It's 11 O'Clock---Do You Know Where Your Cat Is??

Everybody wants to be a cat,

because a cat's the only cat

who knows where it's at.

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("Everybody Wants to be a Cat", Disney Lyrics)

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Blaine has really done it now.

He gave one of our cats some turkey on Thanksgiving. And now that damn cat is hooked.

Who understands cats?? I certainly don't. And yet I try in vain, day after day, to reason with these stubborn creatures.

Currently I'm having a problem with one of our cats, named "Little Baby" ----a cat so completely obstinate that I almost can't comprehend it. I warned Blaine not to give her "people food". Oh, how I warned him. I told him that giving her real food instead of cat food would "surely ruin her". But does Blaine ever listen to me? Nooooooooooo. So he did it anyway, giving Little Baby some nice juicy turkey meat on Thanksgiving, placing a big handful into her saucer while declaring generously that "cats should have Thanksgiving, too".

And he created a turkey-addicted monster.

Because, immediately, that idgit Little Baby promptly decided she adored turkey meat so enormously that she wanted some more RIGHT NOW. To my chagrin, it appears that she is craving it all the time, even to the point of rejecting her expensive brands of wet and dry cat food while insisting we give her turkey instead. In fact, ever since she tasted that stupid turkey she has been constantly meowing and meowing at us while pointing at her saucer whenever we go into the kitchen---telling us in cat language that she wants some more damn turkey.

But the simple fact of life is this: she simply CAN'T HAVE turkey every day, just like I told Blaine in the first place. And I most certainly haven't put anymore in her saucer since those fateful tidbits on Thanksgiving. But that fact has not deterred Little Baby one bit. And she has become so irate at not getting any more turkey that she has taken to persistently sitting by her saucer in defiance, around the clock, almost in an act of rebellion---as if to demonstrate that if we don't put turkey in there she will simply SIT THERE UNTIL WE DO.

You should see this idiot cat. Ever since that first morsel of turkey touched her delicate little cat lips she has insisted on sitting by that stupid saucer, hour by hour, day after day, morning--noon--night, hoping against hope that she can break our will and force us to put more turkey in that saucer.

Sometimes she sits so damn close to that saucer that she is almost LAYING IN IT.

I've even found her SLEEPING there, as if she doesn't want to leave for fear she'll miss the one time we put more turkey in there.

"Look what you did!" I exclaim to Blaine each time I walk into the kitchen and see that stupid cat sitting there. "I told you not to feed her turkey. Now she thinks she can force us to do her bidding. It's been 5 days since Thanksgiving and she still hasn't moved from that dish. What does she think this is? The 60's--- where you could plop yourself down on the ground in a 'sit-in' as a sign of protest? Why... I ought to handcuff her and hawl her off to cat jail for illegal loitering in a public place."

"Just explain to her that we won't have any more turkey until probably Christmas," Blaine suggests calmly, as if that would solve the problem. "Or take her to one of your AA meetings and have her introduce herself as a turkey-holic, heh!!!"

And then--- like an obliging fool --- I'll stand there and try to reason with Little Baby. But it does no good. I can explain things to her until I'm blue in the face and the cows come home, vainly explaining over and over that THERE IS NO MORE TURKEY---but she refuses to budge. In fact, SHE IS STILL SITTING THERE AS WE SPEAK.

In fact, it never does me any good to explain ANY DADGUM THING to Little Baby---or our other cat Leonard--- or any OTHER cat I've ever had, for that matter. They are too stubborn to listen to me. And I should know---I've raised a lot of cats.

Here are some of the observations I've made about these frustrating animals during my cat-raising history:

1. They are just plain RUDE. Have you ever tried reasoning with one? They don't even have the common decency to look you in the eyeballs while you're speaking to them---and sometimes they'll even pointedly turn their head away, as if you're BOTHERING them.

2. They are STUBBORN AS MULES. (See pictures of Little Baby sitting by the saucer, waiting earnestly till frigging doomsday for some more turkey to magically rain down from the heavens.)

3. They will NEVER, EVER play with any toy that is given to them for that purpose---nay, they will ONLY play with some object they are not supposed to have, like my knitting yarn, my house plants, or Blaine's cigarrette lighters (which they amuse themselves by shoving under the couch on purpose so that he can't find them.)

4. If you sacrifice a ball of yarn for them to play with, hoping against hope that this will divert their attention, causing them to leave your other yarn alone---it DOES NOT fool them one single bit. No, they will stop playing with it the very minute they realize they are "allowed" to have this ball of yarn--- and will then commence to playing with the forbidden objects once again.

5. They actually LOOK FOR WAYS to annoy the hell out of you. For example, they will sleep quietly all day long---but then the minute you want peace and quiet as you lay your head down to sleep at night, they will then begin noisily playing with the window blinds in order to disturb your sleep. And if you lock them out of the bedroom, they will LOUDLY PAW AT THE DOOR, over and over, no matter how much you yell at them to stop it--- until you think you're going mad.

