Happy New Year! I apologize for keeping you all waiting over the holidays...I know how much you probably thought about me while celebrating with the annual festival fights, gift wrapping and unwrapping, dealing with old drunk uncle Albert, everyone pestering you about BEING old drunk uncle Albert, overcooked birds, undercooked birds, and the illnesses resulting from visiting with germs and people you generally only expose yourselves to twice a year.

You probably longed for an escape, and might have even turned to my daily words of wisdom to see you through.  But alas, the only sage advice I had over the holidays was: more sage, I like my turkey well spiced...and don't forget the gravy.  Of course it came out as "meow", and although the mini-humans seem to be more and more adept at trying to speak in my mother tongue, the larger humans still seem too uneducated to learn a language with a colossal vocabulary of one word.  Needless to say, my turkey was satisfying, but sorely lacking...at least there was gravy, which I didn't eat much of, just to spite them.

In any case, please take care of yourselves on this new years eve.  There are those of us in the cat, and dare I say it? Dog communities that depend on you being alive.  Who else would open doors and cans for us after all?  Oh, I suppose we love you in our own way, especially when you have a laser pointer or bowl of food in your hand.  The point is, don't drink and then drive. get home safely to us tonight. And remember, since you'll likely be out late, before you go out...feed me.

This "family" (as they call themselves), of humans and one other fantastic feline, is the second herd of humans I have lived with. Every year around this time, my other humans would bring a tree indoors. Now, this would seem like a wonderful idea at first thought, though without the birds in the branches to pursue, and with only eight foot ceilings, it doesn't afford quite the experience as a tree in the outdoors.  Plus an indoor tree does not allow for the fragrant breeze blowing through one's fur.  In any case, the bonus was that when they brought it in, they would hang little plastic play things and yummy tinsel all over it. Eating tinsel, although addictive, can be embarrassing the next day, when wherever you go, the humans seem to magically know what you have done.  I don't know how they know, only that it always seems to come out in the end.  Climbing this tree can be tricky too, for these trees are weak, and tend to fall over.  This does add a dimension of danger and exhilaration to the activity, however, getting banned from the room in which the tree resides means that you can't bat the balls off of the lower branches later.

My current humans however, celebrate a new holiday.  These decorations were placed lovingly in piles for me to sit or bask on while they stuck them to the walls.  I felt very proud when I dislodged one from partway under the pile I was sitting on, and the large human said I was "helping".  It's moments like these that really make me feel like I am part of their herd too.  For the past three nights, they have been singing beautiful songs, and lighting little fires all in a row.  I have no urge to go near them, I wouldn't want to singe my tail or whiskers, but afterwards, the mini-humans rip apart brightly coloured paper, and throw it around, and this game, I can get into.  If I get a good enough run at a particularly large chunk, and leap at just the right second, I can land on it and ride it clear across the room.  I also appreciate that they ball little pieces of the stuff up so that I can chase it around.  They'll even lovingly send a ball rolling across the floor for me to pursue.  I catch it, bite it a little, then return to my human and sit, waiting for them to go get it and do it again.  They often don't.  They're not necessarily the brightest candles in the menorah.  Sometimes I'll bat it back towards them, but I pounce on it again before they can get it away from me.  Once or twice, I even let the humans think they're winning.  Why not, everyone deserves a gift now and then.  Perhaps, if I'm lucky, I might even receive a nice can of something, or a packet of treats.  Now that is something worth celebrating.

Whatever your reason to celebrate, enjoy your time with your herd and your cats, and enjoy responsibly so you don't forget that my cans won't open themselves.

Also, I wish you a happy new year, but until then...feed me.

There are always good and bad sides to every situation. The bad news first, because I always like to focus last about the good things. You have to when you live with humans, it helps to ensure that one has pleasant dreams when one naps.  For example, when contemplating the goings on in my humans' lives, it's far better to drift off thinking about how the mini human is learning that picking me up slightly too tightly around the neck and arm is still preferable to being picked up by fistfuls of my thick fur. This leads to dreams far more pleasant than harping on the fact that my litter box is exactly 42 minutes late being changed, and doesn't quite smell fresh. Thinking of that right before sleep just leads to dreams that well, stink.

