Some boxes seem bigger on the inside. The nice thing about being a cat is our flexibility. Now, I'm not just talking about the flexibility one must possess when living with the large furless humans, but that is definetly a must! Humans, probably because of their size, sometimes seem to think that they run the show, but we know better, don't we. (Just think about all of the times we stretch out on their activities, and as a reward, they pet us and coo at us, and make us feel loved. Speaking of which, I think I see some laundry that needs folding and is decidedly too hairless...

(20 MINS LATER)

Now I'm back, where was I? Ah yes, a cat's wonderful flexibility. Besides being able to do yoga while having a bath, and being able to fit into tight spaces that we can then attack the humans from, cats are incredibly resillient in the face of the whims of the large hairless beasts with which we live.  Humans often seem to operate on a schedule of sorts, which dictates when then (and unfortunately when we,) should eat. When a cat is hungry, we feed. End of story. Therefore, it can be very frustrating to have to wait until the humans are ready to open a can, or drop down a few treats throughout the day. Yes, I know a lot of us have kibble constantly at our desposal, but really, if a human isn't serving us directly, I consider it more of a self-scavanged snack, rather than a meal.

Then there is the perceived language barrier. (I say perceived because we can fully understand most of the gutteral sounds humans throw at us, but if we jumped when they grunted "jump", we might not get away with half of our most enjoyed pass-times).  I could be laying on a sewing project, or laundry, or a book the little ones are trying to read, or a paper the humans are trying to write on, and I actually have to wait till after a series of gutteral squacks and grunts from the hairless ones are uttered, to be petted! I don't care what you're saying, just pet me! If I wanted to have a conversation with you, I would talk to you the way the rest of the animal kingdom does, through body language. So come on big hairless ones, talk with your hands, on my back, and under my chin, and on the back of my neck...purr. Oh, and by the way, when a cat purrs, he or she is not saying "I love you", we are saying "don't stop", and you should listen.

So with these things in mind, the next time you are frustrated that you must wait for your feline to move from something you misguidedly feel is important, remember how long we've been waiting for you, each and every day. Take it to heart, give me a pat, listen when I purr, grab a can...feed me.

The down side of having a hurt paw is that I seem to have been robbed of my precious and beloved outside time. The humans have decided that I need rest to recover, (I'll be thanking the vet for that one later). Since I enjoy my time outside so much by climbing trees (and jumping down), perching on fence posts (and jumping down),  Hanging out on the porch (and jumping down), and just jumping up on (and down from) anything that I deem will give me a good vantage point, they've all decided that if I'm allowed out, I may continue to re-injure my paw. Inside is no better, they won't let me jump at all.

The humans have decided I need help doing everything. The mini-humans have begun to make it their life's mission to take over all (but one, thank goodness, I doubt the little beastie would fit into my private covered kitty litter), aspects of my life. Cans are brought to me (which is fine, but I hate eating lying down). The mini-humans have also decided that I require the same things to get better as they do when they are sick, so I have been dealing with so much love lately. I have been covered in warm blankets, they have inundated me with stuffed animals any time I try to catch a nap, and they even help me up onto and down from furniture (sometimes whether I'm ready to move to or not).

Don't they have anything better to do? Can't they get jobs? Why do they have to love me so much when I clearly just barely tolerate them? Oh the folly of it all! I am perched in the window, staring longingly at great outdoors, and tiny feet are coming. Can't you see that I want to be alone?  What are you doing? Oh, wait, petting me? Well yes, I suppose you have gotten rather better at that, even if you still try to pick me up with my back end in the air and my hurt paw on the ground.  Oh, the neck, yes, that's it...a little to the left, mmm-hmm, that's the spot. Oh mini-human, don't get too excited, I'm just purring, but it's more for me than you. How about the sides of my face? Yes, that's it. Alright, maybe you're not so bad. Perhaps when you're done here you can go ahead and get me another can. I suppose I can allow you to give me a little more love...feed me.

*If you like this blog, you might want to check out my new blog: www.scienceandcraftsforkids.blogspot.ca
Or check out my website or books! www.reillybooks.com

The Downfall of being High Up

Being up high is wonderful until a bad landing brings you down.  Let us examine the many reasons that many felines like myself enjoy climbing or jumping to a position of loftiness.

