Scotch the Cat, “The Exorcist”, and the Island of Misfit Toys

  Okay, what happened was…

  I woke up. That’s all I did.

  I was napping in one of my secret places, behind the purple couch with the too-big pillows that smell like me because, well, I can’t leave stuff alone. I like it back there. You have to squeeze a little bit to get in there, but it’s worth it, because then there’s a place just my size. I can lay there and peek and see stuff, but nobody can see me. My daddies will call one of my names and walk around looking for me but they don’t know where I be and it’s fun.

  They try to tease me, though, my daddies. They go to the Pan Tree and open the door and make one of the Treat Bags make noise. When I was little and more simple, I would hear that noise and run to them very fast, because it meant I would get little bits of something special in my bowl. I like bits of special. But after years of simple I figured out that sometimes the noise was a trick. My daddies were not putting something in my bowl. They wanted to get me.

  I don’t wanna be got. I don’t wanna be anything where I can’t jump down and run somewhere else. My daddies don’t understand that I am very important and I don’t have time for being got. I have things to do. Important stuff I need to do now, not later when they lay down on the big bed with the come-for-tour that I like to scratch and they are not caring if I break stuff or not. Don’t get me! Unless I say.

  Because being got is bad. My daddies are going to do something I don’t want them to do. Sometimes they want to take little round white things and shove them in my place where the food goes. My throwed. I don’t like that. That’s not a treat. Why are they shoving it? I don’t want it. And one of the daddies knows how to squeeze on part of my face where my mouth just falls open, I can’t help it. Then bam, not-treat in my throwed. I will scratch him later for bamming.

  And sometimes they want to stop fleece. I don’t know fleece. My daddies say fleece is bad and they don’t want fleece on me. But what is fleece? They don’t say that part, just stop fleece. So they get me, because I didn’t think right, and I got got. And one daddy holds me and the other daddy puts cold yuck on my back. The part of my back that I can’t lick or scratch, by my head. That’s mean. Daddies are mean about fleece. I can’t get yuck off! Even if I run and hide and be mad.

  But the baddest got thing? The clip hers. I think my daddies love me but then I get got and one of the daddies has the clip hers. And then I don’t know about love. I only know I want to be away from clip hers. One of the daddies makes me be still and the other daddy puts the clip hers on my scratch-toes and he CUTS THEM! My daddies cut me! They cut my toes! It is terrible and bad.

  And I try to stop them. Because I know they might have demons and maybe they don’t understand. I know about demons. Sometimes the daddies leave the Tea Vee on when they go to those places I can’t go and they come back with bags of stuff that I can sniff. And one time the Tea Vee had a long show called “The Ex Or Sips”  about a girl named Lend the Bear who spit up lots of hairballs and killed people who wore black and white clothes and made them fall down stairs and stuff. She was loud and mean but other people in the show said she did it because of demons.

  So my daddies have demons. And that makes them want to cut me. But it’s still just me that has hair balls, so maybe that movie didn’t tell me everything.

  I forgot what I was trying to tell you.

  Oh, the cutting and the clip hers. So when my daddies and the demons try to cut me, I fight. I fight hard, because I don’t like it when big people make me do things I don’t want to do. I squirm and I wiggle and I howl like Lend the Bear, like my daddies are trying to kill me. I don’t know if they are or not but I don’t want to find out. This makes the daddies say strong words and they are not happy, but Scotch is not happy either because they might be killing me. Why do they not understand that I’m not happy?

  I’m sad now. I don’t know if I want to talk anymore. Daddies should not hurt kitties with clip hers. Bad.

  Oh, look. A leaf just fell in the yard. I want to kill it. Or maybe I want to check my bowl to see if there’s something new. Or sleep. I like sleeping.  And stretching after sleeping. Do you like tuna? I like tuna. Bunches. And bugs can be yummy.

   I forgot again why I’m here. Oh yeah. I was talking about the picture that goes with this story. I don’t like that picture. And I think it’s Lie Bell that one of my daddies took it. It makes me look mean and maybe did something bad to my toys that look hurt. They are only a little hurt, not bad hurt. And they only got hurt because they made me mad. Don’t make me mad, don’t get hurt. Gold In rule. But maybe I should tell why I mad and then had to hurt.

  I was behind the purple couch, just laying. I already did all my important morning stuff and checked and sniffed all the things that need checked and sniffed. So it was time for a brake, because I’m in the Kitty Union and we have work-hers rights. So I was braking, and maybe snoozing a little because I’m good at that. And then one of the daddies was done with his get-ready stuff and it was time for him to say bye and drive away in his car to that place he goes to make money.

  I don’t really like this part. Because I was all settled and comfy and didn’t want to do things that make me look cute. But that daddy has to play with me for a little before he drives to the money place. I don’t know why. I know he’s going to come back. And I’m not going anywhere, because they don’t let me go anywhere, because I am End Door Kitty who gets told no-no when I try to run outside and touch grass. (I still try, but always no-no and door slamming.) So daddy was trying to play and I didn’t want to because I was braking. He called my name lots.

  I pretended I didn’t hear him. (Braking!)

  He called more. I was starting to think I didn’t like this daddy. Let me lay and not do anything! Go make the money and bring me back a treat bag. Not hard, just do. He called more. I thought maybe I call my Union Stew Herd and file a grieve ants, but I didn’t know where my sell phone be. (Maybe in big water bowl where daddies sit. The bat room?) I like to throw stuff in big water bowl, so maybe sell phone got throwed. I forget stuff. I’m simple but I’m pretty.

  I finally got tired of daddy calling so I got up and peeked around the purple couch. Daddy saw me and grabbed me and raised me in the air and made baby talk. I don’t like to be in the air. I have told my daddies “No Air!” all the time. One daddy understands, and no air. Other daddy not understand, and air happens. So Air Daddy was doing the air thing and I had to remind him about no air. When he didn’t listen, I squirmed and tried to kill him with my claws.

  He didn’t like that.

  Good. He put me down on my special place. It’s a desk that other daddy got from Pear One. But my daddies don’t do desk stuff with it. They put nice soft floors on the top so I can lay down and watch out the window and wait for leaves to fall so I can think about killing them. And that was okay, because it’s my me-only place and I can think about being the King Kitty of the world. But then Air Daddy found one of my old toys and put it down beside me.

  I don’t like that old toy. I liked it a long time ago when I was little and didn’t know that if I just wait, there will be new toys coming. I played with it a lot when I was stupid, because it was red and it was a crab and I like seafood and it was easy for my claws to grab it and throw it everywhere or maybe put it in one of my water bowls and wait for one of the daddies to find it and make funny faces because I drowned my crab. I like it better when my daddies don’t understand my plans. Because I get more treats that way.

  Anyway, daddy threw yucky crab on my special throne and then kissed me on the head. My head that I had just cleaned with one of my front paws and now it was dirty again. Why do they not understand about clean spots? Don’t touch! It takes a long time to make things clean. So I was in a bad mood and I was glad Air Daddy left for the way-far place because I needed to call my lawyer. And then sleep.

  But I didn’t get to do anything of my important stuff, because other daddy came out of the Off Hiss room and wanted to know what I was doing. Why checking on me when Air Daddy just did? You have sell phones. Text and leave me alone! But I tried to be sweet because maybe treat time, you never know. I just sat there and tried to look hungry.

  But no treat. Other daddy saw ugly crab toy and thought I was playing with it. (I not!) And he thought I needed other toys. (No, please.) And he found the mouse toy and flopped it on my throne. I don’t like the mouse toy, almost more than crab. Mouse toy don’t work right. When you pick up, no sound. When you throw on ground, it make noise. Why that? It should scream when I pick up, not throw down. Stupid bad toy.

  So now I had two not-want things on my throne. Life is very hard. I tried to tell daddy that this was not working for me, that toys should be in trash and treats should be in mouth. But he not listen. He thought I was singing or something and wanted to take a picture. He stupid sometimes. He ran to get cam-raw. I wanted him to fall down and leave me alone until time for attention. I’m busy and popular on Cat Book. Two thousand furrers!

  But he came back. Bad daddy! And he had cam-raw, and shoving it at my face and talking to me pretty but he really didn’t mean it. He just want me to look at cam-raw. I don’t want to look at cam-raw, but only so many places to look, with ugly crab and stupid mouse in my house. So I finally look at daddy and he burn my eyes with cam-raw fire. More reason to call lawyer.