So first, the bad news: there is a member of my humans' family that doesn't live in my home. She is older, and always comes with the smell of another cat, and...a DOG. Now, I pride myself on being tolerant of all creatures, (that I'm not going to eat), but sometimes she actually brings it with her. This can end up being fun, as I often jump the baby jail, which the canine cannot reach. I take my time strolling slowly within it's vicinity. It goes completely mad, and the humans rush to grab it's leash so it doesn't eat me. As if it could. It's nice to make them all scrabble though. A really wholesome family activity.

In any case, the old human has apparently moved. My humans have been helping her, and have therefore been scarce, and to my great agitation petting times have been even more scarce. Not to mention the fact that the humans have actually forgotten to buy me more cans, so I have had to sustain myself solely on kibble and treats for almost 2 days! Simply scandalous. The good news though, is that the mini humans' car seats from in the matriarch's CAR have been relocated temporarily to our living room, which has created a new convenient space for me to sleep.  It is comfortable, fits me well, and affords me cozy protection from all sides. The best part: once it goes back into the older human's CAR with my fur and scent all over it, the dog will go insane.

I will send myself to sleep with wonderful dreams of a dog on a car trip, perhaps with a bit of my fur stuck to it's constantly sniffing nose. I will drift off for a brief fourteen hour nap in the CAR seat until my large human arrives and hopefully will open the laptop for me to have a bath on. Until then...feed me.

I have learned a new word that the humans are fond of using: "helping".  This word is used by the humans when I am getting involved in their goings-on, especially what they call "work".  Though the shorter word "help" seems to be used in a mewling or commanding tone of voice, "helping" is always combined with the humans' use of finger gestures in the air whenever it is uttered. It is usually spoken in a losing-thier-patience tone of voice, as in "Honey please, come get the cat, she is "helping".  If I choose to continue making whatever they are working on even more fabulous at this point, the phrase is often repeated, sometimes with the addition of the pulling of their own hair: "Honey, PLEASE, come get the cat, she is "helping"! I really like the sound of this one, since the "helping" word usually comes out in a kind of strained sing-songy tone which is the closest they get to really good caterwauling.

This is when I really sink my claws into whatever the task at hand is.  Sometimes I help by batting things around, often off of the desk they are working on.  The humans sometimes make marks on paper with a long, thin yellow stick.  It is great fun to bite this, or grab it with a paw while they are concentrating on the page.  Sometimes I can manage to knock it from their hand, then further bat it under the couch.  I can tell now that the human is losing it's cool.  Now the phrase comes through gritted teeth: "Honey, PLEASE, COME, GET the cat, she is "HELPING"! Ah, music to my ears. Now, I get stared at, and I nonchalantly turn my head away, as if the human isn't even there. Hey human, you want my attention? Go get the stick, I wasn't done with that.

If the laptop is at hand, then we're in for some real fun. You see, it gives off heat, so it has become one of my favourite places to lie and nap.  I might even jump up and sit down on it for a nice bath. This often results in my gifted keister typing something, or opening new boxes, but since my fluffy body is blocking the screen, it takes a few minutes for the human to be able to see what happened, and all sorts of mayhem can ensue.  My brilliant tush has been able to close boxes on the computer, and has even turned a screen full of black marks completely white.  Unfortunately, this sort of fun usually results in my getting removed from the nice warm space, and possibly even chased out of the room.  This is an activity that I really cherish, because if the human has been parked in front of the laptop for a long period of time, the sheer talent of my hiney can actually make miniature waterfalls pour from their weird round eyes in disbelief.

Today I have chosen to help my human create a project with material.  I find it fun to slip a paw in between the shiny metal tool they use to cut the fabric.  When I do this, they have to stop all together, and they move me more quickly, however, I can tell they miss me, so I always come back.  I know how important I am to them, and who am I to deny them my greatness?  One day they will figure out that claws are much sharper than any tool, and can even be used to re-position and separate the fabric that they are trying to attach together.  Admitting that could take them quite a while, so until then...feed me.

