I'm outnumbered ... oh the horror!

Good afternoon, Catster Cats. I must say, it's been awhile, and I hope you have all been well. I do keep myself busy enjoying my life of leisure, bossing Tanner around, and keeping myself looking fabulous, but I could not keep quiet about this latest development.

Now, before I fill you in on what's been happening, I know that some might say I only use this blog to complain, caterwaul, and otherwise air the occasional grievance, but really my friends, that is not the case. I assure you that my disposition is really quite charming most of the time, but my patience is, it's true, sorely tried by that pesky younger brother of mine, who is always trying to use his brawn (I'll give him this - he sorely needs it, because he certainly doesn't have many brains to speak of, unlike some other stunningly gorgeous calicos I could mention ... but I digress) to push me around. He just does NOT seem to understand that I am a LADY, and what's more I am a CALICO, and as such, I do not enjoy roughhousing, bug hunting, or any other such common behavior. Frankly, it's enough of an insult to my finer sensibilities when Mom insists on serving me my meals on a regular plate instead of that fancy crystal dish the Persian on TV uses. Some cats get all the perks, I guess. The point is, I have enough to deal with without my brother trying to entice me to engage in his decidedly plebian pursuits.

So ... my news....

A few weeks ago Mom came home smelling ... well, disgusting, to put none to fine a point on it. She smelled like ... KITTEN! Stray feral kitten, to be exact, a smell I recognized instantly, as I once, a very long time ago, had smelled exactly the same way, though I shudder to recall it now. I was, understandably, put off by this stench, and looked anxiously about the house to see whether Mom had brought the source of the stench home with her. Fortunately, she had not, but each day she returned home from the place she calls work ...

Sidebar: I used to go to work with her when I was a baby, and quite honestly from what I could tell it looked like all she did was talk on the phone all day and tap her paws on the keyboard. It didn't look all that hard to me - I can't imagine why she says it stresses her out so much sometimes?) ...

... smelling like KITTEN! As the days went by the feral smell decreased, so Mom must have given him a bath. And I heard her talking on the phone about what to do with this kitten, as I anxiously peeled my ears for any word that she intended to bring IT home. Therefore, I was elated one Friday evening a few weeks ago to hear her telling one of my aunts that she had just come from driving IT to ITS new home. I breathed a sigh of relief at this news, and relaxed my vigil, but just a scant two days later, she arrived home not only smelling like IT, but actually CARRYING IT in a carrier bag similar to ... no exactly like ... MINE. In fact, it WAS mine!

Which, of course, was inexcusable enough, but it didn't stop there! She THEN proceeded to rearrange the sunroom which is by far my favorite room in the house because HELLO!!!!! it gets lots of SUN!!!!! ... and make it into a sanctuary rooom for this interloping little good for nothing that she was calling by the name of Finn and cooing to like an idiot. When she kissed it on its pointy little nose, I actually coughed up a hairball in my mouth!

I could go into further detail about how she took such care to arrange the room for IT - er Finn's - comfort, and took out of the rustly plastic bags all sorts of new toys and a cardboard scratchy thing that had catnip sprinkled all over it and then shut him inside there and shut ME out! But ... I won't. Well, ok, I just did. So sue me.

Now fast forward a couple of weeks later, and though my perfectly pink little nose was decidedly out of joint for a few days, I have reconciled myself to the inevitable. I even ... dare I say ... somewhat appreciate the little wretch, as Tanner has apparently decided, thank goodness, that Finn is a much more willing sparring partner and insect-hunting companion than I would ever deign to be. Yesterday we touched noses. Ok, I admit - he doesn't smell all that bad anymore.

Purrs,

Olivia

My Latest Tale Of Woe

Dear Catsters,

As you know, I am loathe to complain ... and yet, I feel I have no choice but to cry foul. (Or fowl, as the case may be.)

For the most part, I approve of the way Mom cares for me, and I know that she tries especially hard to make sure that I, and my brothers and sister, get yummy things to eat that are also as good for us as they can possibly be.

She also likes to make sure that we get enough variety, so that we don't get bored with our food. So recently, she ordered us this new food which I won't say the name of in case that would hurt the food company's feelings. But it is a grain-free food (not Evo, I like that one a lot!) and Mom got a variety pack in a few different flavors, like beef, chicken, quail, salmon, tuna, and turkey. Mom normally doesn't let us eat too much fish, even though we like it a lot, but she thought since it was in the variety pack she'd let it slide. We haven't had any of of the fish flavors yet, but Tanner and I both despise the quail, turkey, and chicken, and we rarely agree on ANYTHING! I was polite enough to take a nibble or two, but Tanner wouldn't eat even a bite, and he will usually eat anything that isn't nailed down.

