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!