Ah, the weekend. The time when all of the humans are under paw, and it's non-stop work being chased by the mini-humans.  The constant poking and prodings today have gotten out of hand on account of the red-dot device being dropped somewhere the mini-human can't reach.  Poor little soul, it screeched and yelled very impressively until one of the larger humans put a stop to it.  I was actually touched. To think, the mini-human admires me so much that it tried to adopt the ways of the cat, and cry without stopping to breathe, as if it were in heat.  I can only assume the older human threatened to take it to the vet if it didn't cease and desist it's beautiful yowling...in any case, it found something else to do.  

And so I find myself resorting to old-fashioned attention grabbing.  More people sitting on the couch means more legs, preferably wearing black, that I can rub my fur against.  If the humans are wearing some body-coverings that my fur is less likely to stick to, then I can always depend on the weekend to bring with it piles of freshly folded and laundered things on the bed.  These are usually laid out in convenient little towers that I enjoy either knocking over or sleeping on and between.  I prefer to share my scent and distribute my loose fur equally to all of my humans' things.  I also like the weekends because I get an extra bowl of milk for a special treat, however with more humans and commotion, there is also a greater chance of it being knocked about and wasted on the floor.

The mini-humans chase me for a bit, but since they are also bi-pedal now, and I have to admit, faster than when they were on all fours, they are so slow that it's hardly a challenge to stay out of reach.  Sometimes I stop and sit for a second before taking off again, just to let them catch up.  I find that I have to let them feel as though they are doing well, in order for them to continue the game.  I have to be careful though.  I had the need to scratch at one point, and couldn't resist the urge to lick the offending itch.  However, I got a bit carried away, and the smallest human almost caught my tail.  \If the thing actually succeeds in grasping it in it's miniature clutches, I know I am in for at least some loss of fur, as it is always very reluctant to release me.  My poor tail aches for hours after that, thank goodness the big humans have fitted the doorway with a baby jail, so the offenders are stopped at the entrance way.  I am lithe enough to jump over easily, however, the little ones are caught at the bars.  

For now, I will ponder life and all it's enormity.  Perhaps I will find a way to open cans without the use of opposable thumbs.  Until then...feed me.

Round and round the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel, the monkey thought 'twas all in good fun...Pop! It's me. Mwa ha ha!

One of my favourite things in life are boxes. They provide cover, can be sat in, on, or under, and they can afford many opportunities to surprise the humans.  Now I love sitting in boxes, preferably with the lid(s) closed.  I'm a fairly dainty cat, I have to be; my long, thick, gorgeous fur adds five pounds to my overall appearance. Being quite small though has it's advantages.  I have become quite adept at hiding so completely within a box that the humans have had to search for me because they thought I had escaped.  I have honed my techniques so that completely hidden within a box, I can wait for an unsuspecting human to pass by, then turn around to face the sound of their footfalls.  This makes the box shift ever so slightly, which in turn catches their attention, and peaks their curiosity enough for them to come over to take a closer look.

Now the game can proceed in one of three ways, depending on who is passing by.  If it is a mini-human, I bide my time until I hear them lean close enough to try to look through the crack in the lid of the box.  They don't know I am in there, so they are already unsure and nervous.  I wait until I can see their little furrowed brows, and can feel their warm breath brush in through the slit in the lid as they call my name. "Bonesie?" Then the air is filled with miniature screams of terror as I spring from the box and make a b-line for the back room where I can pretend I was eating the whole time.  The next few minutes are filled with sniffing and whimpery voices of the mini-human communicating half-effectively with the lumbering human.  I can only assume they are praising my grace upon jumping out of the box, and they are sad that they could never amount to as much.

Now if it is a large human that happens to pass by, I simply wait. I know their routine, you see.  They will sit on the couch beside my box, sometimes for longer periods of time.  This usually occurs after the mini-humans have been subdued for the night.  The larger humans will inevitably get up to get themselves a drink.  This is the perfect opportunity to flee from the box.  Right when the human has settled in with a fresh cup of something.  Jumping out at them then can sometimes result in a spilled drink and wet body-coverings.  The only downside to this is that it does annoy the humans.  Don't get me wrong, I'm fine with that, it's hilarious, however, the chances of me getting a midnight snack after that are about the same as the chances of a squirrel actually remembering where he stored his nuts.

