Five Annoying Human Behaviors

Lilly, Sweetheart, of course I will play, as best I can. I'm not as playful as usual. I'll explain later. But for now, five things that my humans do to annoy me.

1. They put me to bed. Who's ever heard of a cat being put to bed? I have my own bedroom, with a variety of beds, blankets, heating pads, and a tiny table the right height for me to look out the window. But I still have to stay in my room. Mama and Daddy have to open their own door at night and Daddy is allergic to cats, even me. Lately, I've suggested using a fireplace screen to keep us out at night, but Daddy insists on a closed door to our room. That might change soon.

2. They select treats for Sirenita's taste and then if I like it, I can have some, too. Who ever heard of serving some wench before the pope?

3. This is a biggie. Mama hasn't picked me up in months, not for more than 30 seconds at a time. She's got some ridiculous disease called degenerative disc disease, where her back is all messed up. In fact, the doctor just fused the whole lower part. She just got permission to pick me up for as long as it was comfortable. We had our first cuddle last night. But I don't trust her. First it was an artificial hip, now it's a fused spine. What next? A disappearing shoulder? At least she talks to me while I eat. I hate dining alone.

4. Allergies. Who invented allergies? And if we have to have them, why Daddy? It doesn't stop him from holding me on his shoulder and having an epic cuddle, but then he has to put me down so he can take off his shirt and wash his face and hands. You'd think I was contaminated or something.

5. The butcher block. It's this thingy on wheels about the size of a small table--or a cat tree. Why should I not jump on it? I'm not planning on taking it to pieces. I just want to relax there for a while. It's a piece of furniture just the right height for me to view the kitchen. Well, to be honest, there is a cat tree right in the center of the kitchen. Mama grumbles that the butcher block belongs there but you know how selfish they are. Obviously, the cat tree belongs in the middle of the room. But I'd like to get on the butcher block now and then. It's not that I can't supervise the kitchen from my cat tree, it's just that a cat needs a change once in a while.

I've tagged Wiggy, Pepper, Tweak, Pandi, and the inimitable Coffee. Now, tag five other friends and invite them to play!

Sorrow

I played the game because of the affection I feel for Lilly. but the truth is, I'm sad and having a hard time playing. I haven't stopped crying for weeks--in a manly way, of course. Sirenita is dying. She has diabetes and the treatment is too intense for a cat who never quite got over being a feral. She'd have to go to the hospital several times and see the vet every week, not to mention twice daily insulin shots. She would hide and Mama doesn't want Sirenita to hide from her.

So we make her happy instead of trying to save her life. What we don't spend on medical care we spend on roast beef and fresh tuna. She could live 6 months or a year if we keep her weight up. The basement is Sirenita's territory, and she sits on a cushion and watches the backyard through the French doors. She doesn't have much energy. Mama used to go get her from the basement every evening so they could watch DVDs or TV together. Sirenita was in heaven. But Mama hasn't been able to pick up cats since her surgery in December. Thankfully, the surgeon recently said she could pick up 10 pounds, so Sirenita is a cinch. Actually, the surgeon was nice enough to move the limit up to 12 lbs to include me. Seriously, he prescribed picking me up.

Mama is almost sadder than me. Sirenita picked her of all humans to love. Being with Mama is pure joy to Sirenita. So Mama is doing the best that she can, touching and holding and feeding Sirenta from her own plate (a weird habit; humans eat cooked food), or even from her own hand. Sirenita will feel peace and love for the rest of her life.

Paris Diary

[Mama came down with the flu and didn’t post my dispatches all week, so they’re all coming at once. Silly humans. Fortunately, Lilly’s mom was more reliable.]

Day 1. Darling Lilly ran off with Tweak and Pepper on a reconnaissance of the shops. I grabbed the guys and did a reconnaissance of the wine shops. We came back to the hotel with arm-loads of bottles from the Burgundy, Bordeaux, Alcace, and Champagne regions. Did you know Champagne comes from a place called Champagne? It turns out the French are very serious about naming their wines after regions and nobody else is allowed to use those names. Well, they’re not supposed to. I can’t wait to tell Lilly all about Champagne while we sample one or two.

