It's official: I have a harem!

Thank the cat gods that I have a feeble-minded human who is susceptible to the effects of my mental powers. True, he is still reluctant to get up and feed me when I want, but I attribute this failure to the extent of its sluggardly nature being too difficult to overcome, despite my mental prowess.

For some time, since the disappointing outcome of my romance with the fair Rhiannon, I have been working on the human's psyche to get it to bring me another female. At last, just two weeks ago, he dutifully appeared with a new object for my affections: The fair Maebh. What a beauty! She's a slim, athletic torbie Manx with wide eyes and a kittenish demeanor--and an even smaller tail than Ree's.

Her arrival brought great joy. Unlike my first meeting with Rhiannon, Maebh seemed delighted to see me and has been friendly from the first. Rhiannon, of course, is quite upset over having a rival for my affections. It's been a bit bumpy as the women fight over me. Fortunately, the ape is on hand to separate them when they clash and prevent either from harming the other.

Maebh, although slightly older than me, but much younger than Rhiannon, is somewhat juvenile and overenthusiastic in her attentions. Of course it's great to be the object of her fanatical attention, but I like my women to come only when wanted. Too often, I'll be resting comfortably only to be disturbed by Maebh wanting a little something. I gently warn her away by swishing my handsome tail, but she doesn't get it and tries playing with my tail. That kitty needs to learn to chill.

The effect on Ree has been to draw her closer to me, naturally. Fearing the loss of her man to a newcomer, she's been more affectionate than in the past. If I were cold hearted, I would tell she's lost her chance, but being the lover I am, I am delighted that she's come to her senses. Even this morning, Ree and I had a lay-down together on the back of the sofa. She came and snuggled with me so tenderly. Later, I went upstairs for a little time with Maebh and we snuggled for some time on the office loveseat--what a wonderful name for this piece of furniture.

My harem is complete. I'd like to see the ape call me Pepe le Peu now. Next, I need to redouble my efforts to get the monkey to obey my mental commands to get up at 3:00 AM and feed me--and my brides.

To build a peeple fence

It's been some time since my last entry. The days get so busy with all the sleeping, playing, and eating that I find hardly a moment to write. Even now I am sacrificing precious nap time to put down these few thoughts.

The first concern I have these days is for a peeple fence that will restrict the ape to the lower floors of the house. Ree and I like to lounge about the main floor (where the kitchen is!) but the monkey climbs around all over the place. It's too much effort following him around to make sure he stays out of trouble. I often wake from a peaceful nap to see that he's scampered off somewhere and I have to go through the house calling out to him and, when I find him--usually tapping away at that clacky thing upstairs in the den--to plant myself nearby to keep him from mischief. Life would be so much easier if the peeple were restricted to a central location in the house. Or, perhaps a bell around his neck...

Speaking of the monkey's mischief, you won't believe the following. I've got used to the critter dragging all kinds of things into the house when he returns from "at work" (wherever that is) or, more importantly, from getting food for Ree and me. All sorts of things turn up. Sometimes it's plants, which are a sore point around here. I'm no vegetarian, but what else are plants good for other than eating or chewing? Last week, the monkey drags in a tree! Yes, a WHOLE TREE! I was going to put my paw down on this latest shenanigan of his until I saw how much he doted on it. He put little lights and shiny ornaments all over it and wrapped its base in a fancy blankety thing. You'd think it was a relative. Well, he looked so cute playing with his little shrub that I've let it stay. I've seen this behavior in peeples before. After a while, they tire of it and discard it. I hope he loses his fondness for it soon, it occupies valuable play space, although Ree seems to enjoy sitting under it. Funny, I've never pictured her as the outdoorsy type.

Every Sunday, the monkey disappears for a few hours and comes back smelling of cat--other cats! I'm not sure if he's hiring himself out on the side to new masters or not. Maybe he's been forced into it. I've noticed that he wears a shirt with "PAWS Volunteer" written on it. I recall PAWS as the place I stayed temporarily after dismissing my earlier peeple servants. Perhaps he's been put into servitude there to see to the needs of other fine cats who are temporarily discomfited by a change of lifestyle, as I was earlier this year. At least I have the comfort of knowing he is being of some use to cat-kind and not off being a nuisance to the neighborhood.

What of my beloved, you ask. I am not ashamed to say that we're just good friend now. How silly of me to fall in love, I who have always--and shall always--play the field. We share a servant and a living space and often play together, but the affection goes no deeper than that. She, of course, is crestfallen, but she must bear her sorrows as we all must. The monkey, clueless as he is, jibes that she doesn't like me. I swallow the insult rather than waste energy on rebuke. Besides, as I am a gentleman, I will not discuss my affaires de coeur lightly--and certainly not outside my species.