Reason 1: Because we can.
Reason 2: Felines in general should never be looked down on.
Reason 3: If we expect our humans to look up to us, we must put ourselves in a position that forces them to do so, they so often need our guidance, you see.
Reason 4: Because we can.
Reason 5: Why not?
Reason 6: Being high up in a tree brings us closer to possible nests, and therefore fast food in the literal sense.
Reason 7: See reasons 1 & 4.
Reason 8: A higher vantage point affords us a better look around, so we can be ever vigilant against foes crossing into our territory, food crossing into our territory, or more land that will become more of our territory.
Reason 9: Indoors, climbing and jumping allows us to see out of windows that we may not be able to see out of otherwise, and it's more convenient when we're feeling lazy and don't want to have to wait for a human to open a door for us to see what's going on outside, before immediately coming back in, and out, and in.
Reason 10: It allows us to claim things for our own that are special to the humans. After all, they've gone to all of that trouble to position the things up where the mini humans can't get them...but we can.

Now personally, one of my favourite places to sleep is on one of the larger human's over-night bag that is kept packed on the top of the tallest bookshelf.  It happens to be positioned between two doorways, and has a perfect view not only of most of the house, but also gives me a vantage point out the front and back doors.  Also, no one else comes up here and the mini-humans can't reach, therefore it is mine. Now, I'm an excellent jumper.  I don't bother wasting time with taking smaller steps down from most things that I jump and climb on.  Instead, I exhibit my agility and prowess by simply jumping all the way down to the ground. I am chagrined to say that this time it has been my downfall.

I am afraid that I landed awkwardly. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure exactly what happened. It's possible that I was distracted by the sound of an opening can or the click of the laser pointer, but I can't say for sure.  All I know is that for weeks I haven't been able to walk on it properly.  The bad side of this is that felines rarely if ever choose to show any weakness, and I'm afraid everyone noticed right away and made a fuss. The good news is that I've been able to milk this for all it's worth, and the fuss continues. My humans do everything for me now, from lifting me up onto the bed or couch, or a nice vantage point near an opened window so I can smell all the good smells that I'm missing outside, to lifting me down from anything I am up on, just so I don't keep re-injuring my paw.

He he he! The humans even bring me my can of food to wherever I'm sitting or lounging at the time! Now, this is a delicate balancing act that I'm having to maintain.  One day I made the mistake of lowering my paw and attempted to limp on it.  The humans caught wind of this and the food can was returned to the bowl area because I was "getting better." Well, I made sure to jump down off of something in front of the humans, which put them all in a panic, how grand! Anyway, I was able to resume being tri-pedal, which I've gotten very good at, and the cans have once again come to me covered in salmon oil as my "medicine."

The best part of the whole endeavour was when they took me to the vet. Now, I've seen the other cats in my home become a whirling dirvish of teeth and claws when it comes to the cat carrier, but I like to keep my humans guessing. I watched my older humans worry and stress out about the appointment for days leading up to it. Finally, when the time came, they opened the door to the carrier, ready to force me into it wearing oven mits and arming themselves with a towel.  Well, you should have seen the shock on their faces when I simply walked in, laid down, and began to purr. We carried on to the vet, who massaged me, petted me, told me what a good cat I am (of course I am as long as you keep up the petting, bub,) and even took me into a room to take x-rays. It wasn't so bad, all I had to do was lie there (which I would do anyway,) and get stroked and cooed at, and let's face it, who doesn't love that?  I was returned to my humans, and then to my home with nothing but a glowing review and a couple of doses of medicine.  I even overheard them telling my bigger human to keep giving me the salmon oil! The vet is great. We should go back there more often. I know I'm a good cat. I know I'm simply priceless, so now why don't you do what you do best...feed me.

Boxes are wonderful nondescript hiding places, but drawers work well too.  The trick to really hiding from, or scaring the bejeezus out of a human, is to hid while they're not looking. This can require a good deal of observing your humans to become familiar with their habits when opening and closing drawers.  After all, you don't want to ruffle your fur or get a paw or tail caught due to their clumsiness or nonobservance. Therefore, learn the signs that your humans exhibit before taking a chance at an opened drawer.  Things to look for:

1) The speed at which your human is walking
2) The speed of their guttural utterances
3) The volume of their attempted speech

These things can all be cues to how much of a rush your human is in.  If their gait and speed are rushed, they are likely what they call LATE, (Laziness Attributing to Tardy Endeavors), and if their voices are raised, and possibly accompanied by cursing, my advice is to just avoid them completely. To approach a human in this state will produce fruitless yields. In this harried frame of mind, they're not going to stop to feed you, (trust me, I've tried). If you choose that time to stroll gracefully across their path, you can be sure there will be no petting, and worse, they may trip, and though you'll be secretly laughing inside, it might land you outside on a drizzly rainy day.