I also ran out and got us Batobus tickets. That’s the water bus that goes up one side of the Seine and down the other, stopping at all the important points: the Tour Eiffel, the Musée d'Orsay, St-Germain-des-Prés, Notre-Dame, the Jardin des Plantes, the Hôtel de Ville, the Louvre, and the Champs-Elysées. I got us tickets that are good for several days. You can get on and off the Batobus wherever you like, as often as you like. It’s a great way to get around Paris.

Day 2. Got up early and went looking for a flower shop. I bribed the hotel maid to leave a red rose on Lilly’s pillow. She disappeared with the other girl cats to go shopping. That let me sleep all morning, as I prefer!

In the afternoon, we hopped on the Batobus and took it to the artists’ quarter, St. Germain-des-Pres. I know girl cats like looking in shops, so I took Lilly to where there were lots of clothes, art and antique shops. Then we strolled through the awesome Rue de Buci food market. With all the fresh seafood, a cat could live there! Afterward, we rested our paws in a charming cafe on a side street, sipping cappuccino.

That gave us the energy to climb the Eiffel Tower. They have an elevator but it was more of an adventure to climb it ourselves. It’s not that much higher than my fence. I must say, Lilly was a little dubious, but she let me convince her that I would keep her safe. The view from our girder was magnificent but it was cold. We returned by way of the elevator.

Day 3. We got on the Batobus and rode it to Notre Dame, where all the clergy were amazed to see me. They were not expecting a papal visit, but I told them not to stand on ceremony. I was showing Lilly the various architectural features, when suddenly the Archbishop of Paris came rushing up, all apologetic at not having been there to receive us. He wondered at Lilly a bit, but I whispered to him that she was a nun of the Order of the Thong. I think he bought it.

That evening, we all decided we wanted a dinner out with them before Tweak and Dashy took off for Cannes. So after a nap, a quick wash, and a lot of dressing up, we went out for a 3-star meal. Here’s my review of dinner at Le Bristol with the annoyingly cute Chef Eric Frechon:

To start, we ordered appetizers. Lilly ordered “Homard Breton”, blue lobster from Brittany (considered the best in the world), served with curried cucumber, milded by a generous touch of coconut milk (showing its Thai influence). Tweak chose “Tourteau de Roscoff.” king crab from Brittany, served with pressed tomato, avocado flesh, and a divine tarragon-infused coral. Pepper opted for “Langoustines de Guilvinec,” lobsters roasted with citrus thyme, onions and mango jam, then perfumed with a light citrus juice. We all voted for “Macaronis Truffés.” macaroni stuffed with artichoke, duck liver, gratined with aged Parmesan, a specialty which made Chef Eric Frechon world famous. Since we’re cats and can walk on the table, we shared our appetizers. We all had glasses of Champagne with that course.

Our main courses were “Saint-Pierre du Petit Bateau” (John Dory fish), with pickled lemon, sautéed squid and zucchini, mildly perfumed with precious aromatic sweet pepper from Espelette, as well as “Bass from the Isle of Yeu,” smothered with an oyster tartar, accompanied with charlotte potatoes mashed with flat leaves parsley juice. We boys decided we wanted meat, so we asked for “Barbecued Country Bacon” with roasted charlotte, herbs salad, with mustard seeds extracts. Chef Eric Frechon, who came to our table to make sure we were happy, says he likes to serve “proletarian” products such as pork combined with caviar and truffle to an elitist clientele of rich gourmets, such as us cats.

Our pork was brought to our table on a trolley, still smoking over the gridiron, served with purple artichokes steamed with mustard leaves. Juicy and perfectly spiced, ideal for cats with hearty appetites. We asked the sommelier to recommend a couple of wines to go with what we were having, and she suggested Sancerre, Le Chêne Marchand 2002, a white to go with the fish, and a Saumur Rouge 2001, Foucault, Domaine du Collier, La Ripaille as a red to drink with the meat. Damn, those wines have names like show dogs.

For dessert, we were given a choice of Soufflé Chaud au Grand Marnier, Cuvée du Cent Cinquantenaire (a warm soufflée flavored by vintage Grand Marnier flavoured, with orange and lemon sorbet, "Pain de Gênes” (sweet Italian Ginger Bread) or “Abricots rôtis au Lait d'Amande (roasted apricots with almond milk, crumble, hot chocolate, and Amaretto ice-cream). Since we’re cats, we wanted simple creme brulee, more creme and less brulee.

