Shiny lights and sparkly ribbons!

Yesterday Mom draped our living room in strings of colorful lights, and wrapped lights all around our little artificial Xmas tree (Mom calls it our "everlasting Yule shrub"). I was interested! I watched closely to make sure Mom did a good job, and I made a few aesthetic suggestions, which Mom wisely followed -- mostly. She had to rearrange one string of lights because Skeeter was chewing on it, and I had told her not to hang lights along the banister where Skeeter could reach them to begin with. Next time I bet she will listen to my advice, MOL!

Then Mom got a big box from the closet. A box! I love boxes! Then it got even better! Mom started taking out little crinkly bundles of colorful tissue paper and unwrapping that wonderful crinkly paper to reveal *gasp!* pretty shiny sparkly things! Of course I had to supervise this operation.

"Mom," I said, jumping onto the coffee table where Mom was carefully arranging the sparkly baubles, "some of these ornaments look very fragile. Perhaps I should test their durability by knocking them onto the floor?"

Mom declined my offer, for some reason.

"In that case," I suggested, "how about I sit in this box lid, to keep it from flying away, in case there is an earthquake or something?"

Mom agreed that this would be a big help. So I made sure the box lid didn't fly away until dinner time. Plus, while I was making sure the box lid didn't fly away, I gave Mom advice about where each ornament should go on the tree. It is a good thing I am such an efficient multi-tasker!

So now, with my assistance, the holidays have officially arrived at our house! Mom is done with the thing she calls "final exams" ... she calls them final, but they have been happening twice a year for a few years now, so, I'm just saying, where's the "final"? ... And that means that the books are (temporarily) put away, the tree and the lights are up, and there is shiny paper and ribbon everywhere! Even though there are not many presents this year, we are all feeling merry! Mom says the best present is love, and we sure have plenty of that!

WOOT!!!!! I was CAT OF THE DAY!!!!!!

Oh wow, I can't believe it! What an honor!

Thank you everyone for all the pawsome gifts and stuff! *tears up* I feel so loved!

p.s., I've been writing more stories and I'm thinking I should start posting them here in my diary again -- so stay tuned!

We are back!!!

Hey everycat,

Mom is back in school and now that she is gone all day, Skeeter and I miss our Catster pals so much that we begged and begged her until she said we could come and play again. We have had lots of adventures since we disappeared back in February, and I'm sure it will make a great story, but in the meantime I'm just glad to be back.

New pictures and more, coming soon!

Love and purrs to all,
Jubilee

The Festival Of Bast, Chapter 33

*** The story of How Fela Tamed Humans concludes! ***

“Fela traveled far and wide, fulfilling the purpose that Lady Bast had given her. She had many adventures, and befriended many humans. And her many litters of kittens stayed in their human homes when Fela moved on.

“The neighbors of the humans with cats noticed that their neighbors’ kitchens, granaries, and barns had far fewer mice and rats than their own, and they admired the little animals who provided such effective rodent control. They wanted cats of their own, to live in their houses and hunt their mice. Fela’s kittens, and their kittens, soon warmed themselves by the fire wherever there were humans to build one. Too weak to be dangerous to humans, even human infants, but lethally efficient against mice, rats, and other vermin; small enough to sleep in a basket or curl up on a lap; affectionate yet independent; naturally clean, and each one uniquely beautiful; they provided the humans with both companionship and mouse-free homes, and in exchange the humans happily sheltered, fed, and cared for them.

“And we have lived with humans ever since. The humans have bulldozed brother Jaguar’s rain forests, and plowed brother Lion’s savannahs, into grazing land for cattle. They have paved sister Cougar’s woodlands and deserts and and sister Tiger’s jungles. Only we, the littlest cats, go where the humans go, and only we live under their protection. And that is because of Fela, the smallest and weakest of Bast’s children, the cat who tamed humans.

“So you see, little ones,” Mama Kitty concluded, “sometimes it’s better to be small and clever than big and strong.”

“My mother always used to say that the moral was to play to your strengths, when she told that story,” Tibby murmured thoughtfully.

“My mother said it’s that adaptability is the key to survival,” said Gromit.

I wondered what other stories my mother hadn’t had a chance to tell me.

By this time, the eastern sky was starting to lighten, and the stars were fading. We were still heading south and slightly east along the steep hillside. The leaders showed no sign of slowing our pace through the dense undergrowth.

Now that Mama Kitty had finished the story, Tibby and I dropped back to join Baby Girl, Bella, and Ham at the rear of the group. One of Ham’s duties as rear guard was to leave occasional trail markers that other cats could identify and follow. He had just finished spraying one such marker against a beech tree and was trotting to catch up again.

