reflection

Colored in Ritual

Tim decided to perform a ritual of color this afternoon neglecting his usual ritual of what he and Amy term, 'reading,' which I find very pointless. Too much reading and life just zips past your whiskers if you ask me. But the coloring ritual is worse that that! He involved me in it. I thought it would at least be a few good laughs at his expense or at least a learning experience. We cats need no rituals...silly structures always trying to escape space and time...neglecting the importance of a balanced diet, exercise, and play. Another mark of we cats superiority.

Back to the ritual...

Tim sits down with colors encapsulated in liquid, and begins to dab at each of them with a flailing motion that nearly scared me to utter baldness. Right now there are color splatters on the floor, my bed, Tim, Amy, and perhaps odds and ends of things around the house that won't be found out until years later.

But I must say, the result in this picture makes no sense...it doesn't look real (and let's no5 debate what's real here and what's not...the human attraction to philosophical debate is littered with nonsense, repetition, and things wholely disconnected from reality). Yet another example of human rationality at its finest -- a rationality set apart from their biological foundations.

My nose is currently an aqua-marine color like no color I've ever seen. I know that Tim did this to me on purpose. I know it. He hexed it to permanently stay...one of those tatoos I hear about from sources methinks. Must go, tongue tired from attempts at nose sterilization.

Happy Belated Halloween

It was nice to put off that Credo paper for another couple hours to hand out candy to kids wearing some rather uniques costumes this year. Amy and I sat out with friends, enjoyed nice warm cups of hot apple cider, and chit-chatted. This pumpkin Amy and I gutted and transfigured last Friday night at our CRW annual Halloween pumpkin carving contest (which wasn't really a contest).

Fetus gets blanket, I get locked out

Amy human and Tim human spend hours constructing a warm cushy 'blanket' for the baby they've been ranting about...they're not themselves...I spent an hour on the balcony, 20 feet from immanent death, locked out of my home, while they stood 10 feet away, warm as can be, constructing a 'blanket' (artificial fur). This 'sibling' is already dirupting the family infrastructure...something must be done to calm the coming cat-fight.

The Princess tours her kingdom part deux

The Princess tours her kingdom

Check out my new litter box

Princess Fluffy Tale gains a sibling

Floofius IV Pawfenese

100 BC Day 256

Enjoying a drink of Rome's finest mead in the comfort of my own quarters is worth the extra denari I paid for it. What could be better than a few cups of hot ferment on a dank evening such as this. Banshees, accompanying the thundrous monsoon surround the solitary tower unable to penetrate the stone walls. The vibrations from the storm stimulating the nerve endings makes any mammal's fur stand on end. I look like a prime target for a thunder bolt. Though Cosmocat has plenty others to strike before he gets to me on his list. In the meantime, I've important ordeals to manage. Commander Pricklepus of the Third Division has brought to me something more valuable than my position on the Roman Senate. But I cannot even write about it for fear of a passerby reading this journal.

Someone just knocked. When I gather my willickers again I'll look for my fur.

Pacing and thinking I feel both the adrenaline of excitement and the paralyzing fear for my life. When the rains cease, the lottery will begin, with a little persuasion from the Senate. I need a task force of my choosing. Pricklepus is prime to lead the group. Dan Druffus is perfect for the hunt because of his uncanny ability to sense a mouse a fortnight away. But what about a thief? The prisoners here in Rome are not trustworthy. I may have to rely on a human for this task. My mind is contrary to my intuition, but the latter has proven itself in the past -- my strength does not lie in my denari, though the strength of denari lie with me. Ironic disposition. What this group still needs is a FFF -- Furry Friendly Face -- to communicate with the barbarians from the North.

I won't sleep tonight.

Tomorrow we begin the most important quest in history beyond those for glory: The quest for the Holy Tail.

Toleration

As if my life was not already tainted by the presence of furless friends defunct of anything flamboyant, Tim and Amy have taken a human in from who knows where...a human slave content on taking out his frustration on yours truly, Princess Fluffy Tail as I have taken on the title of my ancestors now.

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On an aside note, this past August marks my rightful passage into the clan of Felinity...into the adult years of my life. That's right, I'm a cat clandestinely cautious and cuddleful with a curious disposition causing chronic colds to cantancerous human company. For those of you who didn't understand that -- I'm all grown up. With one yeowl I can summon any cats in the area to my side if need be. But I won't do that. I'm much to responsible to push the little red button on a whim. Test me if you will, but I won't do it...though I might sink my teeth into your thigh and cling to your leg with my claws (which I just sharpened by the way)...if not out of defense, for whiskers and giggles. But anyway, the point is that I can rightfully claim the family name now.

The days of the transitional slumber consisted of an out of body experience...with much fasting and the ingesting of the slimy small creatures around our habitat we cats refer to as the Putrid Poppers, I entered into the "sleepy days" (for short). This is not just any sleep. When you sleep, you enter a world beyond the ordinary, the home of Cosmocat and faithful felinity. The slimy, icky Poppers (which humans refer to as "bugs") explode in your mouth (it's quite good with milk actually) with an unforgetable taste -- not bad, but definately acquired. Once the dream juice gets to the stomach, bye-bye hunger, hello dimension of everlasting kitty treats.

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Back to my complaint -- another human in the house. Could it be that Tim and Amy wish that I suffer from their incessant abuse. Well I'm not going to stand for it! Calm down, calm down...you're letting those humans get to you...they're winning. I can do it, I can do it...I can outlast them. I am a cat afterall from the clan Fluffy Tail, a true descendant of Floofius IV Pawfenese of Greece. My family has tutored human philosophers for centuries, all of which have given my family no credit. If I can wait for my family name to be honored in prestigious circles again, I can wait for these pesky humans to understand that I don't like them -- perhaps they'll abuse each other for once, picking each other up off the ground petting each other. Or perhaps they can resort to abusing their 'stuffed animals'(which is so absurd it doesn't merit any further mention).

Ailment for a feline dilemma

Being a cleanly cat has its drawbacks. For instance, this morning I awoke to a whisker-twisting funk emanating from my (rather cute) behind. So what do I do? I clean myself of course, impressively bending and stretching to remove all traces of funk from my furr. Methodically I remove all tangles, dirt and, uh other stow-aways from my body with the scouring-tongue procedure innate to we cats. The funk resides and I stretch out to capture sleep lost.

Unfortunately, I wish I could sleep after a good bath, but the truth is much more dramatic, traumatic, cinematic, acrobatic...whatever...the point is that much excess fur sticks to my tongue...and journeys into my throat. If you haven't coughed up 'wads of hell' (a number one cause of feline injury and death next to cars) before, then you just can't imagine the pain, agony, and life-threatening sensation that swallowed fur can cause. It's worse when the ball conglomerate gets so big that it tickles the throat on the way out, not only resulting in incessant gagging, but also laughter, which induces pain beyond your bald minds.

Here's a hint for you cats suffering from bathing side effects: Lick and clean with the fur-grain, not against it; drink lots of liquids (milk aids with indigestion); and lastly gag with your head between your front legs -- gravity helps. Chow (another word misconstrued by humans actually meaning 'good luck.' And the chow dogs are all but lucky -- floofy fur and no way to clean it on their own. Recipe : dog-on-stinky if you ask me).

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.