Lilly and I slept a bit late the next day.

Day 4. Today, Tweak and Dashy take off for Cannes, and Wiggy and Pepper were all smoochy and wanted to be alone, so Lilly and I went out to explore.

We strolled down the Boulevard Saint-Michel. We started that morning at the Pont St. Michele, stopped in at the Sorbonne. Did you know I have an honorary Doctor of Divinity from the Sorbonne? Neither did they. We walked all the way to the Luxembourg Gardens, where we had a snack of duck confit packed by the hotel for us. Then we walked all the way back.

Day 5. Our paws were sore, so it was back to the Batobus. Sometimes it’s fun just to ride and watch the city go by. After a while, though, we got off at the stop for the Louvre. You can spend the whole day at the Louvre and not see it all. There are several different collections, including antiquities, painting, drawing and decorative arts. We concentrated on painting because it’s the most beautiful; there are many different galleries that represent different eras in art. The paintings were generally fabulous except for one thing. Have you ever noticed that humans have a really hard time depicting cats realistically? The cats in the Louvre all look sly or demonic. As an art critic, I really feel I must point out the major failing of Western art from the middle ages to the modern era.

Day 6. The cats were back together again, strolling around the Marais like true Parisians, shopping and checking out the museums. They have lots of museums in Paris, not just ones with paintings. We went to a magic museum, but I was wise to the tricks. As feline pope, I have to know if there are real occult goings-on or just sleight of hand. I hope I didn’t ruin it for the rest of the cats. I’m kind of a know-it-all.

Later on, after a restorative meal of pate de fois gras, I talked the guys into taking the girls on a quick shopping trip. I had invited Lilly for one more day of shopping, and I wanted to pick up presents for Coffee and Pandi, who weren’t able to come. I’m a rare boy cat--I like shopping, looking at dresses and suits and hats and thinking, “this would look lovely on her.” I did need Lilly’s help to pick out lingerie, though. Heh heh. I wanted to see what she thought was cute, so I could go back later and get it for her.

We went to Galeries Lafayette, my favorite shopping venue in Paris for one reason--the view of the Basilica of Sacre Coeur from the fifth story housewares department. Sacre Coeur is modern, only about a hundred years old, but its style is a departure from the elaborate Beaux Arts architecture of the day. It’s a cross between tidy municipal solidness and Byzantine grace with its clean white stone and Eastern domes. It makes my heart glad to see it.

Where am I???

I should have made this announcement long ago. I'm not on Catster these days. Nothing wrong, I still have a Plus account, but I've essentially moved on after three wonderful years. It happened like this.

The Six-Toed Monster was dying, and Mama would go to his house to sit with him. One day, to distract herself, she dashed off a piece about politicians and sex, which has become a topic of conversation in our house since I ran for President. She showed it to Daddy, who said, "You should post that on Open Salon." (Open Salon is a blog site associated with the news and opinion site, Salon.com.) Mama said, "Yeah, yeah, one of these days," since Mama is very lazy about doing anything technical, even making an account. Plus, she did not expect anyone would want to read her stuff. She's not me, and she realizes it.

Well, Daddy made Mama a page on Open Salon and uploaded her piece. It got a few readers, as new blogs are listed for a few minutes on the top page of the site and a few people will go to your page just out of curiosity. (Humans are curious, too.) Using the same method, Mama went out and randomly visited other people's blogs. She made friends. She got a mentor. More people came to read. One day, Mama's current piece, a ridiculous story about choking on a cough drop, was chosen by the editors to be the featured blog post of the day. That's like getting Diary of the Day.

Well, Mama's ego swelled several times its normal size, almost as big as mine, and since then, I have graciously let her monopolize the computer to write about her puny but racy exploits for other humans. To be honest, I have sometimes longed for a less G-rated venue for my own stuff. If you are interested in Mama's trivial ramblings, pawmail me and I'll send you the link.

To my friends who may be throwing pawties, please invite me! The best way to get an immediate message to me is to leave a rosette, because that triggers an email to Mama and she tells me. I'll check my pawmail once in a while and see if anyone has tried to get hold of me, but I won't be around on a daily basis anymore.

