My stupid humans don’t get it - when it’s light outside you are supposed to be up! They never appreciate it when I make sure they get up in time for work - obviously their alarm didn’t go off. It’s not my fault the easiest way to do this is to walk on them.
And I am really beginning to dislike the constant references to my weight. It hurts a cat’s feelings to hear “Good Lord! Seventeen frickin pounds” every day. After all - I’m not fat, I’m fluffy.
When I first moved in with them, my people got all weird and yelled a lot when I jumped up on benches and tables and things. It’s taken me three years, but I’ve finally trained them out of yelling when I jump on the bathroom counter top. They don’t seem to get that they shouldn’t yell when I jump on the kitchen counter - they’re a little simple you see. I still hope to fully train them someday.
My people are presently grumbling because I have rediscovered my prize possession, my Knitting Needle. I found it when I was a kitten and claimed it as my own, and I drag it all over the house because I am mesmerised by it’s beauty and all-round coolness. Is there a better toy in all the world than a single Knitting Needle? I doubt it. It’s more fun than a box full of bobbie pins, and that’s saying something! For the record, I’m fairly convinced that the Knitting Needle is actually the mother of all bobbie pins. Anyway, a possession that valuable, it needs guarding. There’s no telling who might try to whisk it away for their own pleasure. That’s why I have to sit up late at night watching over it. Now, my people are so inconsiderate that they did not even think to move the Knitting Needle into our bed so that I could both guard it and keep warm and snugly all night. At 4am, I was so disturbed by my fatigue yet determined to continue my Knitting Needle vigil that I just broke down and cried at the top of my lungs. Only then did my people get the hint and move the Knitting Needle into our bed. Selfish, inconsiderate things. They had the cheek, the absolute gall to complain about sleeping with the Knitting Needle. They should consider themselves priviledged!
The one who calls herself my “Mama”, she sits up too late at night. Crazy girl would probably never go to bed if it wasn’t for me. I insist she go to bed if she’s still up at 1am. I start by commanding her attention with an authoritive “Mew!”. If she ignores me, I repeat it. If she still ignores me, I jump on her desk, put my face right in front of hers and say “Mmmmmeeeeeewwwww!!”. If she’s being stubborn and still trying to defy me, then I pull out the big guns: I walk along the length of the desk, kicking random objects onto the floor, then I jump on the precarious pile of papers on top of the filing cabinet (that usually grabs her attention!), and if I really must, I jump up on top of the desk where there’s a bunch of stuff that she freaks out about me knocking over. From there it’s usually just a matter of minutes before she decides to call it a night. If for some reason she absolutely refuses to obey me and go to bed, at this point I stop wasting my breath on her, and I go sleep on my own bed in the spare room.
It’s tough running this house. My people would let just anyone in. They’re lucky they have me here to inspect and approve of their visitors. I don’t think they know how to entertain guests either, so I’m obliged to put on a bit of a show for them. Oh, I don’t really mind. I do belong in the spotlight. Still, I wonder sometimes… however did the poor simple creatures, manage before I came along?
Our human is ridiculuous. She keeps talking to us about needing a job. Doesn’t she realize that it’s her job to be here with us and keep us happy? The food appears in the bowl, and she can certainly share with us. We like the way it tastes. But even better is when she gets out one of the special all-white plates with the ridges around the edge. It’s kind of flexible - but that makes it even better for licking the tuna-ey goodness off of it. That comes in the little round containers - I get so happy when I hear the noise that means she opened one. I don’t know why we can’t have that all the time.
She sometimes complains when she tries to pet my sister, Scout. She says that Scout just begs and pleads to be petted, then moves away when it actually happens. What she doesn’t realize is that we’re just concerned about her health, and this is our way of making her get just a little more exercise.
I, of course, am Jake. I’m highly offended when she calls me “puddin-ass”. I’m not fat, I’m big-boned. I heard the vet say it when we were there last.
She’s done a terrible thing lately. She cleaned the chair in the living room that I like to hang out on - and she got all of my wonderful smelling hair off it. On top of that, she put a cloth on Scout’s chair, because she says that Scout sheds more than I do. That’s what she thinks. She just hasn’t cleaned under the bed lately.
I do love it now that she’s turned on the round thing in the bedroom. I like to lay on the bed and let the air blow over me. I don’t know why I like this so much - Scout would rather lie in the patch of sun, but I loooooove the wind on my fur.
This happens to me once or twice a year. I get sick, and then they take me to a foul smelling human with so many scents I can’t identify them all. He sticks me with needles and squirts awful tasting stuff in my mouth. Despite all this, I get better anyway. They need to start realizing how lucky they are I still let them live here. If they didn’t have laps, I’d have already thrown them out.
I’m not allowed on the balcony anymore. Conan used to like to play on the roof, and one day he found a hole where he could get inside the roof. He told me all about how much fun it was to play up there. I figure he can have at it, it’s too much trouble to jump up there.