Instead, watch for when your humans are stuck in one spot doing something they don't enjoy but are required to do, like laundry.  This usually happens in the middle of one of those days that the humans are house-bound, so you might as well take advantage of their logy dispositions. I have found that since the coming of the mini-humans, now the large ones will leave the room to stuff the miniature naked body coverings into spaces in the mini-humans' room. If perchance the large human quits the bedroom you are in with an awkward armload, look to see if they have left you an opened drawer.  A good system is to sprawl out on the top of the dresser so you can act fast the second they leave. Then you can quickly drop down into the drawer and slither in against the back of it so that the socks or shirts can partially obscure you. Now you are camouflaged well and can plan your next step, be it sleeping, or waiting until the human returns and reaches in an unsuspecting hand with another pair of folded socks.

If you're lucky, and let's be honest, as long as there are mini-humans in the house, there is a good possibility of the following happening; one of the little hairless things will spill or break something, leaving you a good chunk of undisturbed time to have a well deserved nap. The other wonderful side to this is that when they attempt to wear the body coverings at a later time, you will successfully have left your mark on them. After a good long nap, during which time they are forced to leave their folding, I kindly remind them that they can take another quick break as I stretch and meow...feed me.

When humans invite more humans to come over, it is such a chore.  It's almost impossible to sleep with the constant communication of guttural noises and grunts, and the need for constant movement in order to remain the centre of attention.  Inevitably, a box will be opened on a central table, and cards, papers, and little pieces made of plastic or wood will appear.  These will be laid out on the table in some format or pattern. Their talking begins to come in turns, which they call a GAME.  I believe this to stand for Guttural Announcements Making Enjoyment, as it is often paired with boisterous laughter which comes in unladylike guffaws.

These GAMEs are another reason it is almost impossible to sleep when company comes over.  I have tried to participate in these GAMEs by sitting myself daintily on the table in the midst of their GAME items, but they don't seem to understand my refined mode of speech. This is when I try to play along by batting around their tantalizing little pieces. Instead of the normal guffaws following my turn however, I am instead banished to a nearby stack of blankets.

The Guffaws continue, and I remain awake.  Another down side to company coming is that the humans are so busy preparing for the visit, that they often forget to open a fresh can for me on time.  So There I am forced to lay, hungry and awake, and missing my beauty rest. Thankfully, it is only a matter of time before the company leaves, and 4:00 am rolls around.  If the humans find it entertaining to keep me up, then I will gladly repay the favour.  

The plan follows thusly: First, I will silently jump up on the bed and begin to walk back and forth on the bed, curling up somewhere around their feet.  My accompanied purring lulls them back into a deep, comfortable sleep. After their breathing has once again become deep and rhythmic, I will rise, and walk across them from one side to the other, back and forth until they stir.  If they don't stir, I might add in a quiet "meow," to let them know I appreciate them.  After all, who doesn't want to feel appreciated and loved in the dead of night? This is sometimes when a flying pillow or flailing arm will attempt to forcefully move me, however, that just adds the necessary bit of danger to make the revenge all the sweeter. Once they have settled down again, it is time to really annoy them. I will take the direct path up their body to the human's face. Here, I have so many options available to me.  I can sleep on it's hair, tickle their face with the fur on my tail, bat at their nose, or lick their soft lips with my sandpaper tongue. (That's always fun, and comes with it's own Guttural Announcement Making Enjoyment for me!). In the end, we both get what we want. The humans come out of their slumber enough to realize that the only way they will get me to leave off, is by getting up...dragging themselves through the cold air to the other room...and after stumbling around in the dark for a can...feed me.

It takes a lot of agility and skill to be able to make what the humans call a "kitty taco", or my favourite, the "Amazing Kitty Taco", or AKT. I love hiding, what cat doesn't, and being able to create cover for oneself in their surroundings is a very useful tool when stalking ankles, other cats, or when trying to avoid the mini-humans. This is advantageous when you just want to be left alone. You see, they haven't quite learned yet to look in things to find other things they may be searching for.  Poor things, one day they'll learn how much richer their lives can be if they start looking in the bag of cookies instead of at it. Of course, they might, if they had the jumping skills that I have, but let's face it, bipedal humans have as much skill in speed and jumping as a sloth trying to cross the road. (Alright, if we're going to be honest, they have slightly more skill than that, but my mini-humans haven't found their true potential yet, so my previous statement, for the moment, stands).

Making an "Amazing Kitty Taco" is versatile, be cause you can do it almost anywhere; the rug by the door, (a bonus, because it is full of all the wonderful outdoor smells the humans track in), or anywhere else there is material laying around.  Humans create many opportunities for us to make "Kitty tacos", and because they are so simple once you have the knack, any room in the house can become a hiding spot.  I particularly like the rug by the door for the obvious smells that I already mentioned, but also because it it right at ankle level, so when people pass by...well, you can just imagine their surprise, and my unbridled joy.  But there are other valid possibilities with other benefits. Sometimes there are blankets on the couches, so you can stay warm, comfy, have a nap, and scare the pants off of the next human that tries to sit down and cover themselves up.  I like this choice in the winter when the temperature in the house is particularly low.  It increases the frequency of possibly attacks...I mean warm comfy naps.