I loved being on Catster and realizing my ambition to become the pope and run for president. Thanks to all my friends for making my dreams come true.

Goodbye to Socks

When I decided to throw my hat in the ring and run for president, folks assumed it was the first time there had been a serious, viable feline candidate for the White House. But I was not the first cat to set his sights on the White House. That cat was Socks, whose handsome tux and debonair mustache charmed the country and whose contributions paved the way for tuxedo cats with political ambitions who came after. Socks, who died at 20 in the home of Betty Currie, was a true trailblazer.

Socks has been my personal inspiration. Like me, he was born feral, and he rose to the highest levels of society. A true tuxedo personality, he managed his humans and ushered in an era of peace and prosperity that, alas, was all too short. Who can blame him for withdrawing from world affairs after the turn the country took when he left office? I understand his post-White House human was an excellent cook. Socks deserved a comfortable retirement.

Let's all send our purrs to Betty Currie and the Clintons, who I'm sure are also mourning Socks. All cats are precious, from Socks to the Six-Toed Monster, and we understand the pain of their leaving. But I believe in celebrating a person's life as part of saying goodbye, and Socks had a good life. Here's a news report with a picture that I particularly like of Socks and Hillary in an embrace, just like me and Mama.

Goodbye, Socks.

Requiem for a Six-Toed Monster

This is Milagrito's mama. Today my friend and I put our beloved Six to sleep. We believe he had feline intestinal leukemia. We did not put him through a lot of medical trauma. He was not a cat to tolerate medical fussing.

I took him away from a bad home in 2004. After a year of living at my house and having to be kept separate from Milagrito and Sirenita, he moved in with my friend. She had four wonderful years with him and I got to be in his life, his other mama. I stayed with him when my friend went out of town, and when I visited her, it was a special "double-mama day"--both of us petting and cooing over him.

When I first began taking care of him in his former home, I heard about how aggressive he was. Several people told me stories of having been bitten by him. He was considered aloof and unfriendly. Except for one friend of his former owner who took care of him for a while, he was largely ignored and neglected. When I began looking for a friend to take him, he bit two prospects. "Way to blow an interview!" I scolded. But one friend, he didn't bite. They liked each other, though she wasn't able to take him for months.

I kept working with him. He soaked up the love. He became less nippy. The first time my sister met him, he was lying stretched out on the sofa. She bent down and stroked him. I gasped, "Watch out!" Six blinked and stretched. My sister looked at me like I was crazy. I explained that he bit people. "No he doesn't," she said. And he didn't. His nipping days were over. He had learned that people could be sweet to him.

Then, for the rest of his life, everyone loved him, and he loved them back. He and my friend were perfectly suited to each other, and her friends and family became attached to him. He loved to play, he loved the yard, he loved sleeping cuddled up to my friend. He was never motivated by food, but when he was loved, he got an appetite. He went from underweight to sleek. He became an important person.

The end was stunningly quick. He started to lose weight six weeks ago. He was a very strong cat and still moved quickly and jumped on things. He still loved being touched, even held. Two weeks ago ago, we found out his white blood cells were high and his intestine was thickened. We agreed to try antibiotics, in case he had an infection, but he continued to lose weight. We ruled out spending a lot of money on tests because they could only tell us what was becoming clear anyway--he had a fatal illness. Friends and family called every day. Some came to say good-bye.

We made an appointment with the mobile vet to put him to sleep at home today. Strangely, though we made the appointment last week, today was the first day that he couldn't make the jump to his bed in the chair. It was hard for him to press his head into our hands. After all the doubt, the agonizing, the days of sympathetic nausea and the sleepless nights, today he clearly let us know he couldn't keep on being a cat. He spent the morning in the front yard in the sun. When he came in, I helped him up to his bed.

The vet was a jewel. He gave Six a sedative that worked slowly, so that we could pet and talk to him until he fell asleep, so that last thing he knew was not a needle. Then the vet put him to sleep, arranged him in the bed and left silently as we wept.