Has the world gone turvy?

I'm rather exercised over the events of the past few days and unsure of how to proceed. The human needs disciplining, but I don't want to break its will or upset it. I still rely on its brute strength and forgaing abilities for various services.

The issue at hand is his tendency to expel me from the bedroom when I play with the ridiculous foliage he insists on dragging into the house. His latest folly is a small palm that he put in the room where I let him sleep. I don't see any purpose to it except as a distraction (it has nice dangly bits that are fun to bat at and chew on...). However, when I do with it what seems to be its only purpose, the human moves in to stop me--as if he were the one with authority in the house!

I could humor him in this conceit, as I humor him in many other ways, but this behavior seriously impacts breakfast. My usual effort to get him up at 5:30 AM is a drawn-out affair that requires several attempts interspersed with tactical withdrawals for regrouping. During these lulls, I find things to play with. The palm, serving no other purpose, is an ideal toy. However, though supposedly groggy, the human hears me play and starts that amusing chattering they do: "No" (an inscrutable phoneme whose meaning I have never understood), "Don't do that" (thanks, advice noted), "I'm gonna toss you out" (ha! you and what army, biped?). After a bit more of this burbling, the human gets out of bed and chases me out of the room; sometimes he accomplishes this act by actually PICKING ME UP and putting me down in the hallway. My indignation is palpable. After chasing me out, he closes the door and sleeps until 7:00.

The agony of the hunger pangs Ree and I feel during this period of privation are excrutiating. We make several attempts to break the door down or to reach under it and drag the human out. So far nothing has been successful; the door is too strong and the biped is out of reach. Our lack of opposable thumbs makes a direct attempt at turning the knob infeasible. This situation is growing intolerable and I must find some way to reestablish my authority before I find that the world has gone upside down and I am being treated like a pet or something.

It was caddish of the human to write IN MY DIARY about what transpired between the fair Rhiannon and me. I don't wish to go into it out of respect for Ree (though, I have to say it was FANTASTIC).

I sense that day by day, my lady is weaking in her reslove and will soon be my love slave. Her demeanor around me is much more relaxed, even friendly at times. I knew that my charm would win through (it's the "Zorro effect;" no woman can resist a masked man) and I am glad to see the clouds parting. Many days we will lay close to each other on the furniture. We even play from time to time; however, I am often unsure if she is playing with me or luring me into an ambush, so I tend to be careful about accepting her invitations to play. The only really frustrating situation is that she gets into a bit of a snit when I attempt the perfectly friendly act of sniffing her rear end. That's so odd. I would let her sniff mine. As in other situations, the monkey offers useless, unsolicited advice and "warnings" about what will come of my actions. How can I seriously respect the advice of a species that works for a living and is so primitive that there are several parts of their bodies that they can't reach with their tongues?

In this latter regard, it continues to amaze me that on a daily basis the biped goes into a booth and WETS HIMSELF ALL OVER. I suppose they need to do this because of their general inflexibility and poor tonguing abilities. This morning, as I do many mornings, I stood on the counter opposite the wet booth telling him over and over that this is no way to live. Perhaps if he did yoga he would gain the flexibility to clean himself all over with his tongue as civilized species do. For now, I can only remain perplexed at human behavior.

Grendel and Ree-Ree sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G...

[This is the human making surreptitious notes in Grendel's and Rhiannon's diaries. Please excuse any spelling errors. The cats normally edit my work--Rhiannon is especially good at pointing out grammatical errors--but I am not passing this by them before I post.]

Yesterday when I came home from work, Grendel wasn't meowing at the top of the first stairs (from the entrance to the main floor) to greet me, as he normally is. I went further up to the second floor and found Grendel and Rhiannon at the top of those stairs touching noses in kitty-kiss fashion. It didn't last long after I appeared. When Rhiannon saw me, she backed away and made a growling noise at Grendel. Grendel, for his part, gave me the same look I once gave my college roommate when he walked in on me and my girlfriend in a no-third-parties-welcome situation. This gives me the feeling that despite what they record in their diaries, there may be more to what's going on than we know.

Of course I have no idea what the furry munchkins are up to while I'm away or asleep (unless they wake me). I usually just do a quick damage estimate when I come home or get up in the morning and assume from what I see that it's been a good or bad time for them. For all I know, their behavior when I'm looking is likely to be a ruse covering up the most torrid (and disturbing) love affair since Bill and Monica.