Laundry piles that the humans have walked away from (usually due to the actions of the mini-humans), are a wonderful place for an AKT, especially if you can make one in a way where the humans can't really tell that you've done it. If they do notice your AKT, don't worry, the humans feel that they are incredibly cute. But alas, there will be no exposed ankles anywhere near you; they will guard them well.

If one of the humans is in the middle of a sewing project, that is a great time to make a "Kitty Taco". They often lay out the material to cut it, and this is when you strike.  Run onto the material, flop on your side, grab the material with all of your claws, front and back, and roll over.
This is a great activity to do with your human, as they will repeatedly try to straighten their material, so you can have many attempts at making your "Kitty Taco" until it is perfect...or they give up and leave you in warmth (whichever is first).

So for now, I will cozy up here and wait for an unsuspecting ankle to venture near.  Perhaps they will scream, perhaps they will jump, they may even wet themselves.  In some cases they may even try to lure me out to make a safe place to walk.  To do this, they will make many attempts, and in the end...feed me.

Snow is wonderful. For some reason, canines seem to have discovered this, and yet a lot of felines remain in denial.  Too many cats cringe at the offer of an open door to the snowy wilderness.  Sure, some may venture out a few feet, only to perform that domestic dance.  You know the one I'm talking about, the same one that those same cats perform during the after-rainy period when they're willing to go out once again.  Each paw does a little step-shake, step-shake, step-shake as they walk.

Frankly, I find it a little embarrassing. It's one of the few times that my species shows any kind of weakness. Here, I think some tough love might be in order.You really can't sugar coat a talking to with a cat.  To be completely honest, we don't care enough to listen.  As long as you aren't petting or feeding us, you will be granted about a three second attention span, and that's when we're feeling generous.  So I urge you humans to help steer the weaker members of the feline race into growing a little braver.  The next time you see one of us do the little step-shake because of something cold or wet getting on our paws, lovingly gaze at us to show your devotion (not for too long though, remember you only have three seconds tops), and use your guttural human sounds to chastise the pussy-cat, and call it a "Princess".

You will find this technique will be especially effective with mousers, bird catchers, tomcats, and any male cat that still has his cojones in tact. Either way, you'll be pleasantly surprised by the results.  On the one hand, the cat might squint at you and will then sulk away, unimpressed by your name-calling.  You have won!  There will be no more step-shake to his gait.  Sure he might show you his discontent later by clawing your french doors, or hocking up a hairball on your designer pillow shams, but you should be proud of yourself for lowering the number of tender-foot kitties by one.

The other possible outcome to this scenario is that the cat will realize that you are right for calling it a "princess", and will turn tail and hurry back inside your warm domicile. Then, because it's happy-outside-time has been interrupted so rudely, he or she will need comforting.  Your cat will rub against your legs (especially if you are wearing black pants), and may hop up on the couch for a nice brushing or petting.  Again, you have won, as you have proven yourself a good provider for giving your cat, well, whatever it desires.

So for now I will enjoy the outdoors.  I will frolic in the snow mounts, catch falling bits of snow from trees, or track imaginary mice that may or may not actually be under the snow.  I will spend some quality outdoor time with my humans, and prove to them that I can still climb trees even when it's sub-zero weather.  Perhaps I'll have that cuddle when my humans go in.  They might brush me, give me treats for being adorable, play laser pointer, feed me treats for being cute, play with a string and let me give chase, or feed me treats because I'm not a "princess". They will appreciate my snow play, and be amazed by me (and who wouldn't).  Just remember, when you're all tuckered out and have run out of treats...feed me.


* If you have enjoyed my blog, please check out my other work at www.reillybooks.com, www.reillybooks.weebly.com, or search for my channel on youtube.

Eat your heart out! This month comes with lots of red.  Red and hearts. Now, I admittedly am not an expert on shapes, (The only shape I as a cat need to worry about is if that shape will fit into this mouth), but I have learned that hearts are delicious.  They also evidently lead to more food...let me explain with a poem, (something else that runs rampant at this time of year).

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Whatever you do,
I'll try to do too!
~ the mini humans.

So when my older humans lovingly attempted to arrange food for me in the shape of a heart (another common happenstance in February for large humans everywhere, I hear), the mini human decided to "help". Therefore, firstly, I was given a heart-felt meal. Now, there are cats that would turn their noses up to a meal delivered on the bathroom floor, but let's face it, I drink out of the porcelain bowl. Besides, those cats have no variety in their lives.  You know the type, they only eat Fancy food delivered in a clear crystal dessert bowl.  These yuppies (and the irony that it rhymes with a young canine is not lost on me), might get what humans think is the top-of-the-line food, but it's so expensive that their humans can only afford to feed them once a day, and that's it.