I took him and left my poor friend to try to work. I drove petting him, still feeling his warmth and softness. At home, I hugged Milagrito and Sirenita, so alive. I took Six into the garden, talking to him while I waited for my sister to come. We buried him in the garden, wrapped in his favorite blanket, under a wild iris. My sister, my husband and I sang "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" at his grave, which for some reason sprang into my head as the right hymn for him. Good-bye, my love, my six-toed monster.

Super Bowl Cats

Friends, ever' year come Super Bowl time, I get a hankerin' to see my favorite commercial, Herding Cats. Enjoy!

The Black Cat, by Rainer Maria Rilke

I was looking for love poems and found this one about Sirenita. I couldn't figure out how the poet had met her since he's been dead for ages. But he must have because he describes her perfectly, except he said her eyes were yellow and really, they're green. But it's a tiny mistake. He really captures Sirenita, especially how she manages to absorb all wavelengths of light, so that she is invisible and you can only see her when her eyes are turned toward you. Here's her poem:

The Black Cat

A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place
your sight can knock on, echoing; but here
within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze
will be absorbed and utterly disappear:

just as a raving madman, when nothing else
can ease him, charges into his dark night
howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels
the rage being taken in and pacified.

She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen
into her, so that, like an audience,
she can look them over, menacing and sullen,
and curl to sleep with them. But all at once

as if awakened, she turns her face to yours;
and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny,
inside the golden amber of her eyeballs
suspended, like a prehistoric fly.

Protest!

I sent this email to Catster:

"Hi, I'm being driven crazy by an ad that shows a pencil drawing a face. Other times, the culprit is a cat's head with fleas running around. Or some other annoying animated thing. I try to use IE tools to stop the motion (play and loop on the right click menu) but don't always succeed. If these ads played once, that would be tolerable, but the movement goes on a long time, and when I move to another Catster page, the new page thinks I haven't seen the lovely ad yet. The code obviously makes the same ad play each you move to another page, so that you see the same thing over and over.

This is torture. How can I turn the movement off? I will never, EVER buy anything from a company that advertises so intrusively. I'm probably somewhat typical of the Catster demographic, and I can't imagine anyone looking at these ads with anything but resentment. I usually use a trick to not have to see these ads, like positioning another window on top of the offending ad.

Help! The Catster experience is diminished by these repetitive, spastic ads.

Thanks,
Milagrito"

If any of my friends know a solution, please let me know. If I hear anything, I will publish it. I wish anyone who reads this would write to Catster and let them know how annoying the moving ads are. Maybe they know and maybe they don't care, but on the other hand, it might matter to advertisers that their ads are a turn-off.

Or not. The ads are intended to force us to look, so our only defense is to not look. We should let Catster know that we refuse to be drawn by these ads, and that we are intelligent enough not to be force-fed ads against our will.

Lessons of the Bailout, or, Spray Your Way to Riches

Today, the humans went to talk to their financial advisor about their pathetic retirement accounts. Just like everyone else, they lost 40% of their mutual fund value, but the good news is, they didn't have much money in the first place! Mama didn't have any lunch, which makes sense, since she didn't wake up until 1:00. She slept 11 hours in one stretch. Then this evening, she went and slept on the sofa from 7 to 10, even without Sirenita functioning as an anchor. I'm afraid Mama is having a relapse from a long-term illness that makes her very tired for two or three weeks at a time. Last night, Daddy had to practically carry her to the sofa so she could rest before going to bed, because she didn't have the energy to take a shower. So, she's sinking.

Then today, or maybe last night--I don't remember--I had to undertake a diplomatic initiative. What the humans didn't realize was that a stray cat got on my front porch and sprayed, including on my sisal doormat in the shape of a heart. Well, this was at my front door, I couldn't overlook it. I had to make it clear how far he could go, so I sprayed the lower shelf of the living room bookcase. Then Mama and the housekeeper made a big fuss and a lot of cleaning happened, including throwing out books and washing the floor and bookcase, and washing the front porch and giving the damn doormat a bath in the bathtub, all of which meant Mama, now going into an energy trough, had no time to eat and went to her financial meeting with very little food in her. She needed coffee to see her through it and they bought emergency sushi on the way home. Which is why my spraying was rewarded with sushi. I look on it as all of a piece with the bailout. Wrongdoers get paid. That's the political lesson of the day. Remember that.