  And then he show me picture. I look all mad, because I BE mad, with not-want toys on my soft royal floor that is MINE. And I get madder because I know this daddy is the one who makes clog posts about me and not talk to my agent before he do. Not right. But I can’t stop it, daddy goes clogging without asking me if okay. My daddies need training, Clog Daddy AND Air Daddy. Please click on Pet-Pal link to donate for my cause to train daddies better. It’s flax deductible! Send lots of money. Money good.

Love,

Scotch

P.S. to Clog Daddy: Why are there dead plants outside my royal window? King Kitties don’t want to see that. More lawyer reasons. I call now.

Scotch on the Rocks

Hi, People with two legs!

It’s me, Scotch the cat. I’m on Daddy’s toplap again, the thing I’m not supposed to be on, like the kitchen table and stuff that can break, but I don’t think he really cares right now. He’s in the other room, being very mad, and I’m pretty sure it’s not about me.

It’s been a very scary day.

I didn’t know it was going to be scary or I would have just stayed asleep. But I was up way early, before the dark goes away, running around and knocking things over for my Daddies to find later and talk real loud in funny voices. The Larm Clock said something with a 5 in it. I can only count to 5, because of my legs and tail, but I’m taking classes to learn more. I’m trying really hard but I know I don’t like that Ho Merk thing. I’m not good at it.

I was slapping at a plastic cap in the hallway (I love those things!), when Daddy got out of bed, looking not nice and very sweaty. That didn’t look good, so I ran to one of the places where I can watch things and people can’t see me. Daddy walked over to a little box on the wall, the Thermos Tat, and he looked at the numbers. They were big numbers that I don’t understand. Daddy did something with buttons and stuff, then he said bad words and stomped away.

I ran up to the Thermos Tat and hissed at it, because if Daddy doesn’t like it then I don’t like it either. Then I sneaked behind Daddy and watched him do something with the Circus Breaker Box in the room that’s way at the back of the house. Daddy didn’t like that box, either. He tried to make it do something and it wouldn’t. Then he went outside.

I’m not allowed to go outside. I tell my daddies every day that I want to go out there, but they don’t listen, and don’t let me. This makes me scratch stuff.

Daddy came back in, and he was still mad. He laid back down in bed, still mad. Other Daddy finally woke up, and they talked about Hair Conditioner. Something was wrong with it. A bad wrong. Other Daddy needed to call somebody about the Hair Conditioner, so he groomed himself in the little square room with water, then he left for that place he goes when it’s daylight.

Daddy sat down at his desk and turned things on, the toplaps and everything. That means he’s staying in our house today. Yay! I like it when he does that. I don’t understand why Other Daddy always has to leave when it’s bright outside but Daddy doesn’t always have to leave. But they keep feeding me, so I just pretend like I don’t care. I like treats. Yay more!

Daddy started typing and talking to people on the phone and doing the boring stuff that isn’t about me. This is when he is “working”. I don’t like this part, because when I jump on his boardkey he doesn’t think I’m cute and makes me get down. I never want to be working. It makes people different.

So I took a nap. I like naps. I have lots of places where I can do that, special places only for me. I change my mind every day about which is my favorite. Cause I don’t always remember the yesterday stuff when a new bright light comes in the window.

When I woked up, something wasn’t right. It was kinda warm. My special place in the window was warm, and I didn’t want to be there anymore. I went to go ask Daddy about this. He was talking to Other Daddy on the phone, and somebody named Pear Man was supposed to come visit, but not until later because Pear Man had lots of places to go, lots of people had Hair Conditioning problems.

Daddy said some bad words. And Daddy was only wearing his underwear pants. It wasn’t the right part of daylight for him to be wearing those. I was a little scared, but I could tell Daddy wasn’t talking about me and there was still food in my bowl so they still loved me. I thought I should take another nap.

When I woked up this time, it was all very wrong. It was hot. And Daddy was all shiny, the shiny he is when he walks on the Dread Mill, but he wasn’t walking on the Dread Mill and breathing hard, he was still working at his desk and typing every time there was a ping noise. I don’t think he was happy. He kept looking at his watch and saying bad things about God.

