The World Legion of Cats

It's not so secret now. The Workd Legion of Cats. We work to protect the humans from demons, jinn and bad juju (DJBJ). Where would they be without us?

The frequency of our purrs repels DJBJ. We must sleep close to you at bedtime and walk all over you before waking. When humans are in half sleep hey are most susceptible as they are neither awake  or asleep. 

Ever wonder why we sit right behind you when cooking? The DJBJ thrive when you prepare food, since you are focused on nourishing and hurrying your loved ones. The DJBJ can't stand it. Playing with ribbons and toys? Training. It keeps me sharp. 

 

Have you really watched when we hunt? Why don't I eat every bird i see? Why did I only eat the Tufted Titmouse in the sunroom? What was it actually doing in the sunroom, where birds don't go? And why did it go there just as my adult male got there? It was a DJBJ in disguise, clearly stalking him. Thanks to my training and prowess I was able to protect him. 

Now you know. I am a trained field agent, operating on permanent assignment to this family. I must say, I have received an excellent post. 

 

Party!!!

I am a little sad that I cannot join the retirees for their line-dancing fun. Maybe we can fur-time.

Communications

I do love to peruse the library when my people are away during the day. It is well stocked, with tomes in many languages. I enjoy studying human languages as it adds clarity to my communication of my needs. Never one to have my message obfuscated by poor choice of words, I really on my vast command of all human communications to get the point across: turkey, now. 

My humans are so special. I just love that they each speak at least two languages. How did I get so lucky? Their knowledge of languages allows them to hear me in ways that others cannot. 

They have recently been learning to say "adorable kitty" (or kitty, at least) in different languages. It makes them feel as if they are making extra effort to extol my virtues. I totally approve. 

Pusekatt - Norwegian, my ancestral (human) tongue

Kissemisse - Swedish

Yavru Kedi - Turkish

La chatte - French

Minou - French

Gatita - Spanish

Kitty Katze - German

A few weeks back, I discovered diaries written by the venerable SalDiz, yes, HRH Dixie and her sidekick, SalPal. These diaries were written in German, and quite extensive. There is a lesser volume of their diaries in Spanish. Fascinating reading, they give such insight into Sal and Dixie's minds and lives. It appears their human may have tried to co-author the diaries, but with little success as her parts are quite dull. 

My oldest juvenile female is learning French. And so, to help her with the language, I used Kedi Mind Control to help her write my letter to Elijah:

 

Then, as if she had zero Mind Control of her own, she wrote a response from Elijah, clearly dictated by him. 

 

Chicken cutlet the size of my head

I love Peapod! They bring our groceries to us. Saturday my adult female took bags of groceries downstairs to put away. While she did that I helped myself tot he treat that the Peapod driver put on our kitchen floor: six pounds of chicken cutlets! Here you will see me working on the first one. The adult female seemed surprised when she saw me eating it. When I cried out for her to cut it into bite-sized pieces she put me back in the bedroom and shut the door.

What on earth!!! I think the chicken cutlet was in the trash can, because the trash smelled heavenly all afternoon. People as SO weird.

The Side My Bread is Buttered On

Or, more properly, the side on which my bread is buttered. My humans are all wonderful and lovely and I am extremely fond of them all. The adult male is so much fun to dote in he is cute when he talks to me, and he is always happy to give me a run or massage. As of late he is not so willing to give me treats. It seems that the adult female has some influence over him on this topic. Grrrrr. I proceed with my plans to open the refrigerator independently some day.

What is this "school" of which they speak?

Another entry with the sub-heading "people are weird."

The juveniles were so excited when they went back to "school." The older female juvenile was miserable soon thereafter because of "school," although I actually get the vibe that she likes it.  The juvenile male complains in he waking up moments that he hates "school" and does not want to go. His mother persists cheerfully in preparing him, while saying "everyone has to go" then and shoving him out the door with admonishments to "have a good day at school." What sense does that make, that she sends him somewhere he hates? The youngest female has her own moments of hating school, but usually just after she comes home, while futzing with some papers and complaining of hunger. 

What is this "school"? Fish school, I see that in our aquarium. Do people school? Why? Where? This is a mystery to me. They leave in the morning for "school" with large bags on their backs containing small boxes of turkey between white tasteless stuff. They come home in the afternoon and they smell of many different people and places. What is this "school?" Would I like it? I have heard that there is doggie school. Well, I am certain I could do it better than a dog, but of course I probably won't ever go there since there might be dogs. Not fond of them. Except from afar. 

Here I am preparing the youngest female's school bag. Do you think she will sniff it tomorrow and know that I was here? 

 

Turkey-flavored bathing

I love my people. They are really good to me. In the morning and in the evening they all ask each other, "Has anyone fed Piper?" Their concern is touching. I wish they would ask less and feed me more. Imagine if everyone fed me! Scoops and scoops of food 

In the early morning the adult female wakes up and we go downstairs together. She gives me a good morning rub, scratch and snuggle. Then she treats me with turkey. I've gotten to where I just turn in circles when she gives it to me. It's dizizying but effective. After the turkey she rubs her turkey-scented hands in my fur and all the little tiny pieces get rubbed into me. I love the turkey-flavored bath I take after my morning treat. What cat could ask for more than this?

On the Origin of Boxes

I spend my days thinking. The world is full of curiosities and I am curious about them. There is an idiom, "curiosity killed the cat," which is obviously a slogan dreamed up by the uninterested of the human species. The people who lack curiosity and ambition and scorn those who've got it. The people who play video games and watch tv all day. The people who fail science and don't read books for enjoyment. They came up with a way to justify their total lack of interest in anything, as if interest and curiosity were dangerous. Bah! They are the hallmarks of greatness.

One of the things I really enjoy is jumping in and out of a good cardboard box. The cardboard is such great surface. It is almost slippery and yet also so easy to sink my claws into. When my tail rubs against the edge of the box I am sitting in, it makes a delicious echoey, rustling noise that reminds some ancient part of me of a mouse in a wall. I flip around and attack the spot, killing the invisible and unfortunate mouse. The humans also enjoy the boxes. They like to lightly scratch the edge of the box when I am inside, which makes a wonderful mouse-in-the-walk noise. They delight when I spring about, everyone marveling at my gymnastic talent and quickness.

These boxes are great, and plentiful. I have long wondered about their origins. It has been a curiosity that has driven me to bravery. I do not care for the large rectangular brown trucks with golden scrawl on their sides that prowl our neighborhood every day except Sunday. When I was younger and heard them coming, I would spring down from my window and hide. Now I stay in the window and watch them with scorn and disdain. When they stop in front of my house I watch for as long as I can stand it, and then I hide.

It recently came to understand through my careful (and very courageous) observation that the drivers of the trucks provide us with the boxes. I do not understand why, but perhaps it is similar to the woman in blue who brings paper every day except Sunday. My adult male enjoys the paper so, and spends his time moving it about the house. People are weird.

Last evening my adult female showed us the picture here of a driver of the brown trucks. She called him Max-the-You-Pee-Ess driver and said he belongs to a friend. It makes sense. The humans have employed the canines' desire to serve and bring boxes to the felines in their homes. Smart humans. The only thing I don't understand is why the humans insist on dressing the You-Pee-Ess drivers. Poor dogs. Weird humans.

Nobody had better ever try to dress me.