May 25th 2005 2:10 pm
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I'm distressed. My mom heard from somebody that you can buy the little tubes of poison that you're supposed to put on dogs, and measure out smaller doses and put it on cats -- so one vial that works on one big barker will kill the biters on EIGHT cats! You know what that means, don't you? Now she'll be able to afford to put the poison on every cat every month!! I just have to think...which do I hate most -- the biters, or the poison?
February 18th 2005 11:44 am
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grrrrrrrrr! My bean has lost all her patience with me, and now she's just being downright mean! You would think, after all I've done for her, keeping her lap warm and leaving my nice pawprints on everything and my lovely fur on the rugs (strategically placed for optimum effect, of course!) she would be a little more sensitive of my feelings...but lately she has had the *audacity* to compare me to a poodle! As if *I* could ever favor a lowly *barker*! If I had claws, I think I might actually scratch her (only just a little scratch, of course, it doesn't pay to upset the giver of the kibble).
See, I have very sensitive skin. And with as many fur kids as there are living in our house, and many of them spending time outside, it's simply not possible to keep us all flea-free, though mom does try. If I get even ONE of those little biters on me, I lick. And I lick and lick and lick and lick until pretty soon, I don't have any hair on my entire lower end, from my waist to about an inch from the base of my tail.
I don't know if you know this or not, but when a Siamese loses fur, it grows back black at first, then gradually turns its usual creamy color, so when I lick my hair off, the stubble on my back is black and short, and my front hair is long and silky and creamy. Mom calls it my "poodle-do"! Then she tells me I've got a disease called OCD. I know that means Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, I just don't know what it means -- but I'm sure it's not a nice thing to call a cat of royal blood such as myself!
She went to the v-e-t's office and bought some of those little tubes of poison that she squirts on the back of my neck to get rid of the biters. She says it costs a lot of money, so she can't always afford it (thank goodness!) so she tried buying some spray. I hate the poison drops, but boy I hate that spray most of ALL! After she uses it on me, I won't speak to her or let her touch me sometimes for days and days!
It's not fair that I should suffer so. The other cats get biters, but *they* don't have to lick and lick and lick and lick -- though I don't know how they can *not* do it! Why do you suppose there's any such thing as biters? What *possible* good are they? Can't somebody figure out how to wipe them *all* off the face of the entire earth?? I bet my mom would contribute some money to that cause. Maybe some smart cat can invent a bomb that would kill every flea everywhere forever. Any ideas?
January 21st 2005 11:35 am
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You don't know me. If you're reading this diary, you have seen a photo of me and been attracted by my beauty, my wit and my wisdom, as well you should be, for I am descended from the purest royal blood and am worthy of worship.
Before I came to my current residence, I lived with my birth mother and her adopted family. When I was two years old, the human female was expecting a litter of humans and was told she could no longer change our royal litterbox, so she sought out a new home for me and my mother. In those days I was known as George.
My current human mother took me and my mother, Toonces, but my cat mom did not adapt well to the change and after a short while she went back to live in our original home where, I am told, she lived several more years before tragically sucumbling to pancreatitis.
My name was changed from George to Methos, which sounds much more worthy of my royal highness, and I settled into a life of luxury where I am catered to and given the attention I so richly deserve.
We don't get very many visitors to our home, but now and again, some friend of my human mom's will come and they all want to pet me because my fur is so long and beautiful and soft...how dare they!? No one touches the King of Cats in such a familiar fashion! Being a cat, and somewhat cruel by nature, my favorite game is to tease these human visitors. I sit just outside their reach, and regard them steadily with my sapphire blue eyes...but as soon as they start to reach for me, cooing and cajoling, I move just out of reach. Each time they try to get closer, I move. I do not run away -- that would be beneath my dignity -- I get *just* far away enough that I can still be admired, but not touched.
If they begin to ignore me, I jump up on the sofa or coffee table and tease them a bit with my piercing stare, until they turn their attention back to me, and the game begins again. Humans, for the most part, are so dumb and predictable, don't you think?
My throne is the lap or the arm of my bean's recliner, where I recline in catly splendor and allow *my* human to caress me. She knows not to touch my tail. I don't like that at all. When I lived in my birth home, there was a young human kitten who pulled it and hurt me, so now I do not like to have my tail touched in any way. Mother forgets sometimes, and strokes the length of it, and I let her, because she's very good to me, but I prefer my tail to be left quite alone.
Someday, when I am bored again, or have something special to say, I will add another entry to this diary. For now, I have important duties to be seen to about the house, so I must away.