I thought maybe I should just be quiet and not run and knock stuff over. Sometimes you have to do this so people won’t yell. But everywhere I went, it was too hot, and I couldn’t stay still, and I wanted to scratch stuff, even the no-scratch stuff like cow chess and widow treements. So I went back to Daddy and his underwear shorts and I asked about why so hot and what’s wrong?

He petted me, and said my name lots in the special way that says love, and then he made me lay down in front of a machine. I didn’t want to at first, but he kept making me be still, so I finally did, and the machine was making wind! It felt good, like stretching, and catching tiny things that run. But I didn’t have to do anything, just lay and let the wind make my hair move. It felt yummy like treats. I wanted to stay forever in the wind.

And I fell asleep again, because I can do that really good. When I woked up again, Daddy wasn’t at his desk where people ping and he types. I went to look for him, running through part of the house where it was really really hot, and he was in the Guess Bedroom, lying on the bed and trying not to move. Oh, I know how to do that! I jumped up with him, and he had a bigger wind machine, and I snuggled by him and we just let the wind make it better than places with no wind.

Daddy petted me a lot, and he talked about nice things, and we just “had to get through it” and it would be good again. I didn’t really understand, but there was wind and Daddy and it was okay, so I purred. I knew something was wrong with other parts of the house, but the Pear Man was coming and it would get better because Daddy wouldn’t lie to me.

I think there was another nap, but I have lots of naps so I don’t always know when I have them. But Other Daddy finally came back from his daylight place, and he and Daddy talked about the Pear Man and if he was going to be coming today because there was a Heat Rave and lots of people had hot houses. I hoped all the hot houses had wind machines.

Then there was the ding-dong noise that means people want to come into my house. I’m not always happy about that. Sometimes I don’t know them and don’t know what they are going to do to me. Then Other Daddy closed the doors on the room I was in, which means stay there and don’t scratch, so I did. When doors are closed it can be bad and you have to pay special attention and hide. So I hid.

There was a lot of noise and banging. The ding-dong man went to the room over my head. I’m never allowed to go in the sky room, the place where my daddies keep Chris Mess boxes and a tree with shiny things that make me want to whack at them. You have to go up a Lad Her, and I think I can do it, but the daddies never let me so maybe there’s badness in the sky room.

Ding-dong man told my daddies that something was full of water, and that made the hotness come. Water? I make water. Did I do something bad? I snuck under a piece of furniture where nobody could reach me. I sometimes get sad about not understanding things and I have to hide.

More stuff happened in the sky room. I don’t know what, but it happened. Then it got kind of quiet, and I sneaked up to one of the doors for my hiding room, and peeked through the crack. Ding-Dong Man made Daddy sign something and give him a little piece of paper with numbers. Then Ding-Dong Man left.

I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I was glad that Ding-Dong Man went away. He didn’t give me any treats.

Then the doors to my hiding room got opened, and my daddies came to pick me up and love on me, which I don’t always like, but I know they need to do this because they are daddies. They showed me that wind was coming out of the ceiling now, not like the wind machine, but it still felt good. They told me I just needed to be Pay Shunt and then all the rooms would be happy.

I made them put me down, and I ran around to smell things, and I think they are right. I can smell feel-good air coming back, not bad air that makes Daddy wear underwear and be shiny and say bad words. I ran back to my daddies and let them love on me a little bit more, then I ran to one of my favorite sleeping places and tried to be Pay Shunt and wait for everywhere to be fun again.

I think I want a wind machine just for me. I liked it. Tabby Lee from the alley says I should ask Sandy Claws for stuff like that. But I’ll ask my real daddies instead, cause they know people like Pear Man and God Am It, and can take care of stuff like they always do. Cause they love me, and I deserve nice things.

Piece out.


Scotch

10 Thrilling Moments Whilst Taking the Cat to the Vet

1. The Deception.

One must never allow the feline to view the cat carrier until it is absolutely necessary. If unplanned, premature viewing takes place, the cat will instantly head for Venezuela, even if they are playing with their favorite toy or intensely grooming an apparently very dirty section of their coat. If you are lucky, you might catch a very brief blur as they rocket to the farthest end of the house, giving you some idea of how to plan your search-and-seizure route. If not, they could be anywhere. You may not find them for 3 days.