I prefer getting a choice of foods. A bowl of kibble here, a can of something at every supper, and when I am super cute around the mini humans, treats on top of that in three different flavours!  Now that's what I call love.

On this special occasion, I got the heart of kibble, and of course the mini human had to copy the old one.  It toddled over to the kibble, pulled out a giant handful (okay, well, it's hands were only so big, but it was going back for more, so my first description stands).  These extra helpings of kibble got dropped in and around the primary shape, and voila! A sublime Valentine.

So for now I will leave you with one last Valentines sentiment:

Shall I compare thee to a cat at play? 
Thou art lovely but temperamental: 
Small hands do lift the kitty every day, 
And patience's lease hath all too short a date: 
Sometimes too loud the voice of mini human chimes, 
And in the dark is human's vision dimm'd: 
Yet every hair from the coat that's feline, 
Is unmatched like nature's cat claws untrimm'd; 
And my purring slumber shall not fade, 
Till my possession of that can thou owest; 
Cat food breath touchest thou, but be not afraid, 
When near eternal times of petting growest: 
So long as I share my shelter with thee, 
So long live you and remember...feed me.

* If you have enjoyed my blog, please check out my other work at www.reillybooks.com, www.reillybooks.weebly.com, or search for my channel on youtube.

The sub-zero stormy winter rages on.  Fences and fence posts are a wonderful way to travel.  They afford footing well above the copious mounds of snow, which for most cats, is icky to have to try to walk through. (Especially when the snow is higher than one's body). I was lucky enough not to have to deal with it today, but my fur is so thick and lush that it doesn't normally bother me anyway.  This cemetery across the street from my living space is a perfect place to hang out, I mean everyone else here was just dying to get in, and I live for that kind of exclusivity.

I am agile enough to walk across even the thinnest fence or gate, but the fence posts allow for a stopping point.  I suppose the stone markers inside would also make a good place to rest, they're certainly wide enough, but somehow, I feel that using them might be a grave mistake.

I found a new favourite spot today, on top of the centre fence post.  Now that the snow is gone, (for the moment), I was able to stretch out and enjoy the sunshine.  The top of this particular fence post is big enough so that I can roll around on it without falling off, which lets the sun at my belly and allows me to show off how super cute I am.  It is also high enough that I can see up onto the porch of my house, which helps me keep an eye on my humans.

I can see if they are about to come outside, go inside, or more importantly, are getting ready to call me in.  I have them trained now, you see.  If I see that they are about to ask me to come inside, I can disappear quickly so they can't see where I am. (I like to make them beg.  It's nice to feel important and appreciated). When they call me the first time, I wait.  Little do they know, I can see the house, and am able to discern when they are becoming desperate to have me in by the tone of their calling voices.

First, it's a long and sing-songy "Booooone-sieeee."  This happens a few times, getting slightly louder each time, until a slight edge enters the voice.  Then the calls become a still sing-songy, but slightly irritated and shorter "Boo-ooones."  Then the cold starts to get to them.  After all, this whole time, they've been hanging out the door into the winter, and let's face it, they're as furless as naked mole rats.  Now the calls come even shorter, and with more urgency.  "Bones! Here Bones!"  I still don't move, of course, because now the humans are in the right state of mind.  The door shuts for a few moments, and this is what I've been waiting for.

I use the opportunity to silently move closer to the house, so it will be a quick leap up onto the porch when I am ready.  Then, it happens.  The door opens with the human's last ditch effort to bring me inside.  This time they pull out all the stops.  I listen in the night, ears cocked toward the door. Sometimes the sound I'm waiting on is hard to hear through their now desperate attempts to call me, but then, between their frantic hollering, I hear it: the sound of the treat packet being shaken.

That's it!  I bound up onto the porch in one leap, run right past them into the warm house, and wait for them to follow me in to shower me with treats for being such a "good girl" for coming when called.  I love my humans in times like these.  First they give me treats, and then later...feed me.


* If you have enjoyed my blog, please check out my other work at reillybooks.com, reillybooks.weebly.com, or search for my channel on youtube.

Getting into the middle of whatever the humans are doing is a great way to get attention.  If I feel that I haven't been receiving enough petting, (or attention in general), I simply become one with the furniture, particularly the piece they are working on.   This forces the humans to work around me, and I often get some choice petting.  The older humans think that by petting me vigorously for a few moments, they can coax me off of the paperwork they are tending to.  I like to let them think that they are doing well, and I will teasingly raise my back end.  I sometimes even stand up and walk around on their work in tiny circles, which makes them really excited, and raises their self esteem.  Just when they think I'm going to jump down, I'll sprawl out again, sometimes even having a good stretch to let them know that I have won this round.