Frankly, I don't hold out much hope for the tuna or salmon, either, but I'm trying to keep an open mind, because Mom is disappointed, because she thinks the food is really good for us. The dog siblings eat their food all the time and they love it. Of course, dogs will eat all sorts of things that I would never dream of eating, but that's another story.

I sure hope Mom doesn't buy us that food again. I've tried to be polite, since it was an experiment, but if she tries to make us eat that all the time, I may have to take matters into my own paws. Tanner, actually, has already done this -he just pushes both of our bowls off onto the floor, and then the dogs scarf it down and Mom has to feed us something else. Not exactly the best table manners, but definitely effective.

I Feel Pretty!

Actually, I feel pretty all the time ... and I AM stunning, (just ask anyone - except maybe my bratty little brother, Tanner, because he might not tell the truth!) ... but I feel especially pretty right now, because on Saturday I had a spa day.

Now, I know what you're thinking ... cats don't like water. And, my feline friends, I am generally no exception to that rule. However, I do enjoy being pampered and fussed over, so I put up with the water part as a necessary evil. Plus, spa days only happen once every two months or so, because Mom doesn't want to dry out my delicate skin with too much bathing.

First, though, I get a pedicure. Mom trims the sharp points off my tootsies so that just in case I would do something unladylike, such as trying to scratch her, I wouldn't hurt her too badly. (Just for the record, I have never scratched Mom - at least not on purpose. If you accidentally dig your claws in when you are soaking wet and getting lifted out of the tub, that doesn't count!)

After my pedicure, I get in the bathtub and sit on a plushy towel (I am far too delicate to sit or stand on the cold, hard, not to mention very slippery, surface of the bathtub). Next, I am carefully wet down with warm water (not too hot, and CERTAINLY NOT TOO COLD!) and then gently washed with my special shampoo. Some special drops for my ears, and I'm ready to rinse. Then comes the part I like best ... being wrapped up in a nice, warm towel fresh from the dryer. After I am toweled dry, Mom wipes out my ears with a cotton ball and makes sure there is no water left in there ... I HATE having water in my ears! A nice warm (again, just like Goldilocks, I like things not too hot, not too cold, but JUST RIGHT!) blowdry on low speed just to take the chill off and I'm ready to spend a leisurely afternoon grooming myself, and once I'm completely dry, Mom brushes me until I'm shiny.

I won't even DISCUSS the part where she brushes my teeth, but for the most part I love spa days!

Purrs,

Olivia

Mee-Yow!

Dear Friends,

I hate to begin my very first diary entry with a complaint, and yet the indignity of what I am currently being subjected to is just too overwhelming to keep quiet about.

Before you read further, let me give you fair warning - your well-groomed fur will quite literally stand on end as I relate to you the tale of woe that is currently passing for one of my nine lives.

I have been ... in a word ... abandoned. Mom has left for two entire days and nights, and has had the audacity to cart along my two canine siblings (whom I generally adore, but am presently furious with) and leave me home alone with the brattiest kitten on the face of the earth. True, at two years old, he is not technically a kitten any longer, and yet I maintain that he has simply not achieved the maturity and implacable dignity required to be referred to as a cat. What he is is an oaf ... a thirteen and a half pound train wreck who seems to live to make my existence as trying as possible.

I trust you will take me at my word when I tell you that, as the older sibling, and the ruler of this roost (Mom may think she's in charge, but, my furry friends, we all know better, don't we?), I have done my best to impart some of my limitless wisdom to my younger, wayward sibling, and to encourage him to conduct himself with the sort of decorum that our fair species has been famous for since the ancient Egyptians were so wise as to revere us as gods. (Which brings me to something I have long wondered, and I hope you will forgive me this brief sidebar: what, I ask you, has happened to those days?) Alas, however, he has proved impervious to my teachings, and although I keep trying, I sometimes wonder if he will ever learn.

But to get back to my primary complaint for a moment ... I just cannot imagine what a cat as perfect ... excuse me ... purrfect as I could have done to have deserved this abandonment by the mother who usually cares for me with such devotion. Mom calls these periodic defections "vacations", but, I ask you, exactly what does she need a vacation from? Everything one could want is right here at home, and while I certainly have no wish to be dragged along by plane, car or other conveyance to some foreign locale where I cannot be assured of the creature comforts I have come to expect, it would be nice to at least be invited along. At least, then, I could have the satisfaction of a disdainful rejection to soothe my injured feelings.

Of one thing you can be sure ... I will find some way to make her pay.

Must run now ... this big lug of a brother of mine is chewing on my ears.

Purrs,

Olivia