“Good story,” Ham commented as he caught up with us. The story had briefly distracted him from whatever he’d been worrying about and he looked a little calmer. He, Bella, and Baby Girl had all heard the tale of how Fela tamed humans before, and had listened from their positions at the rear.

“My mother never told that part about Fela’s first kittens dying,” Baby Girl said. “She was way overprotective.”

“My mother included a part about why we are better than dogs,” Bella said. “It was something like, ‘Man bred Dog from Wolf to be his slave, to help him hunt, and herd, and fight. But we came to humans of our own free will, and we belong only to ourselves.’”

We kept walking. We ducked beneath low, brushy branches and squeezed through thorny thickets. We crossed a narrow, twisting road, and a little while after that we crossed a broader road, but both were dark and quiet. We met no other cats, and Ham began to look worried again.

“I wouldn’t be too concerned about it yet,” Toffy said, when he and Diego paid us a visit just before sunrise. “We have five nights before the Festival of Bast, and the Green Preserve is a big place.”

“They may already be waiting for us at Sleeping Cat Mountain,” Diego added.

Ham nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

“Yeah, maybe that other human gave them all a ride there, and fed them foie gras on the way,” Bella said acidly, which got a nervous laugh from the rest of us but failed to lighten the creases in Ham’s forehead.

At sunrise, we paused in a clearing to face the sun and sing.

“Our Journey greets the waking day
With Lady Bast to lead us,
We travel and we hunt and play
With Lady Bast to feed us.

“We walk in places we’ve never been
With Lady Bast beside us,
We remember things we’ve never seen
With Lady Bast to guide us.

“The night is ours, the stars and moon
With Lady Bast above us,
The day is ours, the sun at noon
With Lady Bast to love us.”

Our voices were a bit tentative, but no human jumped out from the nearby eucalyptus trees. And we walked on.

STAY TUNED!!!! Day Four of the Journey is about to begin!

The Festival Of Bast, Chapter 32

“That very night, Fela left her pack,” Mama Kitty went on with her story. By now, the adult cats were listening as intently as the kittens. “She went to find the village and the house she had seen in her dream. She walked a long way and searched for a long time, and she had many adventures along the way. But at last she came to a cluster of low mud-brick houses, nestled in the bend of a river and surrounded by cultivated fields and orchards.

“It was night, and Fela walked through the village while the humans slept, just as she had in her dream. She caught a mouse as it wriggled through a crack in a granary wall. It was too stuffed with barley to run, and Fela devoured it hungrily. Then she walked on. And soon she found herself in front of a familiar doorway.

“Fela did not go into the house. She squeezed beneath a wooden door in the wall of the pen where the goats and chickens slept, and then jumped over a gate on the other side of the pen, and found herself behind the the house, in a modest but pleasant courtyard, enclosed by a mud-brick wall. In the courtyard were a well, a few fruit trees, a beehive, and several buildings, smaller and rougher than the house itself. One was a barn, one was a kitchen with a mud-brick oven, and the rest held heaps of grain and large clay vats of bubbling, yeasty-smelling liquid . All were alive with mice. Fela smiled to herself, beginning to form a plan.

“Then she climbed a fig tree and made herself comfortable on a branch with a view of the door that led from the house to the courtyard. She slept the last hours until dawn, when she was waked by the crowing of roosters. Soon, an old woman came out of the house, scratching herself and grumbling. The old woman shuffled across the courtyard and drew water from the well, filling a clay pot, which she lugged into the kitchen building. After a moment, smoke began trickling from the oven’s flue.

“While the old woman was stoking the kitchen fire, a little girl emerged from the house, carrying a basket over one arm and balancing a clay pot on her head. She had brown skin, and straight black hair that fell over her shoulders, and she wore a linen shift adorned with beads around its square neckline. Fela watched as the girl slipped into the animal pen, stashed the clay pot in a corner, and strewed corn from the basket around the pen, drawing the hens from their nests so that she could gather their eggs and put them into the basket. Then the girl exchanged the basket for the pot and began milking the nanny goat into the clay vessel. As she milked, she sang to herself, and spoke affectionately to the goat. Fela smelled the fresh milk and licked her chops. When the goat’s udder was emptied, the girl gave the goat a friendly pat, then replaced the sloshing pot on her head, picked up the basket of eggs, and carefully walked back into the house.

“Next, a woman walked into the courtyard, carrying a baby boy on her hip. Like the girl, she had brown skin and long black hair and was wearing a linen shift. There was a necklace of blue stones around her neck. The boy had a tuft of black hair and shiny black eyes, and he cooed and babbled as the woman carried him into the kitchen with her.

“Finally, a man left the house. He stretched in the early sunlight, a sturdy man with a linen wrap around his hips, his broad chest and shoulders bare, his hair shorn close, and he plucked a fig from the branch below the one where Fela was hiding as he strode towards the buildings that held the grain and the fermenting vats of beer.

“All that day, Fela watched the brewer and his family. She could not understand their speech, but as she listened to them she began to sense the feelings and intentions that the words carried. She watched what made each human laugh and frown, and she made her plan.

“That night, Fela ate her fill of the mice in the brewery. And at sunrise, when the little girl came to feed the chickens and milk the nanny goat, Fela was waiting in the courtyard. Fela couldn’t purr yet in those days, but she mewed sweetly and rolled onto her back at the girl’s bare feet to show that she meant no harm, then twined tamely around the girl’s ankles, and the girl laughed with delight.

“Later that morning, Fela made sure that the brewer saw her killing a large mouse. Instead of eating it, she placed it by the barn door like an offering while the man looked on, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“‘Now,’ said Fela to herself, ‘the girl will tell her mother and grandmother how beautiful and playful and affectionate I am. And the man will tell his wife and mother how clever and independent and useful I am.’

“Soon Fela had made herself a familiar sight in the brewer’s courtyard. When the grandmother tried to shoo Fela away, grumbling that wild animals didn’t belong with people, the girl cried that Fela was far too friendly to be wild, and Fela stayed. When the wife tried to shoo Fela away, worried that she might hurt the baby, the man pointed out how many mice and rats Fela killed, and Fela stayed. She caught more mice than she could eat, and she regularly left surplus carcasses by the barn door to remind the brewer who was responsible for the sudden drop in the rodent population.

“Before many days had gone by, Fela allowed the little girl to pet her, and as the child stroked Fela’s soft fur and caressed her ears, Fela felt the warmth of human love for the first time. Not long after that, the man smiled down at her as she deposited a freshly-killed mouse at his feet, and said, ‘Thank you, Bright Eyes,’ giving Fela her first human name. That evening, and every evening from then on, a dish of scraps appeared by the back door for Fela.

“Fela was still not allowed into the house, however. She slept in the barn, biding her time. One afternoon, when the family was napping through the hottest part of the day, Fela saw a big rat creep across the courtyard and into the house. She followed the rat inside and pounced on it just as it was about to bite the sleeping baby’s cheek with its long yellow teeth. The rat fought hard, squealing and biting, before Fela snapped its neck. The commotion woke the family, and when the brewer’s wife saw the dead rat by the cradle and Fela standing over its body, bloody and panting, she swooped Fela up in her arms and tended the little cat’s wounds with her own hands. After that, Fela was welcome to come and go in the house as she liked. Only the grandmother still muttered at her and shooed her out of the way.

“Fela waited and watched, and one evening, when the grandmother was sitting by the hearth, wrapped in a woolen cloak and staring into the embers, with loneliness radiating from her like the heat from the fire, Fela simply jumped onto the grandmother’s lap, landing as lightly as a leaf, and rubbed her cheek against the old woman’s wrinkled hand before snuggling against her and falling asleep. The grandmother patted Fela cautiously, then relaxed beneath the cat’s soft warmth, and her face softened as she stroked Fela’s back.

“That night, the grandmother fixed up a soft cushion by the fire for Fela, just like the one in Fela’s dream.

“Fela lived happily with the brewer’s family for many months. When her season came, she slipped over the courtyard wall one moonless night, and in an orchard outside the village she met a large, handsome brown tom with green-gold eyes. She was back on her cushion by the hearth before daybreak. When her kittens were born, they were strong and healthy, and Fela's human family was almost as proud and delighted as Fela herself. Fela taught her kittens to play and hunt, and sang to them, and told them stories of Bast.

"One night, shortly after the kittens were weaned, Lady Bast walked with Fela in a dream once more. It seemed to Fela that she left her sleeping body by the hearth and walked alongside a very large and very beautiful Abyssinian cat whose eyes flashed gold and green. Fela and Bast padded out of the house and through the village, and then they left the village and climbed into the sky, walking among the stars.

“Fela looked down at the earth far below, and saw the flickering hearths and fires of many human settlements. She looked into Lady Bast’s eyes and saw the fires reflected there.

“‘Your journey is just beginning, little daughter,’ Bast said.

“When Fela woke up, she remembered her dream, and her heart filled with sadness. But she knew what she had to do.