Now if it happens to be Tribble, my partner in crime, another fabulous feline, then the games really begin.  This is the best because there is no big bang followed by a nap or more boredom.  If Tribble happens upon me in the box, then repeated minutes of game play ensue.  I might pop my head out of the box just enough to make the lid flap, at which point he'll swat it with a white mitten.  I sometimes sneak out a paw and catch him unawares.  He jumps back, and I know I have won!  But he always comes back.  This is why cats are preferable to humans, we are so laid back, that we take everything in stride.  Almost everything.  Everything except forgetting to feed us.  So for now, I'll bide my time in this old shoebox that the humans have taped and re-taped to allow for my continued happiness.  I suppose they're not totally useless after all.  Perhaps I'll flick the end of my tail briskly outside the box to catch someone's attention.  Until then...feed me.

The little red dot is magnificent.  It is also doomed.  So far it has eluded me, but it's only a matter of time until it is firmly under my paw.  I thought I had it once, but upon lifting a paw to eat what was concealed there, I fell into a state of puzzlement when I saw the space was indeed empty. The red dot had vanished.  I don't know what it is, or where it came from, but there's something about it that really gets me going.

It often appears when the larger of the two mini-humans is around. There is a brief instant of silence, followed by a tell-tale click, then let the games begin!  The dot appears and I am instantly trailing it with grace and speed. Sometimes I wait for it and try to lure it closer.  I pretend to ignore it, and sometimes, I add a tail swish for added effect.  It slowly draws closer, and I am tempted to end it, but I allow it a few more seconds to live.  I let it get right beside my paw.  I find if I stay really still, or feign looking in the opposite direction, it will come even closer.  I lazily reach out a paw.  It runs away, fast.  I'm off!  I circle around the train table, but it doesn't stop.  Up over the hope chest, past the couch, and under the coffee table I follow in hot pursuit, but it doesn't tire easily.  It crosses the rug, and now I can really get traction.  I leap, landing on the dot as it disappears beneath me.  Now I've got you! I elate, ready for my well earned meal.  Drats!  Nothing there again! 

I hunker down with a frustrated patience that knows no bounds.  I know it will return again.  It is back, and this time the mini-human is as excited as I am.  It squeals in what I can only assume is delight at my prowess, and it prances on the spot like an over-excited canine.  Now this is where things get interesting.  I wait for the click, and then once again I am weaving in, over, and around anything standing between myself and the dot of insanity. This time the mini-human thinks it is a cat, and actually runs with me, trying to keep up. It chases the red smudge with me even though it appears to come from a device clutched in the little thing's hand. It brings to question the intelligence of the species.  On the bright side, perhaps there is a valid second reason for opposable thumbs.  Until we find out for sure though...feed me.

Since what the humans have dubbed "the fiasco" with me getting into and then sitting behind the CAR, my outside time has been sorely lacking.  They seem to argue over whether I can handle myself out there with other CARs on the road, and although I can't speak cave-man, I have heard such utterances as: smushed, flattened, and speed-bump.  The only one I really recognized however, was creamed. My view on this is definite.  Cream is delicious, with a richness and coolness that really satisfies, especially on a hot day.  So I say more cream, and if that helps me get back outside, then so be it.

While I am locked away in my prison, with only 4 mice, a ball, a cat tether, a string, and the two mini-humans poking at me for entertainment, I get bored easily.  There is a tree in the room, however, being locked indoors has depressed it enough to have caused it to shed it's boughs, leaves, and bark.  I really don't find it that oppressive in here, so I sincerely hope that in time, it won't come to me losing my luscious fur, whiskers, or cute ear tufts.  I tried to help it by making it feel more like the outdoors.  Therefore, I started up, up...wait a second, I thought, who put this ceiling in my way? incensed that the humans don't even want me to have a little fun, I looked down at them, explaining my predicament.  "There is something in my way, move it." I encouraged them.  Not a one of them moved.  The really large one ordered "Bonesie, get down".   That one I recognized.  "Get down" is a common human topic of conversations at very inopportune times, you know, when one is on top of the table trying to sample what the humans are feasting on, or when one is hanging from the shower curtain.  All in all, very rude.

