An Open Letter to the Animals

Dear Mookie, Laney, Leo, and Turtle,

We need to chat.

Over the past week, each of you have engaged in some questionable activity, leading me to believe that you have taken leave of your senses and are possibly on drugs. There are certain house rules that have been flagrantly disobeyed and such behavior will not longer be tolerated.

I'm serious about this.

I'm  considering withholding the kitty pot and fifth doggie treat of the day.

Turtle and Leo, let's start with you two and the "accidents" you keep having in my bathroom.

While I understand that it's dark at night and it might be hard to see where you are going, I find this excuse weak. Leo, dark or not, unless you feel fresh air on your nose and dirt under your paws, you should not be going to the bathroom anywhere. And Turtle, you're a cat. You can see in the dark. And we both know it.

The next excuse, while creative, is equally unacceptable. It's MY bathroom, folks. Not yours. I'm the only one allowed to go to the bathroom in there.

So, let me reiterate the rule: TURTLE: littlerbox only. LEO: outside only (and preferably not on my flowers).

Laney, you are next.

I'm not sure how, after 12 years of not being allowed on the couch you have suddenly decided that it's totally OK. It's still not OK and it's especially not OK when you have muddy paws.

Furthermore, I need you to STOP chasing your sister, Turtle, all over the house. It scares her and makes her wet her pants. Which makes me angry and I'm the one who hands out treats around here, so you want me decidedly not angry.

But Mookie, your antics are of the greatest concern.

First, and I know we've covered this many times, but you insist on repeating these behaviors. Let me reiterate that the items on the list below are never acceptable:
1. Face-swatting to get your way
2. Walking on Leo
3. Chasing Turtle (see Laney's section above)
4. Overdosing on cat nip
5. Knocking over bedside lamps to annoy us into getting up to cater to whatever whim is currently on your mind
6. Knocking over floor lamps when you are racing around the house chasing invisible chipmunks
7. Speaking of chipmunks, NEVER ACCEPTABLE TO LEAVE INTESTINES AND BRAINS ON MY FRONT STEPS
8. Crossing the street
9. Sleeping in other's beds -- and if you keep that up, any one of the three of them are going to murder you in your sleep
10. Swatting Laney's tail
11. Batting Leo in the face

But it's not just your antagonistic behavior that's on my mind this week. I've been accepting that ridiculousness since day 1. I've aalso ccepted that and the fact that you are pretty darn clumsy for a cat. Not many felines fall off of counters. Granted, you had a bag on your head, but still -- questionable intelligence. Which leads me to the activity of greatest concern....

You know you are not supposed to go outside.
And yet, you escape daily.
Because I am your care-giver, I worry.
You often escape early in the morning when I'm cranky and sleepy.
Which means that you spend the day outside while I earn money to pay for cat nip and treats. We live in Rochester.
It rains.
It snows.
It sleets.
It's cold.
And that's not ideal for a little white kitty.

So I built you a house to protect you when I cannot.
It's the same color as our house, so you will know it's home.
It's got your favorite little bed in there (Leo's).
It's got cat nip and a toy (Turtle's) in there.
It's made of solid wood with a raised floor to keep you warm and comfortable and dry.
It's a nice house.

And you were not interested for days.
You sniffed it.
You walked around it.
But you would not use it.
You stubbornly (stupidly?) remained in the elements.

And then there was the rainstorm yesterday morning.
You escaped (as per usual).
You got stuck outside (unsurprising).
But you saw your house (shocking).
Built to shelter you from getting wet and being cold (by the one who loves you the most).
And when I came downstairs, I was hoping I would find you using it (and that I would find chocolate).

And, little Mookie Boo, you were!

All parents want to believe their children are of superior intelligence.
But for most, there comes a moment when you realize that  your child, like you, is just average.
And that's fine.
For a few, however, there comes a moment when you must accept that your child is, perhaps, more than a few crayolas short of a box.
And you have to decide if you are going to be embarrassed for their deficiencies or celebrate their accomplishments and see everything you possibly can as an achievement.

Yesterday morning, looking out into the cold, rainy outdoors, I found myself realizing I am one of those parents.

I decided to be the latter.

So, Mookie, I am very proud of you for using your little house.

It's very smart of you.

Even if you thought the best way to use it when it was sleeting was to sit on top of it, getting drenched, rather than sitting in it. Where it's warm. And dry. And generally awesome.

You're very special.

Why I Hide From The Conk

The dogs have a conk. This rubber cone is a point of argument and obsession between them. While Laney captures and guards it, Leo uses his obscenely long tongue to get at the treat inside. Sometimes, Laney will appear to have abandoned the conk, only to lie in wait for one of us to approach it. She will then come racing toward us, barking and showing every single one of her teeth. As the frequent victim of this trap, I find it cruel and nasty. As a hunter, however, I find it pretty brilliant.

Being a hunter, a good one, means practicing your art. And because there seems to be some totally unfair conspiracy to keep me inside, I have to practice in the house. In any given day, I work on the following skills:

THE SNEAK ATTACK.
VICTIM: Turtle
ACTIVITY: Come tearing out of thin air to freak her out and chase her into a corner where I pounce on her and show that I am, as discussed, awesome.
COMPLICATING FACTOR: Laney gets involved and breaks up the fight.

DEATH BY PAW-BAT
VICTIM: Laney
ACTIVITY: Laying on couch and batting her tail.
COMPLICATING FACTOR: It's a strong tail; I could be injured by a rogue wag. Also, