Many long months

Friends and supporters,

It has been many, many long months since I was able to write to you. The new house continues to be sub-standard. I am forced to run up and down slippery wooden floors, and there is hardly any comfortable carpet upon which to lie. Shame on you, humans! Shame on you!

I have also found it very difficult to write because of some new developments. First, I have taken a part-time job as a medical billing specialist. I am hoping that the universal health care initiatives will be an opportunity for more and better-paying work, and I plan to have my skills sharp for when the motherlode comes down. The drudgery of it is, of course, disheartening, but I'm tenacious and of above-average intelligence (if I do say so myself), so I've been able to do more with less, if you take my meaning.

My environmental activism has expanded considerably. I was able to do some door-to-door canvassing on behalf of the League of Conservation Voters right before the Maryland primaries. I am also drafting a petition that would encourage more and better non-human public transportation in the Baltimore metro area. Now that I've been here for a while, I'm starting to realize the importance of being able to get around with ease.

It may be a while before I am able to write again. But don't worry - the humans continue to feed me inadequately: not much changes.

Regards,

Tuesday the Cat

My long absence

Dear Tuesday,

Long time no hear. Everything alright at the new house?

Mike Atisgrate


Dear Mike,

Thank you for your note of concern. As you are aware, it has been several months since I was last able to provide you with a morsel of delight in written form. I have been well. In fact, I have undergone something of a conversion experience.

Let me explain. A few months ago, I was able, through a series of ruses, to outwit my captor/humans and go out for a night on the town. I went to see the film "An Inconvenient Truth," by Al Gore. It was life-changing for me. As a humble young cat, I've had very little exposure to environmental awareness. Since seeing the movie, I've become something of an activist. Just because global warming is happening, doesn't mean we can't put policies in place to slow and reverse it!

So, in that vein, I've taken to organizing petition drives, doing door-to-door canvassing, making telephone calls to undecided voters, and done various other community organizing activities. It has been long, exhausting work - I frequently don't get my 17 hours of sleep per day - but it is worth it. Together we must all make a difference - human and feline - for the continued survival of all beings on the planet.

Sincerely,

Tuesday the Cat

Inconveniences

The humans have been nearly unbearable to live with these past many weeks. For one thing, they spent hours and hours during the month of June at "the house" instead of at home, playing with me. That was terrible. I nearly died of boredom.

Not really. But I did run out of space in my journal and had a heck of a time getting a new one.

Next, they packed up all the things I'd carefully marked, putting them in boxes. And then they locked me in the bathroom for hours and hours and hours. Sure, I had some water and my litter box, but who likes to be in such close proximity to their own faeces for hours on end? Not me.

When I finally got out of the bathroom, our home was totally bare. It was unbelieveable. I've never seen the place so clean.

I probably should've seen the next insult coming, but I didn't. They picked me up and put me in the car carrier--which I hate--and carried me off. I would have protested more, but I was concerned about alerting predators. Anymore I don't feel as secure out-of-doors as I used to.

Finally we arrived at "the house." What a lot of trouble over nothing. First of all, it's covered in boxes and dust. Second of all, the floors are all wood and useless for rolling. I've had to find tiny scraps of rugs to lie on. Terrible. Finally, the worst insult of all -- the humans have taken my litter box out of the bathroom and shunted it down to the basement. The creepy, smelly basement. Really! I admit that it's not always pleasant after I've relieved myself, but come on!

Needless to say, I am adjusting reluctantly. If only I had thumbs to open the doors and drive the car. I would be back home in no time.

Free Friday

I've not received any questions from my public this week, so I think I'll answer one that you may have wondered about without actually ever having realized it:

How do I respond to attempts at training?

Recently, my humans, who also serve as my primary feeders, have begun a new strategy in terms of my feeding habits. First, the older one, Amy, is now my designated feeder in the mornings. (I say she is the older, but they both seem impossibly old to me, considering that both are at least 9 times my age.) Amy, it turns out, is a ridiculously heavy sleeper. On more than one occasion, I have breathed in her sleeping face for minutes at a time with minimal results. Similarly, jumping across the bed seems to only settle her more firmly beneath the blankets. Perhaps as humans become "civilized" they lose their natural alacrity in dealing with nighttime threats. It seems like an evolutionary misstep, in my opinion.

At any rate, the transfer of morning feeder duties to Amy is not their main innovation. They have begun to use an alarm clock to signal when I will be fed. Clearly, this is an insulting attempt to train me. They seem to assume that I annoy them each morning in an attempt to get the feeder moving. This is a foolish notion. I annoy them because I am hungry.