“That very night, Fela left her kittens, and left the brewer’s house. She set out across the world to find other humans to tame.”

STAY TUNED!!!! The Journey continues!

The Festival Of Bast, Chapter 31

We changed course, now heading straight across hillside rather than up it, through scrub brush and poison-ivy and wild blackberry vines, well below the line of the eucalyptus trees where instead of a comforting screen of undergrowth there were only slippery, pungent-smelling leaves underfoot, whose acrid reek burned our noses and stung our eyes. Even here, on this steep slope, we sometimes had to detour around big houses or clusters of small houses that peered over the San Francisco Bay like sea birds from their high perches. Here and there we crossed hiking trails, some neglected but some with fresh tracks of bicycle, human, and dog. We never used the trails, but stayed in the undergrowth, traveling as only cats can, while the Great Cat climbed higher in the sky.

As always, Ham brought up the rear of the pack, with Bella and I, joined by Baby Girl, keeping him company. Bella and I had become good friends with the clever, spirited Baby Girl, especially Bella, because both of them were outstanding hunters. Tibby dropped back to join us every so often, then shuttling a length or so ahead to rejoin Gromit, Hudson, and Captain Tommaso. Diego and Toffy sometimes walked with the group of younger males, sometimes dropped back to join us at the rear. Fafnir leaped constantly between the young toms and Wiggy, who kept close to Pepper as always. Pepper was helping Mama Kitty keep Zippie and Laurie corralled, so Wiggy was helping too. Wiggy and Jack formed furry barriers on either side of the kittens, with Mama Kitty and Pepper ahead and behind, hemming them in and shushing their frequent protests. When the way was too tightly tangled for this arrangement, Pepper and Mama Kitty bookended the kittens as they proceeded single-file. At the head of the group, the three leaders spoke only to discuss directions, and then tersely. Ham, too, was quieter than usual.

I’d apologized to Ham for my mistake, but he didn’t seem to hear me. The leaders had just returned to the clearing and Orangina had told us to get moving. Cats were stretching, milling around. I trotted along by his side as he mechanically started walking. “Ham, when I said next year it’ll be you, I’m really sorry, I didn’t realize, I thought you were just --”

But he wasn’t looking at me; he was staring at the leaders as they moved to the front of the pack.

“Ham? What’s the matter?” I asked, headbutting his shoulder to get his attention.

He shook his head convulsively. “Nothing. Don’t worry.” He looked down at me; I must have looked skeptical. He sighed. “I’ll tell you later. Come on, let’s go.”

Since then I’d tried a couple of times to get him to tell me what was going on, and he’d just shake his head slightly with a no-nonsense look in his green eyes. Bella and Baby Girl instinctively ignored him, but giggled less than usual. All of which made Tibby’s attitude of subdued but determined cheerfulness both welcome and uncomfortable during his visits.

We hadn’t stopped to hunt since we left the clearing where we met Bea, but rodents and lizards scurried and scuttled in the thick bushes, so it wasn’t too difficult to catch a snack. When we were thirsty we nibbled at green shoots of leaves. Most of the time, we couldn’t see the sky, but when we occasionally emerged from the brush we looked at the stars to check our course, keeping the Great Cat over our right shoulders. As the constellation rose higher, we sometimes saw shooting stars, which seemed to fall from the body of the Great Cat; Bast’s kittens falling to earth.

As grey pre-dawn seeped over the eastern horizon, we still hadn’t met any other cats, but we hadn’t come across any more humans, either, and the group was weary but no longer tense. Even Orangina, Felix, and Tweak had relaxed somewhat, although Ham was still acting mysterious. To keep the kittens quiet and distract them from their tired paws, Mama Kitty told the kittens a story, one that I’d never heard before. My mother hadn’t told it to me before we were separated. Glad of an excuse to get away from the brooding Ham, I slipped ahead, moving closer to Mama Kitty and the kittens to listen. Tibby followed me, leaving Bella and Baby Girl to raise their eyebrows at each other.

“As you kittens know,” Mama Kitty began, her voice soft but clear in the summer air, “Lady Bast is the Great Cat, the Mother of all catkind. Lions and tigers, cougars and jaguars, lynxes and cheetahs, ocelots, servals, leopards, the saber-toothed cats who no longer hunt, and all other cats, large and small, fell to earth as Bast gave birth to them. Bast loved all her children, but her favorite, truth be told, was the smallest, youngest, and weakest cat, the runt of her celestial litter. This was a little cat named Fela. Some say she had orange stripes,” Mama Kitty winked at Zippie, “others say she was a pretty little tabby with a pink nose and white paws,” with a smile at Laurie, who beamed.