Grendel has always seemed eager to be friendly with Rhiannon. However, since day one, Rhiannon has been hostile to him. This situation made it necessary to isolate Rhiannon and introduce her slowly to life with a cow cat twice her size. She's a little pixie weighing about 7 pounds. Grendel is 17 pounds with very little fat--just a big, burly kitty. Now, with Rhiannon being out and about the house all the time, she seems to be alternately nervous around him or goes out of her way to be hostile.

Grendel is very even tempered--except for the "madness" that tends to overcome most younger indoor cats every other day or so. He doesn't startle easily. The vacuum is fascinating to him; he's right with me all through the house watching about a foot away. Rhiannon is more skittish. The vacuum terrifies her--as does the coffee grinder, closing the sliding glass door, any sudden movement, noises from outside, etc. Her reaction to most of these things is to run.

Grendel has no petting aggression. I haven't tried my theory out, but I suspect that I could hold him up by the tail and stroke his fur backwards with nary a murmer from him--he may even purr. Rhiannon likes being petted, but has limits. Pet her too long and I get a protest; persist and she makes like my hand is Grendel's head. Also, don't touch her wee, stubby tail!

Grendel is mostly oblivious to houseguests. He doesn't shy from them, but won't try to approach them either. He'll always be in the same room with them (because I'm there) and will sometimes play if someone tries to play with him, but mostly he just doesn't care. Rhiannon doesn't like me having guests in the house at all. She stays up under my bed until they're gone.

Grendel tends to follow me wherever I am in the house. If he's asleep in a room with me and I leave to go to another part of the house, he appears there after a while with an accusatory "meow" because I abandoned him. Rhiannon just finds the place where's she comfiest and stays there and pays no heed to me one way or the other. She is often affectionate with me, but otherwise standoffish--more typically "cat-like" than Grendel. She likes the safety of hiding under my bed, but will often come out to lay on top of a couch wherever Grendel and I happen to be.

Grendel is very vocal. He has nearly a bazillion variations on "mew" and "meow" and uses them all, often. He has a plaintive, almost silent "mew" at one end as well as a loud, rollicking, gutteral "meooowowoorr" at the other. These mean who knows what. There seems to be something he wants from me at all times--unless his plan is to just keep me on edge thinking that I'm a total pratt at being a cat owner because I am obviously deficient in understanding what he needs. Rhiannon rarely speaks--except when she is growling at Grendel.

Two very opposite cats may very well find lovey-dovey. Thank goodness they're both fixed. Since I doubted that either would mention the kissing incident, I thought I would supply this news, with a few other details about them, so we would all better understanding their rambling diaries.

Must I buy your loyalty?

I am concerned about the human. I fear the influence of the fair Rhiannon may be having a debiltating effect on his hard-won obedience. Getting him up at 5:00 AM every morning is becoming increasingly difficult. Most mornings, it's a battle to get him up before 7:00! I fear that he may be immune to the persuasive power of scientifically applied weight. I still try to stand on his chest every morning, but I am afraid that this seems to amuse him rather than dismay him. I have found, however, that rattling his alarm clock by playing with the FM antenna that hangs behind it gets his goat. How delightful. Perhaps I can exploit this to get him out of bed. So far, he is resisting this tactic. It's a small struggle around the clock every morning. His brute strength is formidable and he can easily keep me away, so I must use my highly-developed feline wits to win. Persistence will pay off, I think. This morning, I made several attempts to get at the clock only to be thwarted. Tomorrow, I will employ more subterfuge rather than attempting another clumsy coup de main.

I have taken to bribing the biped by offering him a lovely yellow toy mouse for the past two mornings. Once I took it to him and laid it on the bath mat as he splashed himself in that perplexing wet-booth. Another time, I brought it to him as he sat oaffishly in his den. The simpleton seems delighted by the gift, so I trust that his loyalty and obedience can be assured by this token. Didn't Napoleon say, "It is with trinkets that men are led"? So be it. I would so rather that the biped were less mercenary with his affections. Perhaps this toy mousie gift only needs to be a corrective measure of short duration. So far, my lady love has not countered my gift, so I can be assured that Dave the Human is still MY human.

I have discovered the joy of Rhiannon's red-colored springy wool-lined tunnel-like things (with bluish dangly puff-balls). I hope that these will, in time, become our Tunnel of Love. For now, she seems to want to chase me out whenever she finds me in one. Does this imply a nesting tendency? It is somewhat charming, but I am disconcerted that whenever I make the human play with me, my love interrupts and takes over the game. If only she would play with me as eagerly as she plays with the monkey.

