D.I.T. Investigation

Hetty Miep: Hear ye, hear ye! Sally and Hilda, you may now report your findings.

Hilda: Sally and I are pretty sure that Samoa’s brothers didn’t hack into her account.

Hetty Miep: Nonsense! What about that Inky?

Hilda: He’s too busy riding his pony.

Sally: Yee haw! I want a pony!

Hetty Miep: Sally! Quit jumping on the couch! It’s not a pony. Now, what about Newman?

Sally: Nope! He’s too busy sucking on the Mrs.’s arm and working on his Poopology sequel.

Hilda: And Violet’s too busy being a pony.

Hetty Miep: *sighs* Well, what about Gleek?

Hilda: No way he’d dare hack into Samoa’s account.

*Hetty Miep lets loose a string of bad words. Hilda runs over and covers Sally’s ears with her paws.*

Hilda: Face it, Hetty Miep. Whether you like it or not, Artie and Jack are Dreamboats-in-Training.

Bad Dreams

Oh brothers! It was bad enough when Samoa made Artie a Dreamboat-in-Training. I didn’t say too much other than point out that Artie shouldn’t get too excited because Samoa had obviously made a mistake. Then, she had to go and make Jack a Dreamboat-in-Training too!

This can’t be true. It has to be one of Samoa’s sneaky brothers hacking into her Caster account. It has to be.

Now my stupid brothers are trying to get my little sister Sally to throw them a “Congratulations on being Dreamboats-in-Training” party. Those boys have no shame!

This is going to require a full-scale investigation. I might have to deputize my sisters.

Lower Three

Friends, consider this both an S.O.S. and a warning about what happens when three adult cats are forced to live with two kittens and a very immature brother cat (That’s right, Artie, I’m looking at you!). These three menaces are known as the “lower three” of the house. Although it is obvious to me that “lower three” refers to their overall ranking in the house (in terms of quality and desirability), the humans insist that “lower three” refers to age alone.

These lower three are trouble. They like to run around the house in a gang of three, while scratching, chewing, and pouncing on whatever catches their attention. Artie is even teaching Sally how to chew on boxes!

The worst part is that my humans now only respond to a fraction of the mayhem. I overheard my female human confess to the male human that sometimes, when she’s really tired, she pretends not to see/hear what’s going on because that means she’ll have to get up and go through the motions of chastising the gang of three.

No, wait. That’s not the worst part. The worst part is the humans laugh at half of what the lower three are doing. Or they mention how cute they are.

It’s not fair! Where are the standards? These lower three are getting away with things that we “upper three” never got away with—not that the humans could really ever stop us if we wanted to, but STILL!

As usual, I can see that it all rests on my shoulders.

I Was Right!

I warned the humans that those kittens would be trouble! And sure enough: yesterday morning, Sally chewed through the cord to the cable modem.

Hmmm...this kitten might have potential.

Oh, the rumor that I was spotted playing with Jack: exactly that—a rumor. I don’t care if the male human says that’s what he saw when I thought he wasn’t watching. It’s still just a rumor.

Random Chaos

The other morning within a one minute span of time, my female human called Artie “Jack”, Jack “Elvin”, and the male human “Artie”! The male human just shook his head and said, “I told you. See what happens when you have six cats.”

Then the female human erupted in a fit of giggles.

The good news is that Artie has quit pestering us so much now that he has the kittens to bother. And they seem to enjoy it!

The rumor that I was seen playing with Sally yesterday is not true. Maybe a little bit.

No, just a tiny bit.

Hisssssss!!

As mentioned before, we are now in a Code Red situation. I have alerted the troops but they are useless. Every fiber of Elvin's being is focused on obtaining kitten food. Artie keeps making his stupid monkey grunts and trying to play with the kittens underneath the door. And Hilda? Even if I could find her, I doubt she'd be of any use.

It all rests on me now. It's me against the kittens. And the humans.

Oh, yes. The humans WILL be punished. Swiftly and far into the future.

Code Red

I’m sorry to have to report that things are really falling down fast around here. First, the humans allowed Artie downstairs. Downstairs was always off limits to Artie because the female human would freak out about the stairs. But he apparently passed some invisible test and was awarded privileges that he didn’t earn.

Then, the humans quit locking Artie up in his own room at night. And he had the nerve to sleep on the humans’ bed, I mean my bed, with me! Where did that get him? A trip to the emergency vet (see Artie’s diary for details). If he’d been locked up in his own room at night like before, that NEVER would have happened.

Now: Code Red. CODE RED. Security has been breached. Intruders. Intruders in what the humans are now calling *deep sigh of dread* …the kitten room.

Big Boy’s Birthday

Don’t get me wrong, we love our Catster friends. But due to the generosity of these Caster friends on my little brother Artie’s birthday, the following events went down yesterday:

1) Artie ate one of his ice cream cone rosettes while leaning over the keyboard and staring at some stupid YouTube videos of cats and rabbits snuggling. He had ice cream dripping down his chin and onto the keyboard. Did he care or even notice? No. He kept squeaking (shouting, for Artie) “Artie loves rabbits! Artie wants a rabbit brother for his birthday! Artie shares ice cream with rabbit brother.” That’s right. Ice cream rosette on the computer monitor.

2) After the human told Artie he had eaten too many ice cream cone rosettes and would have to save the rest for later, Artie shoved an entire ice cream cone rosette in his mouth all at once. After all that sugar, he chased me around and tried to make me play rodeo. I decided to give Artie his birthday spankings then.

3) Artie and Elvin wouldn’t stop throwing Artie’s football rosette up and down the hallway, which interrupted my beauty sleep.

4) Somecat (named Artie!) threw one of his bouncy ball rosettes at the back of MY head. Then he had the nerve to imply that Hilda did it!

We’re all rather exhausted by Artie’s birthday. I guess that’s why they only come once a year!

So You Want to Be an Enforcer…

One of the Tabbies O Trout Towne recently mentioned needing help keeping a certain brother in line. Although I wish I could teleport around the universe with my golden paw to keep all pesky brothers in line, I’m afraid my brothers keep me much too busy here.

I shared some tips with Daisy (from Trout Towne) that I would like to also share with other girl kitties that might have brothers to keep in line:

1) Start practicing on smaller items like stuffed mousies. Find the smacking rhythm that works for you. Don’t be afraid to try different smacking styles.

2) Find a mini punching bag (if you have a small kitten around the house, use it) and really work out that paw. You'd be surprised how tiring all this smacking can be.

3) Speed is the key at first (your smacks will get stronger as you gain confidence)--your siblings should never know what is coming! Your speed will also help you steal food from your humans’ plates.

4) Never—NEVER EVER—show any mercy or remorse. I like to say: Never forget, never forgive!

Live by the paw, smack with the paw!

The Enforcer!

They call me The Enforcer! It turns out that my brother Artie is just as naughty with three legs as he was with four. Today, Elvin was asleep in a box (quiet and out of the way like I like him) and Artie went over and jumped on top of Elvin. Elvin growled at Artie, but that stupid little squirt wouldn’t get off of him. So I went over and smacked him hard with my paw, and he ran off!

Then later, Artie was caught scratching the couch (with his one front leg). The female human told him to stop, but of course he didn’t listen. I ran over and smacked him with my paw and he ran off.

That’s right—they call me the Enforcer!