Archive for Bad Encounters with M/F

Up pulls the taxi cab

I watched from the windowsill Tuesday afternoon as the female arrived back home after a three-night sojourn (location unknown). I was excited to see her, I must admit. When the female is away, the only attention I receive from the male is mostly unwanted. While she was gone, he brought home some wonderfully-sized white boxes. He’s not a fan of sharing however. It’s very difficult for me to pass up a new box opportunity. Not that it matters now, as he already has most of them filled.

Anyway, I saw from the window that the female was finally back. I jumped with joy and then headed to her desk chair. I didn’t want to act too eager when she came home. Compliments like that usually go straight to her head. I was “sleeping” when she got home. I couldn’t resist a little head nuzzling though. As usual, she smelled like mini-human. This is typical after she’s been away for a few days.

The next day, she came back early from work, looking mighty pale. I think maybe she caught some strange disease from the mini-human. Luckily, (I did a bit of research) I am immune to all things mini-human.

She went back to work today, and I thought I’d have a peaceful day to myself, but now the male is refusing to leave. Come on people! I can’t miss you, if you don’t leave! Sure, I may throw in some extra head nuzzling when the female has been gone for awhile but, as they say, familiarity breeds contempt. I am becoming all too familiar with my humans as the week nears its end. I hope they have some more vacations coming up.



I tipped over their glasses of water. I chewed through their power cords. I scratched their arms. I attacked their faces. I disturbed their dreams. I peed on their rug.

Did the thick-headed humans think I just did this for my own amusement?

I get the feeling that humans know when they are doing something wrong. I see that spark of realization hidden in their eyes when I walk in the room. The female knows what she should be doing, but her lazy guilt is not enough to rouse her to action.

It’s impossible to get either of them to behave using logical methods. I can’t say “Hey, clean my toilet box, please. It would make everything much more pleasant for the ol’ olfactories.”

Instead I have to resort to subterfuge, making them think some sort of karma is controlling the results of their actions.

Only now, after peeing on the rug, does the female FINALLY get it. Clean out the cat toilet! There comes a time when I quick grating through the litter just won’t cut it. That time was last month. And when do my toilet box particles finally get replaced? Today.

I’d like to think she’s learned a valuable lesson from all this, but I’m sure I’ll be repeating the first paragraph before too long.

3 Days of Writing

I’m not sure what to make of the female’s mood when she spends the majority of the day in frantic cleaning mode. It always starts out slow, picking up a few dishes and throwing out some trash. Then her eyes start to narrow at every light-blocking smudge on the windows and at my tumblefurs blowing across the concrete floor. Before I can seek cover she is brooming, vacuuming and mopping every surface of the apartment.  I don’t mean to complain because the place was in need of little tidying up, but ever time I tried to ease back into a sunny sleep position on the windowsill, the vacuum was flicked on once again. I don’t mind the noise so much, but ever since she tried to vacuum me I prefer to stay out of the same room as a working vacuum. I don’t think she would make another vacuuming assault in my direction, as we both have painful memories of her last attempt (her pain being of the physical variety). At least the place is clean now and I feel like a can walk across the room without licking the remnants of human sloth off my paws.

I’m not sure what brings on these cleaning fits, but it seems to happen about once a month for her. I like to tidy up my living area before starting on a project, but I’ve yet to see any signs of a new project for her.

On a completely unrelated note, I’ve been thinking about entering the 3-day novel writing contest next weekend. Last year, I watched the male imbibe gross amounts of coffee while pecking away at his laptop for three days and I thought “That could be me.” (Curious readers can check out his story at Scribd)

There are a few reasons I’m reluctant to enter the contest. Firstly, last years winner looks like an idiot. Unfortunately no excerpt of his book is provided to get a clear view of his writing style, but the plot appears to be rather barbaric.  Do humans really need another Chuck Palahniuk churning out their vulgarities? This story may impress the panel of monkeys they have judging the contest, but it feels to me like an easy gimmick.

Secondly, the entrance fee is a rather large hindrance for an unemployed cat. I’m hoping to talk my roommates into fronting me the money. I should have no problem paying them back once my masterpiece reaches the bookshelves.

Thirdly, I require 16 hours minimum of sleep daily.

At least this would give me something to do over the long Labor Day Weekend. Labor Day is one of the more infuriating holidays humans have come up with. As it is, I detest all weekends and I’m not looking forward to another long one. Weekdays give me the structure I need. I get up for my morning saucer of tea and watch the humans get ready for work, then relax in the peace until lunch time comes around. It comforts me knowing that someone has a schedule which I can set my routine to. The 3-day novel writing contest might be a welcome distraction from the chaos of an unscheduled Labor Day weekend. 

Leaving on a jet plane?

The female took her suitcase down after work today and is currently throwing in a large chunk of her closet. I stood in her suitcase and tried a few interrogation tactics to get information regarding her sudden vacation plans, but she was unwilling to cooperate and became irritable when I tried to critique her packing methods. She took down her computer bag as well and now I fear that she will be bringing the laptop along on this exotic vacation. I’m not sure if I can continue to blog without her computer. I may be able to sneek on to the male’s computer. I believe it to be password protected, but I think I can guess his password if given enough time. He seems to like cheese so I’ll start with cheese-related terms and go from there.

Meow Means Meow

The constant harrasement of my being by the male has caused me much stress, hair loss, and weight gain. I say, enough is enough! He approaches the female’s closet when I am in a deep sleep upon her clothing pile, and when I wake I am being airlifted to another part of the loft, completely unknowing of where I will land. Often times I find myself being tossed at some cushy piece of furniture or slid across the floor on my back or being set on top of the female in some precarious position. I will no longer stand for this! Even now when I’m trying to type he is constantly interfering causing me much usage of the backspace key. Enough! Meow means meow!

Stare-off at dusk

The female came home today to draw my sun bath as usual, but for some reason she’s developed a nasty habit of placing her potted plants (non-cat grass variety) in the warmest spot of light. I don’t know if she means it as a nap-time snack but it has become somewhat of a nuisance. I need to find a way to get her to stop doing this, but most of our communications are misconstrued on one side or the other.

Anyway, things have become a bit awkward since I tried, once again, to eat her chewy white cord that plugs into the computer. She has sprayed some sort of bitter layer over all her cords which has left me with a horrible taste in my mouth. When she saw the nibble marks on the cord, I happened to be sitting across from her at the table. No words were exchanged, but nothing would have suited the moment better than an Ennio Morricone number. Yes, indeed, things have grown rather tense here.

Bathtime Horror

A couple times a week, it has become a female ritual to lay in her small pool of warm water, bacteria, and sloth. Oftentimes a glass of wine is involved. This sacred ritual is usually done behind closed doors, but tonight I noticed a door partly ajar and thought it a part of my natural anthropological curiousity to investigate.

Many things were misjudged in this investigation: the width of the pool’s rim, my expanded girth, and most importantly, the slipperiness factor. Still I believe I would have been fine, had she not increased the volume of water in the pool while I was present. Was this a part of the ritual or was she trying to cause a panic. I didn’t mind at first and drew closer to the small waterfall. The heat, however, gave me a fright and I tried to step back and turn around.

Then, and this is very out of character from my usual calm, I panicked! Before I knew what was happening my back legs were in the ritual pool with her. The unsuspected depth made me squirm around even more until I eventually managed to land on the rug outside. I froze in total horror over what had just happened, then darted out of that room as fast as I could.

I have since had time to regain my calm and dry out in the middle of the human-sized bed. While looking back at the incident, what terrifies me most is that I thought I heard a laugh, or perhaps more of a cackle, when taking my leave of the pool room. Oh, the infelinity!