At this point, the large humans think that they have now formulated a strategy for removing me from their work. They are wrong, but who's keeping score? (I mean besides me). The petting starts again, this time with extra scratches in the places I like most.  Here, they are trying to acheive that perfect amount of affection that will cause me to stand up again.  They think that by doing this, they will be able to pull their precious paperwork out from under me, and I let them think they can.  I will stand and walk in small paths, back and forth, or even in a circle as they pet me, always being careful to keep at least two paws on the work.  (If I grow careless, and only leave a back paw on their work as I make my passes back and forth, then they really could pull the paper out, and then the petting will be through).  By repeating this sequence, I can sometimes get up to a full half hour of petting,  and if it happens to be late at night, and my human is kind of exhausted anyway, sometimes I can even get them to give up on the paperwork in light of cuddling up on the couch, with me in their lap.

The little humans are less cunning, so they require little to no cat psychology. They are still learning basic skills like walking and balancing as they play.  For the little humans, if I want a good petting, I only have to lay down, preferably near the edge of the table.  This way, the small humans have to lean over me, and I get incidental pettings by arms and bodies awkwardly trying to maneuver around me. If I can position myself so they have to reach over or across me to reach something, I can raise my tail and tickle their little armpits.  Then they notice me, and I can get all the true petting I want. The only warning for other cats out there trying this is: watch out for thrown wooden toys.  Mini humans seem to be very fond of making them fly, sometimes at you."

So at the moment, I will settle down at the edge of the train table, one of the more popular places for the mini humans to play.  For now, they can pet me, then later...feed me.

* If you have enjoyed my blog, please check out my other work at reillybooks.com, reillybooks.weebly.com, or search for my channel on youtube.

I didn't just sit here because the colour of the walls does a nice job of bringing out the gorgeous green of my eyes.  Rather, I was trying to send a message to my humans, who seem to be constantly passing right by the cat restaurant without so much as serving a single meal.  Alright, I suppose the bowl of kibble counts as a single meal, but one doesn't even need opposable thumbs for that.  (I have managed to chew a rather nice sized hole in the kibble bag, large enough for my whole upper body, which negates the need for opposable thumbs in the endeavor of attaining kibble).  Cans are a different story.

Right now I am sitting on and amid thirty-two choice meals, and there isn't a single human getting the hint.  I don't worry, fret, or even get frustrated...I get even.  I will sit here prettily and bide my time until one of the humans comes in.  Hopefully at this point, they'll get the hint and open a can.  If they at least pet me, (and who wouldn't, I mean look how cute and appealing I am), then I will let them off the proverbial hook.  However, if they seem to be breezing in and out of the room as they are wot to do, I will nonchalantly kick over a can.

I have found that the practice of dispersing my cans will generally have one of two effects.  The first, is that one of the mini humans might be the next to enter, and the little things might trip on the can left deliberately in the middle of the doorway.  This is the worst case scenario, because then the large human will come running, and won't be focusing on feeding me at all.  Also, the little humans let out this annoying screechy sound and leak at the eyes.  I hate wet, I hate that sound, and there's no food involved for my troubles.  Enough said.

The other possible outcome is that I can aim the falling of the can so that it hits precisely on the tipping point of the edge of the bowl.  If done correctly, (and I have honed this skill), the bowl of kibble will tip with the weight of the can, spilling the dry food across the floor.  The humans will rush in for one reason or another, and will come across the shall we say, art.  Humans, I have learned, detest having things stick to the bottoms of their feet.  I believe this is likely linked to the disability of having no hair growing between their toes.  We cats are used to having things stick to our fur, and so unless it's wet, we don't mind.  (In fact, most of us have learned how to grind kitty litter in there well enough to be able to track it around the house)!  But I digress.  Upon seeing the "art", (or walking across it on their rushed way to the porcelain bowl), there will be new vocabulary I only hear during rare and loud occasions, which will be paired with restoring the bowl of kibble.  Lastly, they must pick up the can of food to place it back on the box and bam, often this means suppertime!

So now I set my trap and wait.  Hopefully a human will come in soon and pet me at the least.  Until then, I will call to them. Here, human, human...feed me!

I have been working on one of my large humans, and I find that it is willing to cave in and give me what I want if I am especially annoying.  This is cat reverse psychology, and it works amazing well on the mini humans and weak minded alike.  At its core, the fundamentals of cat reverse psychology are: 1. Humans have things that they love and cherish, and that they don not want broken, 2. The cat is valued even more than these things, 3. Humans are perfectly capable of having both, as long as they do what we want.