2. The Entrapment.

Eventually, of course, you do have to get the cat inside the satanic box of traveling torture. There’s a small percentage of the population who own angelic felines that, when shown the open door on the cage, will magically and simply walk through the door, assume a comfortable position, and wait patiently. If you have a cat like this, celestial beings have anointed you with blessings whilst you slept.

The rest of us must aggressively tackle the cat, lunge toward the carrier while enduring claw rips and howling, struggle desperately while the cat grabs at everything in the house that isn’t nailed down, and then finally stuff the furious ball of belligerent legs, whipping tail and Linda-Blair-head into the carrier, slamming the portal to hell shut before Beelzebub rises again.

3. The Transport.

Once you incarcerate your child, you must now get the crate of attitude from the house to the car. Sounds simple, but this is a lie. Especially if your cat is normally not allowed to leave your dwelling for any other reason. These cats, on a regular day, want nothing more than to visit the land of Forbidden Outside. Open doors, raised windows, the mail slot, all of these are potential escape routes for the yearning cat who feels his destiny is not being fulfilled, held back by a cruel and despotic owner.

But take one of these house-raised cats out into the real world? Well, it’s a whole different story then. Everything is completely overwhelming. The glare of the sunshine, the coat-stirring of the wind, the hideous aromas of nature instead of Yankee Candle? It’s sensory overload. Now your cat is howling again, convinced of impending destruction, and flopping around in the carrier like two bowling balls in heat.

It’s a known fact that your average 10-pound cat, once enraged and doing bitter, vehement aerobics in a contained environment, can take down an average adult from the sheer centrifugal force, knocking your ass off the sidewalk and into the grouping of cacti that some fool thought would look cute as landscaping.

4. The Fire Engine.

Most cats do not care for the motion of a car. They express this dissatisfaction by opening their already angry little mouths, engaging their vocal cords, and then screaming with the intensity of a Stage 4 hurricane. The eardrum-destroying volume actually increases the faster the vehicle goes, until all car windows in all lanes of traffic explode outward in a shower of broken glass, pinecone air fresheners and unpaid parking tickets.

5. The Mad and the Madness.

At some point during the drive, usually after a brief decline in the screeching and thumping, a respite that has lulled you into a false sense of normalcy and possible trip survival, things will take a turn for the worse. Your cat will suddenly decide that the only resolution to its current predicament is to attack the metal door of the crate, and will do so with a gusto and determination that is surreal. Savage growling and intense clawing ensues, with shredded toenails flying through the air as you swerve all over the road and try to get Pretty Kitty to stop with the self-mutilation and attention-grabbing.

6. The Potpourri of Insanity.

As you enter the actual vet clinic, there will be another misleading lull of docility as the cat assesses the new environment. Then the smell hits, the lovely aroma of medicines, high-dollar pet foods, and the thousands of other animals who have ever been in this building. Once again, your cat cannot calmly process this new intel, and instead chooses to go berserk, causing the crate to hop and jump across the floor as you try to simply sign in without a S.W.A.T. team being deployed to restore order and arrest people.

7. The Enigma of the Examining Room.

Once your cat is assigned one of the tiny inspection cubicles, your cat will morph once again, this time becoming a beast that defies the laws of gravity and nature. They will refuse to come out of the carrier that they absolutely hated until two seconds ago. Once a forced ejection is performed, the cat will instantly scan the entire room, quickly determine the most humanly-inaccessible spot and race to that very location. All equipment and furniture must now be moved so the cat can be retrieved from the bedpan that is inexplicably perched on a high shelf.

After repeated rounds of lunge and capture, the cat will eventually be confined to the examining table with the assistance of all staff members and the entire Dallas Cowboys cheerleading squad, doing their one day of mandatory charity work per year. (They happened to be passing by and became curious about the screaming.) The cat will now twist and squirm in an amazing display of contortionist moves that haven’t been seen since Olga Korbut hog-tied a balance beam with her legs back in the 70’s,

8. The Porcupine Paradox.

After all this fun activity, it will soon become clear to you that the air is filled with hair from your cat, billowing about the room in whirlwinds of emancipated fur. “Oh, that’s normal,” chirps the attendant, helping the vet keep the cat in place using both hands and one foot. “They all do that.”