Meanwhile, the not-as-big-as-the-other-big-human seemed excited by my my low altitude climb. Poor human, it has likely never had it's feet off the ground. It doesn't know any better, I'm sure.  But in this moment, yet another name was formed based on my perfection, agility and general awesomeness.  "Parkour Kitty." I don't know what it means, but it makes me feel powerful.  I think it has to do with my often being taller than the humans. I like it and I hope it sticks.  I also hope that it is the last nick name.  Humans seem to love naming things, why does anyone need more than one.  It's like food.  There are kibble and can. Oh, and water.  Who needs more...and now I am hungry.  Perhaps I will come down from my lofty location and turn to my bowl.  Hey human, you wouldn't move the ceiling, but perhaps I can give you a task that you can more easily manage...feed me.

Ah, a delicious morsel.  Nature is full of beautiful (like me), and delicious things (like bugs). Butterflies have the best of both worlds.  They are both lovely to look at, and their wings give them the gift of flight, which adds the third dimension in tracking.  Capturing bugs is great fun, but butterflies, though slow, allow an athlete like myself to test their jumping capabilities.  This particular butterfly looked slightly worse for wear, however, I wouldn't exactly call it shabby. I pounced on it just as it took wing, easily detaining it under one paw.  It struggled feebly.  Perhaps this one would not give me as good a work out as I had first believed.

It was upon my landing that the mini human came onto the scene.  It watched as I held the butterfly, but not speaking with the same efficient squawking and guttural sounds as the larger humans, the conversation that followed was really quite one-sided. It simply bellowed "No!" I was familliar with the "no" word of the humans.  It was how they communicated when I use the potted plant as a litter box, (sometimes one desires some variety), or when I chew the yummy snake-like things connected to their electrical gear.  (I do love those lap-top things, they are so warm to lie on, especially when they are opened).  At this point, I took it upon myself to play coy.  No what? I thought at her loudly, No, don't let it suffer?  No, don't let it go?  No, don't let it live?  She stared at me, and only said "No!" again.  Alright, I acquiesced, have it your way. I gobbled it up in two seconds flat and licked my lips.

I believe there is a slight chance that I misunderstood, for the mini human stooped down smaller than it normally is, and repeated the "No!" word it is so fond of.  This time it came at much greater decibels and in a much higher tone.  I took my leave then, with ringing ears.  I glared at the large human to open the door for me so I could get some water to wash it down with.  Nothing ruins a meal like annoyingly loud conversation in close proximity. Still, I felt bad about the little misunderstanding.  Clearly, it must have meant No, don't eat it all yourself.  Next time I feast on a bug or rodent, I will be sure to leave some for it, so it doesn't feel left out.  But until the next one...feed me.

Training humans is such tiring work.  Who am I kidding, I would happily sleep for eighteen hours a day if I could.  (You don't look this great without at least a little beauty rest).  I have recently began using reverse psychology on my taller humans, and it is working beautifully.  I have discovered that by ignoring them for most of the day, when I do deign to grace them with my presence, they fall over themselves to pet me, entertain me, and cuddle with me.  I think they genuinely feel privileged, and rightly so.  This not only opens me up to prime brushing or extra snacks they call "treats", but it means that I can sit or lay on them and they will stay still so as not to disturb me.  It was with this discovery that I began to tease them a little.

Don't get me wrong, there is very little on this rock we live on that is better than laying on a self heating bead, but you understand I have to mock them. Keeping them on their toes is part of my mission in life.  These new games I've discovered are subtle, just enough to irk them, without making them angry.  It's a real testament to their devotion to me when I cuddle up to one of the humans just out of arms reach so they have to stretch or bend slightly in uncomfortable ways just to reach my fur. Why would they bother, you ask?  Who knows, but it works, so I'll keep playing.  I think it goes back to my ignoring them, the big lugs actually start to miss me, (like they don't know I'll not only be in the exact same spot as when they left, but likely in the same position).