One of my humans draws, paints, and uses the laptop quite often, and this she calls WORK. I believe it means Worrying Over Responsibilities (that are) King-sized, as the human often gets stressed when doing it, and there always seems to be a lot of it.  I have come to know my humans' moods and habits pretty well, which helps make cat reverse psychology all the more useful and effective. If I want to go outside, which I always want to do if I'm not napping, and the human will not open the door despite my half hour of yelling at her to do so beside the door, (Really, I don't know what they think their opposable thumbs are for,) then I will turn to cat psychology.

I used to nap on the laptop almost constantly, until something called the "L button" was damaged with my doing so, and my older human had a mild break down.  I would have enjoyed this whole process as very entertaining, except it put an end to my favourite napping place.  Now, if I even look at the laptop, I am reprimanded before even jumping on it with a "No, Bonsie!", and this, I can assure you, is not fun.  So now, I lay on a the game system that is hardly ever used.  The down side is that it's not warm and cozy like the laptop, however the upside is that there is a buffet of cables that I have recently taken to nibbling, but I know that I must be discrete about this lest I lose my new napping spot too.  So, the laptop is out of my cat reverse psychology repetoire...but the sketch book isn't.

I have worked at it and worked at each of the coils that bind it together, lovingly with my teeth.  Not only is this an enjoyable activity, but I am really quite proud of the fact that I have removed the cover and several WORK pages not once, not twice, but...Oh look, the door is opened!  Worked like a charm.

I have worked this way on my human so effectively, that now the door opens freely, often at only the fifth meow, and today I was able to go outside with the mini humans and large humans alike. They have something called a SLED: Sliding Lumber that Ends-up Downhill. I tried it, it didn't move.  I did notice that they had to WORK to get it up the hill, so perhaps it's for the best.  Instead, I just enjoyed being in the great outdoors in close proximity to my human clan.  This is one of my favourite things, so I will hope that they stay outside for a good long while, and when they all come in...feed me.

* If you have enjoyed my blog, please check out my other work at reillybooks.com or reillybooks.weebly.com

When humans come to visit, they sometimes bring their own felines and canines too. I suppose they think that because they enjoy each other's company, that we should also be subjected to the company of others as well.  Cats just simply don't think this way.  We are very territorial, and know to respect the hierarchy of a family.  The food chain goes as follows: Cat on top, then the humans that feed me, then the humans that don't feed me.  The dog doesn't really factor into things, unless it tries to eat my food, and thus displays a death wish.  

Now, when another cat is brought to visit, it by all rights should also be on the highest rung of the food chain.  We establish a pecking order, I eat first (of course), then Tribble, then the guest.  So the new feline understands this, I begin by venturing into the room where it's carrier is.  This is the only piece of furniture in the house that I haven't either slept on or used as a means to get to another piece of furniture.  Therefore, it is the only thing in the house that doesn't already smell like me.  My first job is to claim it.  There, now everything smells like me.  For good measure, to show the new cat who's boss, I will sit by the supper can long after I am finished eating, until I am ready for my nap. This way, the cat will understand it's place in my home, and respect my authority like any good guest should.

Now, the dog is a different matter.  You can't reason with a dog the way you can with a cat or even a human.  The dog only really has two thought processes: "Oh good, my favourite!" and the far less exuberant "Oops, I just peed on the floor."  Now, the latter has it's obvious down side.  No one wants wet paws that smell like the filtering of last night's kibble.  On the other hand, you have to be careful that you or your favourite places to sleep don't fall into the dog's first frame of mind.  When a canine enters the home, it is full of unnecessary excitement.  "Oh good, more humans, my favourite!", "Oh good, mini-humans' toys to chew on, my favourite!", "Oh good, a chair to sit on, my-" Now wait right there, buddy, this one is MINE."  

A cat exudes it's authority by placing itself in a spot that prevents another animal from being there.  Many cats have made the mistake of fuffing at a canine, and all that does is excites them to the point of insanity.  "Oh good, a furry chew toy that wants to play AND makes noise, my favourite, favourite, favourite!" chomp. This fatal mistake never ends well for anyone.  Instead, one must take an almost nonchalant approach with the dog.  They expect a good chase.  I say, don't give them one.  In fact, if you want to really show them who's in charge, I say lie down and take a nap.  Your humans love you enough to keep you safe, so why not let them do the work.  This will drive the dog up the wall, especially if you sit in what it thinks should be it's favourite chair.  So for now, I'll take a very unexcited stance on our guests, and remain at the top of your food chain.  Speaking of food...feed me.