Anyway, Person and Mommy were both very angry with him. They called him “dirty kitty” and person put him in water with that stuff that makes bubbles. He did it two more times, and Person took the little door away and closed the big sliding door.
Why should I have to be punished? I’m not the one who went in the hole in the roof? And why should they care if Conan has some dirt on him? He doesn’t seem to mind.
You people think your humans are unreasonable, you oughta meet the dimbulbs I got stuck with. The female is such a lackwit that she has yet to buy me my own pillow for the bed, but is still offended when I suffocate her and appropriate hers. Of course I’m taking her pillow; she doesn’t need it, and surely she doesn’t expect me to sleep without one. I mean, I’m not a dog, after all.
Speaking of dogs, the two she’s brought to intrude on my house are even stupider than she is. It was quite bad enough when she brought the black one–it was only temporarily cowed and now often squashes me and sucks on my lovely ears, getting my fur all disarranged. It was even worse when she made me share my house with that black and white hussy who she sometimes smelled like and that idiot male. (I hate that stupid black and white cat. She’s such a bitch.) Then she had to go and bring that white dog. Her domination has been more satisfactory than that of the first dog, but now she runs away when I try to let her bask in my presence. Stupid dog.
But that male human, he’s the worst of the lot. He’s as stupid as the female, but he’s also just plain insolent. Always telling me I don’t need more food because the female just fed me. He has the temerity to tell me I talk too much (he’s even worse than the old female who makes such a fuss when we go to visit–she has the nerve to call me “Brat Cat”), and that I’m too pointy to stand on his shoulder. Hmph. Just wait till the next time he’s asleep and I come to bed. Then he’ll see pointy. And he keeps making me get off the bed, just as I’m about to get comfortable. He doesn’t appreciate me keeping his neck warm at night, something about he can’t breathe, or some whiny-ass thing like that. He doesn’t like it when I tickle him with my whiskers while he’s sleeping, either, or when I stand on his crotch. I don’t know what his problem is, but I have no intention of putting up with this sort of disrespect.
I’m obviously the head of this household… was that the dog? Crap. Um, uh, nevermind. Where’s my dog shaped cuddling pillow? The one that smells like the one that calls herself mama. I mean, I’m a big boy and all, and I don’t need to cuddle, but I think they like it, so I do it for them, the humans.
“mama” found the shiny thing today. She’s number one in my book. The only thing I can’t figure out is who pulls it out of my mouth and puts it under my back foot when I drag it around the house? It must be the dog.
The other cat is a bitch. I walk up to her, start licking her head and ears and what do I get? HISSED AT! Well, obviously I have to bite her, or she’ll never learn her place. THEN I get yelled at.
And, listen humans. My name is JAKE. Not Jakeyboy or Jakeypants or Monkey. Okay? Jeez.
Where’s my pug pillow?
Just when I’ve got my dreadlocks the way I want them, my human cuts them off! Sometimes, she gets them while I’m sleeping. Okay, I didn’t really mind when she cut that one off my ass, because things were sticking to it. But jeeze…
My humans are no fair at all. They never let me outside to play. So what if I like to run under the sharp, pointy wire thingy and out into the tall grass? That grass tastes better! There are trees out there to climb! How do they expect me to catch birds if I can’t climb trees? Silly humans! But of course they have no problem letting my brother outside. Sure he doesn’t run out into the tall grass but that doens’t make it anymore fair to me!
I wish they’d stop yelling at me when I’m using the big green thing they sit on to stretch. What do they expect me to use since I don’t have a scratching post?
I wish the dog would keep still long enough for me to clean her. I know she’s just a dog so she isn’t bright enough to use her paws to clean her face so that is why I try to help her out. Naturally though my good deed goes unnoticed as she’ll just get up and walk away in the middle of her cleaning. Fine, I don’t care if she stinks anyway.
I think I may be losing my hearing. Everytime that blonde human shrieks “Kitty!” in my ear I find it’s harder to hear my brother trying to sneak up behind me. I know what I am, I don’t need to be reminded (much less yelled at).
Humans sure are strange. Thank goodness they can manage to keep food in our bowls and the litter scooped. They learned that lesson after I went behind the couch a few times. They’ll never slack again!
Why do the humans keep letting these strange people in the house? They’re SCARY and they smell funny and don’t sound the same. And once I was minding my own business, sleeping under the sofa and a whole bunch of the strange, smelly noisy scary people came, and I was trapped. Humph!
And they get upset when I try to groom them. That stuff they call hair is always so messy! So I hold their heads in place and then I try to lick them into place, and they yell at me and screech. Stupid humans, they don’t know what’s good for them.
Originally posted by Liberal
I hear ye. But do you understand the lap thing? I mean: One moment it’s okay to sit on it - okay, okay; half sit on it, my butt is a tad wide - and the next moment you’re thrown off forcefully.
I try to be all friendly and child-like, you know. Pretending I’m with my mom, kneeding her nipples and stuff. And yeah, sometimes I get carried away and use my nails.
Even when I draw blood trough the thickest jeans, there’s no need to go: “AAAAAAAA” and push me off, is there?