Normal? This room looks like we’re the lone survivors after the Planet Feline imploded during an escalating war between the cats who want soft treats and the cats who want crunchy.

9. The Hiney-Stick Maneuver

How in the world do they get that enormous plastic rod that far up Tabby’s butt? Holy cow. Some things you just don’t need to watch.

10. The Return.

If both you and your pet manage to make it out of the Kitty-Kat House of Horrors with some semblance of sanity and cognition, the ride home will be a repeat of the first run. Fire engine alarms, erratic driving and Tasmanian devil in a box. The screaming alone will beat your psyche into a pulp. You pull into the driveway at home, weakened and emotionally-drained, then stagger into the house and release the Hades hellion.

Kitty blinks, glances around, sees you standing there, stares at you in a noncommittal way as if determining exactly how to make you pay for what you have done, then hoists a leg in the air and begins to clean. Which means the punishment has been classified top-secret, and will arrive when you least expect it.

Great.

I Know I’m Not Supposed To Touch This

Hi Daddy,

  This is Scotch. Well, I think I’m Scotch. It’s hard for me to remember, because I’m a simple cat. Things are confusing. Sometimes you call me Bo-Bo, and sometimes Other Daddy calls me Scooter. Sometimes I don’t know if you’re talking to me, or to other cats that I can’t see, so I just sit there and don’t look at anybody. But you’re nice when I don’t know my name and you pet me anyway.

  I know I shouldn’t be using your toplap. I got in a lot of trouble when I used it back in those bad days when you weren’t here and you were in France with those people that don’t live here but come here sometimes. But I thought it would be okay if I used it now because it’s your special day! But sometimes I don’t think right, so I don’t know for sure.

  I don’t know a lot of things. Sometimes that’s okay, but sometimes I worry.

  But it’s your special day! Yay! You are 322 cat years old today. That’s really old! I was at the window that you open for me in the bathroom, and I talked to Tabby Lee that comes over in our yard and makes me want to claw her because she gets to run around outside and I can’t. She said 322 is super old and that you should be in a home. But you are in a home because you live here, so I don’t know if Tabby Lee is just mean or is simple like me. Maybe I shouldn’t talk to Tabby Lee anymore.

  But then, Tabby Lee ran away because Torty Sue came in the yard. Torty Sue is really big and makes lots of cats go do something else for a while. Torty Sue has a big head and a big mouth and can eat really fast. Tabby Lee says Torty Sue can eat a squirrel in two bites. 

  I never saw Torty Sue do that, but she probably could, because she has teeth like in that dinosaur movie we watched the other day. I didn’t really want to watch that movie, because it was loud, but I knocked my puff ball under the entertain-bent center and I couldn’t get it. I tried to tell you about it, but you thought I wanted a treat. I didn’t want a treat. I wanted my puff ball. But you were shoving crunchy bits at me, so I ate them and then watched the movie. I hope that puff ball is okay.

  Um. What was I talking about? Oh! Your birthday. Well, I have a funny story to tell you about your birthday. I know you like stories, because you write them all the time and make bog posts. I don’t know what a bog is, or why you post to them, but-

  What the hell was THAT? Oh, it’s just my tail.

  Oops, I just cussed. Sorry, Daddy. But I can’t help it. I’m a little nervous sometimes, and when things come at me out of nowhere, I get a little jumpy. Like what’s up with that machine in the ceiling that blows hot air when it’s cold outside? I like the hot air, but I don’t understand that bang thing when it turns on. Every time it happens, I have to look at the ceiling like it’s never happened before. Why can’t it whisper?

  I forgot what we’re talking about again.

  Oh, the funny story. Well, I was in the room with the things that you type on, and you were somewhere not here, and Other Daddy was talking to that thing in his hand that makes me hear Aunt Tiffany’s voice sometimes, and they were talking about Soo She for your birthday. Well, I didn’t know who Soo She was, so I wanted to know more, because even if I be simple, I try to learn stuff. Even if it hurts like when you take me to the vegetarian and they shove long plastic things in my butt.