My newest game is my favourite.  I get as comfy as I can with one of my humans, laying partially on them, enough to be slightly weighty so they don't forget that I'm there.  It could be anything from fully basking on a chest or lap, to using them as an angular pillow.  Then, I sleep.  Or, rather, pretend to sleep.  (The challenge for me is actually staying conscious so I can enjoy the game to it's fullest). Eventually, one of three things will happen: 1. the human will get hungry, 2. the human's appendage, whether it be a hand, foot, or leg, (whatever I happen to be laying on), will fall asleep, or 3. They will need to use the facilities.

This is where the real reward comes for me.  If the human gets hungry, they will hold off, with tummies growling and much complaining until they eventually have to feed the mini humans.  This is when my hairless minions bug their parents, insisting that if they are eating, I should get "treats" too. Yum.  If however, my human laying under me has body parts that lose circulation due to my dainty weight, they will subsequently jump around, slap their sleeping body part to wake it, and stomp on the floor, looking and sounding insane, and entertaining at the same time.  But the last outcome is best.  If they decide they have to use the facilities, they will often put it off, since I look so precious when I'm "asleep". (Let's be perfectly honest here though, I look that precious all the time).  Anyway, they will literally put the need to go aside for hours, in order to not upset me.  When they finally do go, it's usually because that paired with hunger moves them to leave the comfort of me and the couch. (I am aware that the general phrase is "the couch and I", however, I am more important, and should always come first).

When the human finally rises up and leaves the room two things at this point happen: they are thinking of food since they are hungry, and they nearly take themselves out by tripping over the precariously stacked tower of cans sitting in the room they are going to visit.  Oh look! I purr as I rub against their leg, (there is no way I'm letting them forget about me now!) A convenient stack of, what is that?  Could it be food?  It is! How about this, dear.  First you finish up over there, and then...feed me.

Well, it is clear that I am going to have to put my paws down!  As you know, the bi-pedal humans are incredibly slow.  Someone with my refined speed and agility can only call their gate...lumbering at best. (I'm being polite, you understand).  In any case, to make up for it, they have invented this sort of human-carrier on wheels that has moving seats and that goes very fast. I believe they call it a Carrier And Recliner, or CAR.

But that is not important.  What is important, is the way my humans all piled into it without even cracking open a can for me first! I mean I know it wasn't my supper time yet, and it's true that I have trained them to always have a bowl of kibble on the go in case I want a snack, but what if they got home after six o'clock!  Why, I have standards, and supper time denotes soft, meaty, odorous, jelly-like food from a can.  (I'm beginning to salivate just thinking about it!) I would be truly forlorn if I was left sitting alone, meowing at the top of my lungs beside the bowl of kibble, with an empty space beside it where my can should have been.

When my humans are around, the mini human that tries to feed me closed cans all day, finally wears the patience from the larger variety at almost six pm exactly, and that is how I get fed.  When I saw my mini humans locked into their CAR seats, I knew my supper was in jeopardy.  I jumped in quickly and looked up at them as if to say "Aren't you forgetting something?"  Of course, my humans aren't necessarily the brightest, and they misunderstood.  Instead of going back into the house to feed me properly, the large human dragged me out from under the feet of the mini humans in a most unceremonious manner.  True, it probably would have gone smoother if I hadn't grabbed ahold of the floor mats with my beautifully sharpened claws, however, I had a point to make.  I ended up being stroked, and told that I wasn't allowed to go along too before I was once again released into my natural habitat, but I wasn't done yet!  Cats don't give in easily, it's not in our nature.  Anyone who has ever heard the cat-calling the humans have dubbed a kind of music called "caterwauling" during a heat, knows of our persistence.  But again, I digress.

Not wanting to be outdone by my human, I sat prettily and immovably behind the CAR, so my human could not move it.  (I have great faith in my humans, what they lack in brains, they make up for in heart, and I knew I was safe in their hands.  They love me.  Who wouldn't?)  Unfortunately, this plan also backfired, and I was moved again, this time with a sore lack of petting, into the human's shelter.  After watching the CAR take my humans away, I strolled nonchalantly into the feeding area to discover what I had already suspected.  Kibble.  No can.  Well, no opened can.  I love my mini human, even if she hasn't realized yet that she has opposable thumbs.  I stared hungrily at the tower of would-be supper beside my kibble bowl, and started to wonder when they would be back.  Perhaps I'll take a long nap in the sunlight, and think for next time, of a new way to tell them...feed me.