I remain overjoyed that Rhiannon and I share our meals, but she doesn't seem to understand that ALL the dishes are mine. She is welcome, of course, to eat from any dish that I am not eating from myself. However, I am taken aback by her recent tendency to nudge me away from the dish I am eating from! I am unsure how to react to this. One naturally hopes that the woman he loves has some manners, but I resist taking strong action to address this situation for now. I think that if I were to rebuke her--or even mildly chide--she would react by wagging her cute, stubby tail at me and then try to scratch my eyes out. Oh well. There is always another dish o' kibble available. I will not starve if I indulge her for love's sake.

They dined on mince and slices of quince...

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! I have breakfasted with my lady love, the fair Rhiannon.

Yesterday, Dave the Human served us breakfast upstairs in Rhiannon's suite. It was quite nice, but we were still several feet apart. But today we ate together in The Formal Dining Room (what the biped crudely calls "the kitchen floor") and we were nearly side by side. Oh what rapture! I had a hearty serving of Pro Plan Turkey and Rice Entree (how does he get it all!?) and she had the Salmon and Trout--well, so much for her taste in food, but it just means more Turkey and Rice Entree for me.

Alas, as fine a moment as this was, my beloved is still not entirely friendly. I fear that she has merely moved to tolerating me, with an occasional swat and rrroooowl to keep me in torment. Last night, the human didn't lock me out of her room. Instead, she desired the run of the place and he obliged, although he seemed to wince in trepidation of what that may bring. Despite his craven fears, the night passed without serious mishap between the fair Rhiannon and myself.

I was so pleased by how things were going that I took the considerate measure to awaken the human at 2:30 AM to let him know that I would not need him to be up at 3:00. As an aside, I have learned that if I stamp my paws while standing on his chest, I produce even more pressure. That's sure to be a handy tool on future mornings.

Of course, I did have to rowse him later. He was trying to "sleep in" and ignore my commands to arise. I discovered during this event that the human has a nice toy he calls the "eye-pod." It has clever dangly things that protrude from the top. How fun! But when I attempt to play with it, he disobediently thrust it into the drawer of the nightstand. I will have to teach him to share, as I have tried to teach him so much already.

After our breakfast, we had a bit of a play. The biped obligingly operated the feathery-headed snake-like thing on a stick for my love and I. I got to show her my high-flying acrobatics as I jumped almost three feet up to attack the feathery bit in mid-air. How can she not be impressed? For Rhiannon's part, she looked so cute as she darted out from behind the furniture to pounce on the snakey thing. Her prowess is a bit intimidating, however. I have been on the receiving end of that fury. Brrrrrr. It sends shivers down my spine.

After play, the human goes up to Rhiannon's suite to peck away at this keyboard thing he has. It's so hard to pull him away from that sometimes. Really, it's as if one has to knock something over to get his attention. No matter today. The beautiful Rhiannon takes her place on the ottoman and I stretch out on the floor beneath her as her obedient love-slave. To my surprise, my lady gets down from the ottoman and goes into the red-colored, springy, wool-lined tunnel thingy right next to me! We both sleep for some time in this sublime proximity. Can this be the beginning of our bliss together?

After the first of our many naps of the day, I get up and go to the entrance of the tunnel thingy where my love lies sleeping. The human mutters some asinine comment like, "She's gonna scratch yer eyes out." I ignore him, of course. A felis domesticæ like myself, does not heed the advice of one descended from monkeys. I charmingly play outside the tunnel, occasionally batting it playfully. The human mutters some more. Thanks, monkey. I'll ask for your advice when I need it. Oooh! What's this! My lady takes several vicious swats at my handsome face. No rrrrooowling or any sound at all, but I can see she means business. Maybe I should back off for a while. After all, she might scratch my eyes out.

I got my mojo workin'

I am not a cruel master. I let the human sleep in until 3:06 this morning. I use the time for a little extra grooming (I have a lady to impress). I have discovered that standing on his chest, rather than laying on his chest, applies more pressure at specific points. He can't hold out for long, though he foiled me again today and lazed in his bed until 6:00 when he got up and fed me.

Amazing! Breakfast was Purina Pro Plan Turkey and Rice Entree again! Though belonging to a pathetic species, I must give the human credit for his resourcefulness. How can he keep bringing me this delicious food so regularly? It's as if he has cans and cans of it stocked away somewhere. Now I am sure I will keep him.

My lady Rhiannon is still being difficult. Last night, she, I, and the biped were all relaxing nicely in the room she has seduced the human into giving her. I was just walking around and she lept out to attack me. Oh woe. My love for her is still strong, but I am learning to keep my distance. She may be crazy, but I think that's kind of cute.