  So I ran over to Other Daddy’s desk, and tried to be cute so he would look at me and tell me what was going on. But he didn’t look at me, even though I was very cute. So I did the thing where I jump on the couch and then run and jump on his desk. (This is fun! Except when I don’t do it right and I bang my face into something I don’t want to bang my face in. That makes me sad, even if I don’t remember it two seconds later.)

  So I landed on Other Daddy’s desk, and nothing fell off, so I thought my cuteness would make it alright. But Other Daddy wouldn’t look at me. He was still talking to that thing that sounds like Aunt Tiffany and not loving me for my cuteness. This made me a little mad. Why is it so hard for my daddies to understand what I need?

  I meowed in my bestest voice.

  Other Daddy was still not looking at me. Little bastard. So I marched over and used my paws to step on his typing thing. This always works, even though there might be yelling. Other Daddy scooped me up and put me on his lap. I don’t really care for this, but I wanted to know more about Soo She, so I pretended that I was okay and licked at my no-more-balls place and tried to get comfortable.

  Other Daddy says to Aunt Tiffany: “But I don’t like seafood.”

  What! Oh. My. God. What kind of heathens are raising me? Who doesn’t like seafood? Seafood is the best thing ever. Better than puff balls. I discreetly clawed Other Daddy’s thigh to show that he was a bigot and needed some counseling. Other Daddy yelled something unpleasant and hurled me to the ground. This is NOT how I should be treated. I might be slow, but I’m from royalty. Obey me!

  I don’t know where that came from. Am I royalty? Maybe. The pictures on my wet food containers say that I am. I think that’s fair.

  Anyway, I ran down the hallway to find my “fuzzy thing on a stick” toy, and this took a little bit, because I have lots of toys, and I can’t always remember which one I like on which day, or where they might be. I finally found it, shoved behind the bread box. Why was it there? That box is up on the kitchen counter, where I’m not allowed to go because people yell and act like I’m destroying civilization. Why would they put it there? Oh. Maybe they didn’t want me to find it.

  My daddies suck sometimes.

  But I found Fuzzy, and I dragged it back to the office where Other Daddy was still talking to Aunt Tiffany.  He likes to talk a LOT. I go to sleep sometimes, and wake up years later and he’s still talking to Aunt Tiffany.  About the same thing. I don’t really understand them.

  So I spit out Fuzzy and his stick at Other Daddy’s feet. Other Daddy picks up the stick and starts waving Fuzzy around. Yay! Now I can hear what they are saying without Other Daddy getting suspicious about me hanging around when I normally pretend that I don’t want any attention. To make it seem like real life, I jump and pounce and try to savage Fuzzy, even though I don’t really want to hurt him. This is just something I have to do if I want treats. I understand my position in life.

  Anyway, Other Daddy keeps talking to Aunt Tiffany, and he says “Well, there might be something on the menu that isn’t fish.”

  Then why even go there? Other Daddy doesn’t understand the good things in life.

  Other Daddy says to Aunt Tiffany: “Okay, fine. Let’s do it. But don’t tell Brian. This needs to be a complete surprise.”

  Oh? I know that “Brian” name. That’s the Other Other Daddy. The one who lets me make bread on his belly. I love to do that. I mash and mash and then I get sleepy and I snooze a little while Daddy pets me and says he loves me. That’s when I don’t care that I’m simple, and I don’t care that Tabby Lee and Torty Sue get to run around and smell grass and do whatever they want and make fun of me in my bathroom window.

  My daddies love me. And every once in a while I love them back. But not too much. Because if I did love on them a lot, they would want me to love them all the time, and I’m too busy for that. There’s still a puff ball under the entertain-bent center that nobody has helped me rescue.

  So anyway, Daddy, that’s what I wanted to tell you. Other Daddy and Aunt Tiffany are planning to have you meet Soo She on your birthday. I don’t really know her, but she knows about seafood, and that makes her special. Like me.

  But don’t say I said anything. It’s hard enough to get a treat around here…

Your little bread-maker,

Bo-Bo