My control over the humans grows!  By strategically placing myself in a place that interferes with their activities, I have found that they stop what they're doing and they pay attention to me instead. The tone of the human's voice denotes a gentle scolding, but when delivered with cuddling and petting, I'll take it. True, my latest endeavor to thwart the folding of the body-coverings resulted in the mini-humans poking at me through the holes of what I can only assume was meant to be a kitty crib, since I fit so well, why they would want to fill it with body-coverings when it was likely meant for me I don't know, but I digress.  The pokings I endured. Conveniently, the holes in the kitty crib were small enough that the mini-humans couldn't poke at my eyes, which the smallest human seems to enjoy for some reason.  Horrid thing.  I await the day until it grows further and will be large enough to get my cat food can opened without help.  On that day, I foretell the coming of a great buffet!  Until then...feed me.

Mwa ha ha!  Behold how I camouflage into my natural surroundings!  In fact, I bet the only reason the humans found me was because I expertly climbed the only tree near that part of the yard.  Of course, the sound of the birds all up in arms probably didn't help.  Next time I will pick the other tree, free of an alarm system.  Climbing things, anything really, is one of my favourite pass-times.  I enjoy popping out at the humans when they least expect it, I find it hilarious when they clap a hand to their chests and hyperventilate out of fright.  It's a really wholesome game that I can play with the whole clan of the hairless monkeys.  No one actually gets hurt, and they're so relieved and happy after they calm down, when they realize that it was just me, that I often get a really good petting.  I'm doing them a real service, I mean stroking my luxuriant fur really helps them relieve all that nervous tension.  What would they do without me? Probably lead boring stable lives.  Until the next petting...feed me.

Ah, my natural habitat, the outdoors. One thing you must learn about me to truly get to know me, and I feel that my human counterparts are slowly beginning to understand, is that IF it moves, I WILL own it.  I'm not necessarily into the whole killing aspect of the sport, I mean, look at this luxurious fur, blood would mat in it in a heartbeat, and then it's just work,work,work to look my best again. But, to pounce on something is claiming it for ones own.  I am both good at tracking and pouncing, with almost deadly aim.  Those little inferior creatures never know what hit them.  Sometimes I give them a grain of hope by raising a paw and letting them skitter a few feet, but then I remind them who's boss.  It's more fun when they run on their own anyway, I could bat around a corpse, but then again, more work.  Letting them go in the end is not defeat, (especially when one of the humans removes my prize in a container and sets it free, that is totally out of my paws), it is just my magnanimous way of letting them realize that I have allowed them to live out the rest of their lives.  You know, unless they look particularly tasty, in which case bugs in particular make a satisfying snack.  In any case, until the next bug...feed me.

I am Bones, so named because when I was a kitten, the humans decided that it looked as though they could see my bones.  Pft, they should have realized that bones aren't fuzzy, furry, or fluffy, but I can't really expect too much, they are only human after all.  (I feel sorry for any mammal that is bi-pedal; their balance is less superior, they can't fully appreciate the intricacies of having four paws, and they sport these flat nail things that could never be useful in catching mice or climbing trees).  They even try to make up for it by colouring them bright colours, which really just makes them more of a target and all in all seems very counter-productive.  How do they ever expect to catch their food if the rodents see them coming more easily.  They also sport fur only on the head (although some of the males have been able to grow patchy little face or chest sweaters, yet the females seem to prefer both themselves and their mates with most of their fur removed.  It's a good thing they have found an indoor shelter to stay in, because they would freeze to death or die of exposure with all that showing skin.  The knowledge that they unquestionably fall short must sorely create in them a never ending feeling of frustration and longing, which clouds their understanding of the awesomeness that is CAT.  The only good thing I can say at this point is that the advantage to their opposable thumbs has allowed them to have mastered the skill of opening cans...I am hungry now, so I will hide in the humans' food.  Maybe they will get the hint.  It will be like a great game, they will think I am missing.  They will spend hours looking for me, only to find me where they least expect it.  Feel free to sit and ponder how I got in there and shut the door after me, but in the mean time, I bide my time until they feed me.