“Fela was small, but she was also brave and clever. She had to be, because life was hard for a little cat back then. The big cats had plenty of territory, filled with plenty of plump, slow-moving food, because humans had not yet paved over the hunting grounds. Humans were mostly just an entertaining variety of prey to the big cats in those days. But while her brother Lion hunted gazelle on the savannas, and her sister Tiger hunted boar in the jungle, Fela and her pack hunted the smallest rodents and other scurrying vermin at the ragged edges of the desert and forest. Their meals were hard to catch, and seldom tasty; often barely more than a stringy mouthful of fur and bone. Jackals and hyenas menaced them, venomous snakes lurked in the tall grass, and mongooses and weasels competed with them for the same unsatisfying meals. Even though Fela was a skilled hunter, swift and silent and merciless, she often went hungry.

“When the time came for Fela to bear her first litter, it was during a cold, wet spring, when all the rodents stayed underground and game was scarce. Fela could barely catch enough food to survive. Her kittens were born still and silent, never drawing breath or tasting milk.”

Laurie and Zippie stared at Mama Kitty, their eyes vast saucers. I was starting to understand why my own mother must have been saving this story for when I was older.

Mama Kitty continued, “Fela grieved for her kittens, and she prayed to her mother Bast. ‘Great Mother of All Cats, I call to you in my suffering, and I call to you in the name of all who are the smallest of your children. Why must we suffer and starve for being small and weak? Please, Mother Bast, show me a better way for our kind to live.’

“And Bast, in her den in the sky, heard her daughter’s prayer. That night, she came to earth and walked with Fela in a dream.

“Fela dreamed that she was walking with a very large, very beautiful Abyssinian cat whose eyes flashed emerald green and molten gold in the flickering firelight of a human village. Fela had never been near a human before, but with Bast at her side she walked without fear among the buildings where the humans slept, and the dusty path seemed somehow familiar to Fela in her dream. They walked past barns and granaries where fat, slow mice loafed around the doors. Then they approached a low hut made of clay bricks. There were chickens and a pair of goats in a pen attached to the house, and smoke rose from an opening in the flat roof. At the door of the house, a linen curtain rippled in the night breeze. With Bast at her side, Fela entered the house, and inside she saw herself, well-fed and healthy, curled up on a soft cushion by the hearth, sleeping peacefully.

“Bast turned to Fela. ‘Do you have your answer now, daughter?’ she asked, and her eyes shifted from green to gold in the glow of the dying fire.

“When Fela woke up, she remembered her dream, and she knew what she had to do.”

STAY TUNED!!!!! The tale of how Fela first tamed humans continues!

The Festival Of Bast, Chapter 30!!!!

*** Welcome back at long last, gentle readers! We’re only on the second night of our Journey to the Festival of Bast, but already we’ve encountered adventure we didn’t expect! For one thing, we met Bea, a human who has the rare ability to communicate with cats. Bea seems very kind, but there’s another human out there with the same ability, and from what we know about him, he’s not nice at all! At the end of Chapter 29, before our holiday hiatus, Bea had just finished telling us her story. ***

There was an awkward silence. Orangina’s expression was carefully inscrutable, but Felix was frowning thoughtfully and Tweak looked as though she’d just discovered a live hedgehog in her food dish.

“Thank you,” Orangina said evenly. “Very illuminating.”

Still sitting cross-legged on the ground, Bea shifted uncomfortably. “Please forgive me for asking,” she said, “but, whatever this is, this Journey you all are on. Is this some sort of a ...” she groped for an analogy, “... a pilgrimage? To someplace like a Mecca for cats? Or ... or a cat version of the Eleusinian Mysteries?”

“Let’s hear it for that superior human intellect,” murmured Baby Girl, who was gnawing her back toes. Bella giggled.

Felix’s frown deepened. Orangina’s expression remained inscrutable.

“We agreed to hear your tale, not to tell you ours,” Tweak said, her tone no warmer than before.

If Kimba had been there, he probably would have said something like, “Our rituals were old before Mecca was built and before the gods of Greece were born.” A few cats began distractedly grooming themselves to avoid looking Bea in the eye as she sighed and got to her feet, gingerly straightening her stiff knees. I would have but I was worried that it might seem rude. Instead, I examined our surroundings. Looking around now, in the light of the waning crescent moon, I saw that the clearing in which we were sitting was actually a bend in an untended hiking trail. That explained how Bea had descended the steep hillside. The occasional whoosh of a passing car seemed to come from far above. We cats were clustered in a loose and shifting crescent around Bea, the leaders out front. At the moment, Ham, Bella, and I were at the lower end, along with Tibby and Baby Girl. Captain Tommaso, Hudson, Gromit, Diego, Toffy, and Jack were next to us, then Tweak’s family in one furry pile. The two kittens were at the upper end, and Mama Kitty, who had appointed herself their guardian pro tem and took her duties seriously, was restraining them from approaching Bea more closely. Unlike the adult cats, Zippie and Laurie were staring at Bea with profound interest, whispering intently to one another without taking their eyes off her.