6. Whenever you scold one they will gaze at you with a completely insolent expression on their face, almost like a sassy teenager remarking "WHATEVER!"

7. If they are messing with something they're not supposed to play with, like your best houseplant or a dried flower arrangement, you can holler "No!" a hundred times from your comfortable position on the couch----but they will not actually stop playing with it until you are FORCED TO GET UP from your comfortable position to come swat at them---and ONLY THEN will they stop what they're doing and run from you while staying just out of swat-reach. (Oh yes indeed, they knew EXACTLY how comfortable you were and that you didn't want to have to get up yet again....)

8. They think they should be the ones to run the world---and that I am the main obstacle to them achieving their ultimate goal of declaring a cat monarchy. Their plan is to eliminate me by driving me so insane that I am permanently committed to an asylum, whereby they can then live in bliss while being waited on hand and foot by Blaine. (Yes, I've even seen Blaine showing them TWO flavors of canned cat food, asking them "to pick" whichever is their fancy at the moment.)

9. And if you ever attempt to get them INSIDE something----like, say, a cat-carrier for a trip to the vet---they will NOT COME TO YOU. Even if you tempt them with an entire opened can of tuna fish, they will not come near you and you will exhaust yourself trying to catch them. Sweet words and honey-dripping talk from your smiling lips will not convince them one iota. (And gritting your teeth while angrily muttering something like "Come here you little asshole!" definitely doesn't work either, trust me.)

10. And if cats see you approaching their vicinity, they will immediately and deliberately move right into your direct PATHWAY so that you TRIP over them, nearly killing yourself.

11. They will figure out where you want to sit---and then they'll sit THERE. If you ask them to move they will regard you with wide-eyed horror, as if you had just asked them to eat crushed glass or something. (They have the nerve to act like it's YOU who is the rude one.)

12. And lastly, they are horribly SNEAKY. If they know that you are keeping a particular room's door closed in order that they not enter and mess things up in there (like your yarn stash), they will hang around in the distance quietly, looking innocent, until you open that door for some reason--- and then they'll suddenly streak between your legs into that room----and you will NEVER get them out.

Only once did I ever win a battle with a cat. It was a few years ago, when I was still legally married to Blaine. It was in this exact house. (And I may have told you this story before---if I did, forgive me.)

It was right after Halloween and I had come home from work early. But just before I entered the house I remembered my recent battle with the cats about the dining room table. Of all the places in the house that the cats drape their royal selves over, I draw the line at the dining room table----I believe that any furniture which is meant for food consumption should be free of cat hair and cat paw prints.

I allow them sit anywhere else but the dining room table, okay?

So on this day I wanted to see if they were following my dictates---or if they were being naughty, as my cats are frequently wont to do when they think I'm not around.

So I very quietly and surreptitiously turned the key in the front door's lock---and then, like an avenging cat-terrorist SWAT team, I BURST INTO THE LIVING ROOM BY SURPRISE.

And yes....just as I suspected----THERE SHE WAS. One of our cats was sitting her fat little self right on the dining room table, big as you please, content in the knowledge that I was supposed to be at work and therefore wouldn't witness this transgression.

But she didn't count on me coming home from work early in a surprise attack.

"Ah HAH!!!!" I screamed maniacally. "I CAUGHT YOU RED-PAWED you little butt-head! GET YOURSELF OFF THAT DANG TABLE RIGHT THIS MINUTE!"

But she deliberately hesitated, leveling an unconcerned, arrogant gaze towards me as if to say she would jolly well sit wherever the hell she liked--- "WHATEVER!" ----and SHE DIDN'T MOVE.

And then by pure reflex, blinded by righteous fury, I noticed the nearby leftover Halloween candy dish. And before I realized what I was doing, I scooped up a stray Three Musketeers mini-candy bar and then hurled it towards the startled, ill-mannered cat--- bonking her neatly on the top of her head with it!

And then she ran, by golly, mortified, I'm sure, that I had made such a skillful bulls-eye on her self-righteous noggin---and probably mad as hell that I'd figured out a way to get her off the table without having to run myself breathless chasing her--- and also completely indignant that I had made her look foolish in front of our other cat.

Now, please understand that I normally don't recommend cat-abuse, name-calling, or throwing Halloween candy for dealing with cat misbehavior--- but on that nerve-frazzled day, my poor self-control and handy Three Musketeers candy bar definitely solved the problem. None of our cats have ever sat on the dining room table since, and my dinners are now served on a clean, cat-hair-free surface.

Sigh.....

I think Little Baby is sitting by her saucer again. I suppose that's alright....

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7.