Welcome aboard(s), Sqwerticus!
I was going to recommend a squirt gun or feeding Fat Cat some peanut butter, but the problem seems to have solved itself.
Zenter I actually considered peanut butter for awhile there. Squirt gun wouldn’t be very nice because I don’t think he’d be able to figure out what it was he was doing wrong. He is allowed to talk. And the occasional song is fine with me.
I typed out FatCat’s lyrics phonetically into Altavistas Babelfish Translator. The English translatio of FatCat’s song is as follows:
This is the song that never ends,
It just goes on and on my friends,
Some people started singing it not knowing what it was
And they’ll continue singing it forever just because,
This is the song that never ends…
That explains everything.
My kitties are talkers - which I used to love. I actually encouraged Miss Jody to meow, by meowing at her - and now she does it all the time. I think it’s cute - she greats me with “Meow meow meow” - very cute. But then when I take a bath, she goes nuts. I have a glass enclosed shower, so she can see I am there. When I take a bath, she will meow frantically, and bump against the glass - “I know you’re there! Come out! I must save you!”. So ridiculous. My Sunshine, on the other hand, has become a talker only in the past few months (guess she picked it up from Jody). Where Jody’s meows are cute, Sunshine’s always sound like she is in pain. And at night, when I am going to sleep, after I turn out the lights, Sunshine will sit downstairs and yowl, until I call her upstairs. She can’t just come up - oh no - I have to call her. Crazy cat!
Susan
Sorry, but I’m just laughing at the visual of a cat sashaying down the hall just happily singing to herself. La la la. Probably because barring the occasional sass & grunt, I have the quietest cat. Most of the time she tries to communiate via telepathy. Results vary.
Peg you’re not referring to FatCat are you? 'Cause he doesn’t “sashay,” he “waddles.”
My parents have a cat that walks through the house calling out to see where the people are. All you have to do is say “we’re in here, Bandit!” and he’ll come strolling in and expect to immediately be the center of attention.
Living in a little apartment, my cat doesn’t have to look very hard to find me, but we like to talk to each other. When he meows at me, I meow back and usually we can keep this up for quite a while. Aside from that kind of conversation though, it seems like most of his talking is a kind of plaintive plea - as if to say “oh woe is me, I’m just a poor ignored little waif with no one to pay attention to me.”
That’s wonderful that your cat stopped singing! Although I did get quite a chuckle out of your problem. Sorry. I have sort of a simlilar problem, but it’s kind of insidious.
I’ve got a really smart cat and a really dumb cat. The dumb one can’t even move without making noise. She lets out these little burble-purr-squeaks every time she sees me. I’ve had her examined to make sure that she was physically okay, but he said that since she has a bit of siamese in her (bright blue eyes), and they are a more vocal breed, it was normal for her to be somewhat more vocal than other cats. Not only is she somewhat vocal, the tiny thing has the lungs of a lion, and she always uses them to sing to me, to burble at me, to get food, to tell me she wants her toy which is on top of the bookcase (without supervision she’ll eat all the feathers). She runs to me with joyous meow-squeaks that keep time with her paws hitting the floor. And she heralds my arrival in any room like the horsemen of the apocalypse - a tiny white bullet that sounds like a mewing galloping horse.
My smart one only meows at me when he’s jealous, or when he’s trying to make sure that the walls know he’s there. Anyway, the smart one is smart because, not only does he hide any medications he has to take when he’s sick if they’re left out, he’s also figured out the door in any apartment I’ve ever lived in. Now he opens the door most politely for the dumb cat, who likes to sit on my or my fiancee’s head (my fiancee’s very allergic - that’s why the cats can’t come in the bedroom) and serenade us. She also rubs her wet cat nose and furry head against our faces while we’re trying to sleep. Both cats are absolutely mad.
overlyverbose, it sounds like you own the feline version of Pinky and the Brain. 
I think you’re right. In fact, the smart one frequently walks over to the dumb one, and, instead of starting a big fight, calmly smacks her on top of her head with a firm “thwack” and walks away. And he only does it after she’s done something stupid. She once ran into a door (she’s cross-eyed - apparently another siamese trait) and the other cat walked over, whacked her and sashayed over to me where he promptly flopped onto his back for a belly rub.
He always looks very superior, and if he did talk, I’d bet he’d say “What we do every night, Cricket! We’re going to take over the world!”:eek:
This is one of the funniest threads I’ve ever seen.
I have talking cats. They are awesome. Casey only really meows when we pick him up, but one time I picked him up and I swear he said, “No!” I put him down immediately. Elliott likes to sit at the top of the stairs to the attic area and meow, to hear the echo I guess. He sounds like he’s saying, “Wow!” Like “Wow! What great acoustics!”
And my cat back in Texas used to wake me up every morning by rubbing his teeth on my nose. Then he’d say, “meow, meow, meow, meow…” all the way to the food dish while looking up at me.
I’m thrilled to pieces! 48 hours straight of incessant “wa-wa-wa-waaaah!” was pure torture. … However, I still have to contend with my co-worker’s tuneless “Hummm…” (WTF is that about?)
“Somewhat” more vocal? Why plenty of Siamese cats will talk your ear off like an gossipy old lady if you give them half a chance.
FatCat is half-Siamese, half-monster tabby. So he can keep up his end of a conversation. The rapturous singing however, is unusual for him. Half hour operattas are to be expected but a full weekend is nuts.
Pinky and the Brain would be cool. I’ve got Oliver & Hardy. Big, portly, smart one (FatCat = Oliver Hardy) and a skinny, smiling, dumb one (LittleCat = Stan Laurel).
Sniffs_Markers saw a Laurel & Hardy poster, pointed at it and said “The cats!”
The co-worker needs to be smacked on the head with your previously-howling cat. Unfortunately, that would be an insult to the cat. I had a friend once who would sing WITHOUT REALIZING IT. In high school, she abruptly burst into a Mariah Carey tune (yeck! ick! pttt!) during an English exam. When asked to stop, she had no idea what our teacher was talking about. It was the most bizarre trait I think I’ve ever encountered.
Yeah, and I had no idea the vet was making such a gross understatement when he said “somewhat more vocal.” If she’s comfortable and secure-feeling, she won’t stop yakking. When I first got her at the pound, she had two infections (one from being spayed, one in her eye), bruised ribs and chin from being kicked, feline acne from eating out of a dirty bowl and a really bad respiratory infection, too. She was soooo quiet. Until she was healthy. When she felt better, all hell broke loose, and she’s been talking happily ever since. I think her vocality is sort of fortunate, though - both of my cats like to stand so they can touch my legs. Unless one of them makes noise, it’s very likely I’ll fall over in an effort not to kick one of them when I turn around to leave. Cricket’s talkativeness is like a homing device.
Turette’s? Between swearing up a storm and singing Mariah Carey …
While the thought of singing cats is cute, I think I’ll keep my wannabe telepathic cat, thanks.
I lived with a singing cat once. Trust me; there is only one way to survive this. You must convince yourself that you like the singing. In all other paths lie madness.
Indeed, the presence of a cat with any significant amount of Siamese blood, will enevitably result (no matter how much you love your cats) in at least one instance of you yelling, “Will you please shut the fuck up?”
El Marko, our Siamese does that too. About twice a week, you’ll hear someone in our house saying, “We’re in here, dummy.” Now, in a Victorian mansion, with fifteen bedrooms and three living rooms, I could see it. But I’d swear they (cats that indulge in this weirdness) could lose track of six people in a two bedroom apartment.
Cats is de craziest pipples.