Bea looked down uncertainly at the group of cats in front of her, as if she wanted to say something but was afraid of offending us.

“Remember your promise,” Felix prompted gently.

“You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!” Bella added helpfully. A few cats snickered, but Bea looked so dejected that I felt bad for laughing.

“Yes. Sorry. Well ... goodbye.” After another second of bemused hesitation Bea switched on her flashlight and turned back up the trail. We watched her trudge away, her flashlight beam casting spidery shadows, until she rounded a curve in the path and disappeared from view.

“That was weird,” I whispered to Tibby.

“Really? In what way?” Tibby whispered back. I giggled at that. So did Baby Girl and Bella, but Ham was watching the leaders with a furrow in his brow.

Orangina turned briskly to Felix and Tweak. “We should get moving. We’re way behind schedule.”

“Just a minute,” Tweak said, fixing Orangina with a steely look, her tail lashing.

Orangina impassively met Tweak’s gaze. She might not have Kimba’s gift for cryptic bon mots, but she had certainly mastered his air of imperturbability. “Certainly, sister. Ham, keep watch.”

The three leaders withdrew into the bushes for a conference, Felix following the two females, his tail low and tense. Ham watched them go, his brow still furrowed.

Figuring that he was still regretting not being a leader, I said, “It’ll be you next year, Ham,” headbutting him. He smiled, but his eyes weren’t in it, and he kept glancing at the undergrowth where Orangina, Felix, and Tweak were enchambered as he padded off to patrol the area.

Bella rolled her eyes at him, flopped onto her haunches, and began washing her front paws.

The Great Cat was edging into view over the eucalyptus trees rimming the northeastern hills. The Great Lion (known to humans as Leo, Leun, Aru, Arye, Artan, Ser, and other names meaning “Lion,” thanks to one influential ancient astronomer who also happened to talk with cats) had finished his hunt for the evening and returned to his cave beyond the western horizon. A shooting star streaked across the sky, then another.

Tibby saw them too, and nudged me. “Look, Jubilee, falling kittens.”

Those were the first signs of Kittenfall we’d seen that night, which ordinarily might have called for a song or a story. But no one felt like singing.

I was hungry, my paws were sore, and my legs ached. Bea’s story kept running through my head like a dream that clings after waking. I could picture Bea crouching outside the basement window, listening to our celebration as the cats we had rescued from Doc’s lab were reunited with their loved ones. Just two days ago, I had crowded in among the other cats to eat Bea’s food, and I had joined them in casually discussing plans for the Journey and for the Festival of Bast itself while she listened. Not even Kimba had suspected that Bea was motivated by anything other than kindness. There was no way Bella could have known that Bea could hear us, no way Orangina could have known that Bea had followed us back to the burned house.

My stomach suddenly twisted with realization. The expression on Ham’s face when the leaders went into council had been concerned, not wistful. He wasn’t jealous that was wasn’t taking part in the meeting, he was worried about its outcome. And I had misinterpreted his reaction and said completely the wrong thing. A hot rush of embarrassment flooded me, but was quickly chilled by icy prickles of anxiety. I looked around for Ham but he was nowhere in sight, still on patrol.

“Tweak seemed upset,” I ventured, keeping my voice low.

Baby Girl’s tail twitched. “I don’t blame her.” Then she remembered that I was in Orangina’s group and added, “But none of this is Orangina’s fault.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Tibby said firmly, and I smiled at him gratefully.

“It’s so creepy,” Bella muttered. “That woman spying on us.”

“I wonder just how much she knows, really,” Gromit mused.

“Too much, in any case,” Bella replied darkly.

“Who’s she going to tell?” Diego pointed out, reasonable as always.

“We don’t know who,” Pepper snarled. “That’s exactly the point.”

“Honey, we’ve talked about your trust issues with humans,” Wiggy murmured, but Pepper gave a skeptical snort and returned to grooming her tail with elaborate concentration.

“She promised to leave us alone,” Captain Tommaso said.

“Yes, and humans are a species known for being trustworthy,” Bella retorted sarcastically.

"She said I was handsome," boasted Fafnir.