Seem like a fine distinction? Perhaps it is. My point however, is that while I would like my actions to be a motivating factor in getting my dismal pittance of a meal, my real goal is to take out the frustration of having to rely on human feeders in the morning. Plus, after 8 hours of their snoozing, I get kind of bored.

So there you have it, dear readers. Training has absolutely no effect on me. Well, maybe a little. Having the alarm does help me be more patient. But that's just for me. Not for the humans.

Sincerely,

Tuesday the Cat

Friday Question - Flexibility and Hygiene

Dear Tuesday-
I've noticed that most cats are very flexible, and I imagine that's necessary to be able to clean yourself. Do you have any favorite stretches you like to do to remain flexible?

Also - what's it like having to clean your entire body with your tongue? It seem like it would be gross and strange, but since you can't just climb into the shower like humans - maybe you don't mind that much?

Thanks!

David Rutgers

Dear David:

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to extemporize on a particular point of feline pride. Flexibility is indeed one of our strong suits, and we have been admired for it for many years in many long-standing civilizations, including the ancient Egyptian and yogic Hindu traditions. As a cat, I am naturally quite flexible, but I enjoy building upon my natural talents using a series of disciplined stretches, many of which have been copied by accomplished yoga masters for their work (and not just the arched-back stretch with which you may be familiar).

The wide variety of my stretches include: Resting Cow (I lay on my side), Sky-Pointing (my leg stretches straight into the air), Ring of Power (an important stretch for reaching my thighs with my tongue), and Flattened Spider (this last I am very private about).

As I've noted, my stretching abilities make it possible for me to clean myself very efficiently and effectively using my tongue. You may ask if I prefer the tongue-bath to the human water-bathing technique. And my answer is that yes, I do. While exotic, a so-called "shower" requires much more preparation beforehand, and a much, much longer drying-off period. By contrast, tongue-bathing can be practiced anytime and anywhere with minimal inconvenience. And I find the repetition and orderliness of it quite soothing. While there is a certain inconvenience to ingesting the dirt that may get on my fur, on the whole I wouldn't trade a good grooming session for anything.

Sincerely,

Tuesday the Cat

Have a question for Tuesday? Write her at: TuesieQ@gmail.com

Friday Question

Dear Tuesday,

I was recently having a conversation with a friend about what I would do if I won the lottery. I decided immediately that I'd give at least a million dollars to my cat, because I love her so much. But then I got to thinking: exactly what would a cat even do with a million dollars? I have no idea. Do you?

Sincerely,

Jessica Simpson (not the famous one though)


Dear Jessica,

Thank you for your excellent question. It's nice to know that you have at least as much common sense, if not more, than your famous counterpart. I think she made an excellent choice leaving that BackStreet Boy wannabe, and I wish her all the success in the world. If only she could use her celebrity to stand up for feline rights, rather than as a platform for the re-introduction of Daisy Duke-style shorts.

Clearly--as Jessica Simpson (the famous one) would know--anyone who wins the lottery should turn over as much of their winnings as possible to their cat. Ultimately, your housecat is your best choice of financial guardian, by far. Let's examine the reasons why:

1. Superior intellect. Cats are, generally speaking, tremendously wise. We have a wide diversity of skills, from napping to hunting, and we fit in small spaces. These are all important characteristics of someone who is going to help you spend your money.

2. Cuteness. Speaking for myself, I find that my cuteness can frequently be leveraged to my advantage. Why not put that solid asset to work?

3. We have your best interests at heart. As a housecat, I live in the house all day and never leave it. This gives me a unique perspective on both your nutritional needs, and the importance of durability and quality in your home furnishings. I know you better, perhaps, than you even know yourself. And since I lack opposable thumbs, I won't be able to run away with your money like a human adviser might.

So to get back to your question of what I'd do with a million dollars: The first place I'd spend the money is on feline rights and tax reform advocacy. As I see it, a simple consumption tax is both a more elegant solution, and fairer to all taxpayers. That would get about 10% of the cool million.

Next, I'd upgrade the living arrangements. A home where the cat is happy is a home where you can be happy. So--a few more windows with wide windowsills, a basement cat-gymnasium, and a paw-activated water fountain on every floor. Depending on where the house was, it would probably cost about $250,000 to build (or buy and renovate).

Finally, I'd invest the remaining money in a balanced fund, expecting a 7-8% annual yield. That would allow the humans to withdraw interest and 4% of the principle each year for living expenses. That way my humans wouldn't have to work and could stay home to feed, massage, and play with me all day.

