Phoebe


Domestic Shorthair
Picture of Phoebe, a female Domestic Shorthair

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Home:Spreckels, CA/Cottage Grove, OR  [I have a diary!]  
Age: 5 Years   Sex: Female

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   Leave a treat for Phoebe

Birthday:
November 1st 2008

Arrival Story:
Our son and his girlfriend adopted Phoebe from the local shelter as a Christmas present for my wife, who had expressed a strong interest in getting a new kitten after our previous cat, Katie, died.

I've Been On Catster Since:
January 12th 2009 More than 5 years!

Rosette, Star and Special Gift History

Catster Id:
943105


Meet my family
Dexter Nova
Bright Star
Bill

Meet my Feline Friends
See all my Feline Friends
See all my Feline Friends
 

C'est Moi!


Ungrateful peasants!

June 26th 2009 10:27 am
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I thought they would be proud! But, non. Evidemment, they are offended. It seems they want me to hunt, yes. But they would prefer that I restrict my ministrations to les rodents. And they would particularly prefer that I not bring my little playmates in through le catdoor in the middle of the night for, shall we say--purrrrrrrrrrr, purrrr, purr--le gran sleepover.

Pfffft!, I say. To be a chat, it is to be a killer. Not a dainty, selective killer. Non! It is to be--how shall we say it?--an equal opportunity killer. If a salamander should present itself to my claws, am I to deny it? Mais non! He must receive equal treatment. And if his blood soaks in, a little bit, to the hardwood floor... pish what is that to me? Less than nothing. And if, two nights in a row, some little bird, it should cross my path? Well. The little bird, it will be found lifeless among its lovely feathers on the living room rug in the morning. That is the way of things.

Do not look to me to deny my nature.

And to sleep the sleep of the hunter, with just a trace of blood on the palette... ah, delightful! I shall have to ask le Dex-tair what shadows taste like.

 

Le Great Outdoors, it gets dark at night!

May 9th 2009 1:03 pm
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I have lost my magic collar!

Magnetic collar, Phoebe.

Phffffft! It is much the same thing, is it not?

If you like.

Just so. I have lost my magic collar somewhere yesterday during my (daylight!) peregrinations throughout le Great Outdoors. And without it, our house, it is like le Hotel California, only quite otherwise: You can check in any time you like, but you can never enter!

Yesterday afternoon, I came home from a little chase. I bounded up le backstairs and across le porch. I made to enter le catdoor at speed, as has become my custom. But no! C’est bump, and I cannot enter! Only then do I note that my magic collar, it is gone!

I can look through the catdoor, because it is transparent (though more than a little besnotted by le Dex-tair's great snout, I must add). And what should I see through the glass darkly--speaking of le Dex-tair--than the great snout itself, staring back at me.

"Dex-tair," I purr seductively, "run and tell the man that I must be let in. Immediately. Chop, chop, Dex-tair!"

"I think not, Your Highness," he dares to say! "I don't think the biped needs to be bothered with this little matter. Not just yet, at any rate. Have a nice night out there with the wild things, Phoebe. I’ll see you in the morning, I'm sure. Well, almost sure. Ta ta now!"

And so it was that I did have to spend the night out with the wild things! I did not get back in until very early this morning, when the man let le Dex-tair out through the human door to perform his morning ablutions.

Perhaps having one's own footman is better than le catdoor, after all.

 

Inside out with delight

April 11th 2009 3:18 pm
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I have been shown the door. Le catdoor. Yes, my people, it is official--I am now an inside/outside cat.

As it turns out, I could have gone out le catdoor at any time, had I only known such a thing was possible. Le Dex-tair has misled me, it appears. But it is just as well, I suppose--which does not mean that I will not punish him!--the getting back inside requires the magnetic collar, which only today have I been given.

Now I may come and go at my very whim. Inside. Outside. All around the yard. And particularly under the deck where the mices hide.

Here is an interesting thing: Inside, le Dex-tair does not wish to play with me. Every time I spring upon his head, he either ignores me--if he is standing up--or growls at me--if he is lying upon the floor attempting to sleep. But outside, le Dex-tair very much wishes to play with me, and it is I who wish to be excused. I run away. I climb trees. I hide behind bushes. And then...

I run like the wind, through the back gate, up the back stairs, and through... le catdoor! Where le Dex-tair cannot follow! Oh, this will be great fun, I think.

 
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