Jack rolled onto his side and said, “If she already knows where we’re going, maybe she can drive us there.” Zippie and Laurie both started begging to ride up front and Mama Kitty hushed them with a dangerously narrow-eyed glare at Jack, who quickly protested, “Joking! Joke!”

It made my fur crawl to imagine just how much Bea had probably overheard. I’d never really thought about the Festival of Bast being such a big secret, though; probably because I’d never thought I’d be discussing it with a human. Sure, it made sense for a group of traveling cats to stay out of sight in the city. But what could it hurt to tell Bea about Bast and the Great Lion and Kittenfall? Maybe it was because I’d only experienced one Festival of Bast, and that one had been pretty ragtag, no Journey, just a few hungry strays singing in an alley; maybe the older cats knew.

“What’s the holdup, anyway?” Hudson wondered. “The leaders’ powwows don’t usually take this long.”

“I’m sure they’ll be back soon,” Toffy said in an undertone, glancing at the place in the poison-ivy where the three cats had disappeared.

A moment later, though, there was a piercing growl from inside the thicket and the vines rustled sharply. We all turned our heads towards the noise as Tweak’s voice rose angrily, “Absolutely not!” Then her volume dropped again, and we could overhear no more.

The silence that descended after Bea’s story had been warm and comfortable compared to the silence that descended now. We all waited, grooming nervously and avoiding one another’s eyes. After a few minutes, Ham slipped from the undergrowth and rejoined the group. Before I could say anything to him, the leaders returned to the clearing, their faces stiff.

“As I was saying,” Orangina said, calm as always, “We’re way behind schedule. Let’s go.”

*** STAY TUNED!!!! How much does Bea know? What were the leaders arguing about? And why is it so important that humans don’t know about the Festival of Bast? (Sorry this chapter took so long, but hey, we’re still waiting for LOST...) ***

OMC, I'm on SOMC!!!!! Again! Twice!!!

Mom hasn't looked at Stuff On My Cat in a few days and totally missed these two groovy pictures of me when they were posted -- many purrs of thanks to my good friend Diego for noticing them and sending me the links! You rock, Diego!

http://www.stuffonmycat.com/index.php?itemid=6615

htt p://www.stuffonmycat.com/index.php?itemid=6608

Mom adopted Skeeter this morning, so it looks like I'm just going to have to get used to him *sigh.* He has his very own diary now, so he can tell you all about what he's up to, and I'll be returning to "The Festival of Bast!"

So, as always, STAY TUNED!!!!

PS!!!

Mom decided that it was high time Skeeter got his own Catster page! She will be formally adopting him on Wednesday! So please check out his page and invite him to be friends!

http://www.catster.com/cats/691833

Purrs!
Jubilee

Happy New Year's Eve!

Happy New Year, everycat! Lots to report!

First and foremost: Mom is home!!!! She arrived late Saturday night -- more like early Sunday morning -- about 4 a.m.. I flew down the stairs to greet her, meowing like crazy! She dropped her bags, picked me up, and held me tight, and I purred and purred and gave her kisses all over her face, and wanted her to never put me down again! But Skeeter was right at the kitchen gates, chirping for attention, and besides the whole house smelled like a stinky litterbox. So I hung around right outside the kitchen while Mom cleaned poop off the floor and dumped out Skeeter’s dirty litter and scrubbed his box with soap and hot water and refilled it with clean litter. Then she came upstairs and dumped and scrubbed and refilled my litterbox, too. I followed closely at her heels and made sure she gave me frequent pats and attention!

Then, you won’t believe it, Mom gave Skeeter a B-A-T-H! His hind feet and legs and his little rump were all caked with poop. (Dad is lucky that Mom missed him too much to be very mad at him.) Mom put a plastic dishpan in the kitchen sink, ran a few inches of warm water, and into the water Skeeter went! And, okay, this is the part you REALLY won’t believe, but I was watching from the kitchen door and saw the whole thing, and I swear to Bast it’s true, the little freak actually LIKED it! From what I saw, he wasn’t crazy about the noise of the running water, but once Mom turned off the faucet and settled him into the tub, he didn’t mind it at all. She supported his front half with one hand under his chest and he didn’t even struggle while with her other hand she sponged the petrified poo from his rear half, as gently but firmly as she could. She didn’t have any kitty-safe shampoo (now it makes sense why the word “poo” is in there, ha ha) so she just had to use warm water -- if anyone has a recommendation she’d be grateful. I, of course, have never needed a bath in my life except for those I endured in the shelter hospital as part of my treatment for ringworm (hey, it can happen to the best of us; it’s nothing to be ashamed of). Anyway, then she lifted him out and wrapped him in a towel and he actually let her dry him off even though I could tell from his face that he just wanted to shake the water from his fur like any other self-respecting cat. Finally she let him loose and he gave himself a good shake.