The humans often wonder how we felines can very comfortably fall asleep in the strangest of positions.  The answer is complete and utter flexibility.  To my humans, who always seem to fall asleep in the same position, (a trait that blatantly shows their lack of imagination), this might look horribly uncomfortable.  However, I can assure you, dear reader, that there is method to this seeming madness.

I often sprawl on my back for several reasons.  For one, the humans think it is a sign of trust. It makes them feel like they're doing a good job of taking care of me.  I like to make them think that they are doing well.  I suppose that it gives them a warm fuzzy feeling, which makes them forgive me more quickly when I toy with their emotions and use cat psychology on them.  (It also helps me get away with activities that I hold so dear, like "helping").  Whenever a cat is sleeping, which let's be honest, is most of the time in a perfect world, we are inevitably woken by a mini human's prodding or poking.  By presenting my fuzzy little tummy, I am inviting the attention there.  If I am to be woken early, I am at least going to get a good belly rub out of it.  

This bit of cat psychology is priceless, and goes along with other wonderful tricks such as rubbing fur against black pants to receive petting, and perching on a lap in order to get closer to your ice cream.  The honor and privilege the humans feel at our attention almost always wins in our favour, and the positive outcome for us is often two-fold. I mean, why just steal licks at a human's ice cream or breakfast cereal milk when one can often obtain petting at the same time?

Bending in half and twisting ourselves like a pretzel is not just done for comfort, and to make the humans feel uneasy at our uncanny dead-like appearance, but it also affords a means to an end.  By folding myself thusly, I am actually able to use the cover of blanket to shield the light from my eyes.  This is particularly useful when humans are up and around and feel the need to use a fake light source given there generally less than ideal eyes.  It is also a wonderful technique if we cats happen to come across a perfect square of sunlight that we just must bask in on the floor or furniture.

I would suggest that humans give this posture a try, they might be surprised at how comfortable it really is.  The only reason I haven't, is because the big humans are rickety enough as it is, sometimes barely able to walk after sitting for what they consider to be a long time in one position.  We cats endeavour to sleep for much longer periods of time, and I'm afraid that upon waking, they will have lost the ability to shuffle to our bowl and feed us.  Alas, humans will just have to continue their dull sleeping exercises in the way that they always have, and leave the really talented stuff to us.  I try not to expect too much from my human counter parts, and this seems to make life easier for all of us.  I leave the humans now to ponder at the greatnss of my sleeping posture, and possibly have the mini humans, who are much more flexible than the older ones, copy me.  Who knows, they may even succeed, but until then...feed me.

 

Well, I suppose I'm happy to announce that after the new year festivities, all of my humans are still around.  This gave me an opportunity to torture them.  I have always been a fan of cold, fresh water.  With my upbringing in the midst of the finer things in life, I have developed a certain set of standards, which I choose to live by.  Always having water newly poured from the tap is a must.  Unfortunately, the humans don't seem to be on board with this policy.  They enter the bathroom countless times a day with the mini human, and yet only take the time to pick up my bowl and change over the water once or twice a day.  I mean really! I expect fresh water every time my perfect little tongue is parched.

I therefore devised a plan to find my own fresh water.  I noticed that every time they sat upon their porcelain bowl, they would create new, fresh, cool, clean water when they were through.  Problem solved!  All I have to do is take my nap on the nearest bed, and I can have perfect water almost any time of day.  The bonus to this plan is that the humans for some reason objected.  (Not enough to pour me new fresh water in my bowl whenever I want it though). So, happily, I continued.

This leads me to my Hanukkah present.  My family got me a fancy new continuously pouring drinking fountain. It looks pretty swanky, and probably cost them a fortune.  On the whole, I like it.  Even more impressive is the fact that it came in a wonderful new box, which I fit into perfectly!  The new play ground is wonderful.  I can play there with my other feline counterpart, Tribble.  I claimed it right away, of course, and much fun has been had as a result.

The best part about the whole holiday for me, is the fact that after about three days I went back to using the porcelain bowl for drinking out of.  Don't get me wrong, I do like the new fountain, and I do still use it when the humans aren't looking, but drinking out of the porcelain bowl seems to drive them insane, which to me, is hilarious.  I have also found that it drives them right up the wall if I sit and wait on the back shelf of the bowl when I hear them approaching, then as soon as the new water fills the bowl, I can jump in and get the coolest draft possible.  I get the best reactions that way, the set up really is purrfect. 

Perhaps I'll find a new way of getting them to buy an automatic can opener which will open cans continually for me.  Now that would be a wonderful and truly appreciated gift.  And I bet it would come with a another box.  I feel that this is good fodder for my upcoming nap.  I shall have the sweet dreams of the humans inventing one for me if they don't yet exist.  But until then...feed me.