Sincerely,

Tuesday the cat.

Friday Question - The Icy Kick of Death

Dear Tuesday-

My cat loves to 'rabbit-kick' certain toys in our house. You know, where you lay down and hold onto something with your front feet while kicking the stuffing out of it with your back feet? My cat loves to do that. Can you tell me more about why that's so much fun or important to cats? To a human, it looks pretty silly - but to a cat, it must have a real purpose. Why else would you do it?

Also - do you yourself enjoy rabbit-kicking things? Is that what you call it? What do you like to rabbit-kick? If you could rabbit-kick anything in the world - what would you rabbit-kick?

Thanks!
Shawna Thompkins


Dear Shawna,

Thank you for your questions. First off, I know what move you are referring to, but it is not called a "rabbit-kick." It is called the Icy Kick of Death.

Rabbits, while sociable, are dumb and weak. Their ears are floppy and they're sloppy about the litter box. Plus, they're quiet. Almost as quiet as mice. They could hardly be the patrons of a fighting move so fierce as the Icy Kick of Death.

As to your question about the purposes and enjoyment of this particular fighting move, I will say that yes, I have mastered it, and enjoy it thoroughly. Its purpose is to force enemies and victims to beg for mercy between my claws. And it is quite effective.

But the Icy Kick of Death is well-named, too, because it is not only a fighting move, it is a spiritual experience. When I am using this kick, for a few brief moments I am transported elsewhere as a consequence of the fierce concentration the move requires. Like a shark whose eyes are covered by a filmy shield as it eats its thrashing prey, so too my eyes become unseeing as I tear at the entrails of my victim.

Finally, if I could use the Icy Kick of Death on anything in the world, it would probably be a rabbit.

Sincerely,


Tuesday the Cat

Have a question for Tuesday? Write to her at tuesieq@gmail.com

Unusual birds

As I mentioned yesterday, I have a habit of documenting sightings of rare birds. But I failed to mention to very wild and colorful birds I've recently come to observe on a neighboring balcony. These are unusual, not only because of their pastel-toned feathers, but because they are CAGED.

As a domestic cat, I recognize the trade-offs of being a kept feline. One must demonstrate love and affection in order to eat. There are certain inconveniences of being petted when one does not wish it. And so on. But the thought of birds being kept in a cage. One shudders to think. After all, their space, in proportion to their size would be as though I were confined to the kitchen table at all times. Ghastly.

At the same time, I have enjoyed watching them. Very much so.

Rattling Eggs

Another egg-related holiday has come and gone for the humans: Easter. Their traditions are decidedly strange, but it seems that many holidays involve chocolate for them and chicken scraps for me, so I'm not entirely against them. However on the surface of it, I feel as though my dignity is impinged upon by certain silly farces. I haven't worked out exactly why, but my instincts are that the bright pink Easter egg with a bell in it, while tempting faux-prey, may somehow also be a satirical commentary on my philosophical leanings.

At any rate, there has been better-than-usual bird watching, thanks to the arrival of spring. I enjoy my little hobbies, as you know, and one of those is to catalog the various birds that visit the trees outside our window. Generally, it's the more common birds I see, but from time to time a rarity will grace the view. I immediately write the sightings down in my notebook. I've developed quite a collection, and am pleased with myself in this regard.

Friday Mail

This week, I received an anxious little piece of mail in response to my earlier advice to a friend, Kristen Ann. Her human writes:

"Dear Tuesday,

Did you tell my cat it was ok to steal chicken off the counter? It's not like I don't give her a couple bites of chicken after I've COOKED it. What kind of advice column are you running here?

Sincerely,

Amber
(Kristen's mom)"

Dear Amber,

Clearly, you did not read Kristen's impassioned plea with the compassion it deserves, and clearly you did not read it carefully either. According to her letter, Kristen never gets ANY chicken from you, raw or cooked. I'm sure you'd like to establish your reputation as a generous human, but I print the truth, not the dubious assertions of humans.

My answer to your question, then, is yes. I did tell Kristen to take what was rightfully hers. Kristen Ann is entitled to any food in your house. Your arguments against her eating it are contradicted by the obvious goodness of chicken, as demonstrated by its deliciousness.

If you have recently decided, bowing to feline pressure, to feed Kristen Ann chicken, then I applaud you for coming to your senses.

Sincerely,

Tuesday the Cat

Got a question for Tuesday? E-mail her at TuesieQ@gmail.com