After that, Mom was all mine! We went upstairs and got in bed (it was almost 6 a.m. by this time), and I cuddled up close to her and didn’t move until she woke up five hours later.

When Mom woke up, she helped me take down my Christmas decorations and put up my pretty snowflake theme. We even found a track of cats singing “Auld Lang Syne” for New Year’s! Then Mom decided that it was time to see how much progress I’d made in my feelings towards Skeeter. The only time Skeeter and I were face-to-face while she was gone was once when Dad left the top baby gate down while he went to the bathroom and found himself with two hissing cats at his ankles! Well, maybe it’s because I’m so relieved and happy that Mom is home, maybe it’s that she adjusted her attitude and expectations while she was gone (more on that in a minute), maybe it’s the lack of her influence during her absence, maybe it’s just the benefit of ten days. But things are much better. Yes, I still growl and hiss at Skeeter; yes, I still take a swing at him if he gets too close. But I growl and hiss a lot less frequently, and the “Line of Death,” as Mom has wittily titled it, has gotten smaller -- Skeeter almost has to actually be within paw-reach now before I take a swipe. And I haven’t actually scratched him again. Mom says that as long as she doesn’t see blood, she’s content.

I am actually relaxed enough around him now to allow Mom to apply positive reinforcement: Mom engages me in active play, like with a cat-dancer, with Skeeter in the room, with lots of praise to me for playing and not growling. Then Mom lets Skeeter play with the cat-dancer in front of me, and gives me praise and petting for every few seconds I go without growling or hissing. Same with clicker-games: she carries on both lessons simultaneously, running back and forth to each of us, in separate rooms. If we’re just hanging out (Skeeter has rapidly figured out that most of the fun happens where Mom is, which during the day means upstairs in the office or bedroom, which also means that I’m probably nearby) Mom gives me extravangant praise and petting and occasional treats for stuff like not growling when Skeeter crosses my path, or plays with my toys, or uses my litterbox, or climbs onto my bed or treehouse, or when Mom holds and pets him. Before Mom’s trip, I would get too upset with Skeeter in the room to even let myself be petted, so Mom is pretty proud of me! If I growl or hiss, Mom says “Be nice, Jubilee,” or “No need for that, Jubilee,” in her Stern Voice; if I swat or charge at him, I get a faceful of misty water from the Bad Cat Bottle (formerly the Bad Girl Bottle, renamed in the interest of gender equity since Skeeter is a boy). We have definitely had a few squabbles that called for the Bad Cat Bottle and a loud “Jubilee, NO!” from Mom. Mom suspects at this point that we are in kind of a Zeno’s paradox, wherein the instances of squabbling may become less, but cannot reach zero. But, like I said, she is now pretty resigned about that.

Which brings us to Mom's adjustment of her attitude and expectations: Mom got to spend a lot of time with her niece (Lilah, age 3) and nephews (Noah, 6, and Rowan, 6 months) during her trip, and was pleasantly amazed at how the whole family -- adults and kids, not to mention cats and dogs -- all got through Christmas Eve and Christmas Day without anyone fighting, yelling, or crying (it happened!). How was this possible, she wondered? Well, her sister-in-law (Chrissy) is a very good mom, and her brother (Brian) is a very good dad. They are relaxed and calm; they just sort of expect the kids to get along, and they do. Most importantly, of course, they set a good example; they are lovingly polite and respectful to both the children and each other, and they let the kids know clearly and consistently what behavior is acceptable (“Oh, Lilah, you are so sweet to share with your brother.”) and what is not (“Noah, buddy, take a deep breath and calm down.”) Mom concluded that this was exactly what the behaviorist at the shelter meant about me picking up on her tension and worry about Skeeter and I getting along. Mom knows that cats aren’t kids, but she decided to take a page from Brian and Chrissy and just chillax, as it were. Also, she has revised her thinking on Skeeter’s position in the home in relation to me. Now, instead of reassuring me that if my delicate sensibilities can’t handle Skeeter’s presence, she will return him to the shelter, she has informed me that Skeeter isn’t going anywhere and I am just going to have to learn to live with him.

So the new order of things is that Skeeter gets to be out of the kitchen except for when Mom is out or sleeping. I still get Mom to myself at night, so that’s okay ...

Well, I have to go help Mom finish unpacking and start getting ready for the party she and Dad are going to tonight. Happy New Year purrs to all!