This morning, Dave the Biped opened the door for her to roam the place. As ever, I was right there aching my heart out, but when she strode towards me, I used some discretion and backed way away before the claws came out. I settled down at the other end of the hall to watch her make her way gracefully down. She passed me on one side of the hall as I sat, enchanted by her, on the other. No fireworks apart from a bit of a hiss as she passed. She must know she's driving me crazy with desire. Vixen!

The human went back to bed for a while--I swear they do nothing but sleep!--and the beautiful Rhiannon and I were left to play, but we're not playing the same game. I am playing to win, but she's playing hard to get. O Cupid, pierce by beloved's heart.

The human has gone off to work. Obedient to my lady's command, he has once again shut me out from her room. I fear my paw trick from yesterday has not impressed her. Quelle tragédie! I got my mojo workin', but it just won't work on her.

I'll try the paw trick again

3:00 AM and time to try to rowse Dave the Human. What a chore. He mumbles something and spends a bit of time petting and scratching me around the neck and under the chin. At least that's worthwhile, but the slug just rolls over again. He moves to lie on his back and I see my chance to take position standing on his chest. He thinks my action is benign and that I'm doing it to guard his breathing holes against the gnomes who would steal his breath, but I'm using my considerable weight on his chest to start to suffocate him so he'll have to get up just to breath. It's so easy to fool these humans. Nevertheless, he somehow resists my attemps to rowse him for another four hours. Interminable delay! But when he finally gets up it's breakfast time. Oh boy! Oh boy! It's Purina Turkey and Rice entree again! How can I be so lucky to have the same great dish over and over and over and over again?

Yesterday went well with Rhiannon, my kitty lady love. She's still playing hard to get, but we got to sit together on the same window sill for several minutes in the afternoon. Even when she hisses and meoowrrrls at me, I can tell she is suppressing the attraction that she must naturally feel towards my handsome self. She continues to run away or hiss and scratch when I come near; this is disconcerting, but I persist. The human is attempting crude sarcasm and calls me "Pepe Le Peu"--whatever that means--but I know it's only a matter of time until her resistance melts.

The human makes feeble attempts at play. Sure, that feathery thing on a stick is fun. I feign interest a few times just to keep his spirits up. But my main insterest is always focused on the beautiful Rhiannon. When she is in the room, the glow she eminates is sublime rapture and I must give her all my attention.

What will this day bring? The human has gone away to who knows where (I let him roam as long as he does his chores on time) and my lady has charmed him into leaving her closed into her room. I will try the paw under the door trick some more. Yes. The paw trick will win her heart.

Hell hath no fury

Oh the anguish.

I've been here with Dave the Human for three weeks now. I'm glad I took him in. He's been fairly obedient in all things: cleans my toilet like clockwork, scratches my neck, ears, and chin, gives nice pets, plays with me on command, provides me with ample food and plenty of kitty treats. I have the run of a nice place with two sets of stairs to run up and down, wide window sills to perch on, plants to chew (though he reacts badly to this--I indulge him by doing it only when he's not looking), and many toys to play with. Who needs opposable thumbs when you can find a human to do everything for you?

The only problem is his habit of sleeping all the time. It seems that whenever I'm awake and looking for fun, he's sacked out. It's absurd. 3:00 AM--practically mid-day--and he's lazing about. I try to rowse him for his own good, but he just pets me, mumbles incomprehensible things, and rolls over.

I don't hold to the two-legs-bad theory, but I must admit that four legs is better. I hoped to find another of my kitty kind--better to manage the human by joint effort. Using my psychic skills, I worked on his susceptible mind and sure enough, last Saturday he brought home my dream girl.

She's a cute tabby with dangerous curves and a wee, stubby tail to die for. Oh bliss! Her name is Rhiannon and I know she is my one true love. But things have taken a bad turn. When she first came home, I used my gentlemanly manners to court her, but the little spitfire just hissed and scratched. Try as I might, she is hostile to me.

She has beguiled the human into giving her a room where I can't enter. (This would be a good use of thumbs!) She has him feeding her in her private suite and doting on her hand and foot. Wicked woman!

Still, I try to impress her. I have this trick with my paws under the door. Cat chicks love that, but she remains either aloof or downright peevish when I show it to her.

There are times when she has the human let her roam the place--MY place!--freely. I use these opportunities to show off my handsome self, but she's so mean to me. This morning I showed her my high-flying acrobatics when playing with the feathery-headed snake-like thing on a stick. This has always wowed the fairer sex before. How can she be so cruel to give me nothing but a hiss and a swat for all my efforts? Why does she call me "cow" and "monster"?

I know that I will win her yet. I must work on the human to make him obedient only to me again. At least I get to roam the place at will--except for the ONE room. I will reassert myself and be yet again Lord of the Manor, even though my heart breaks.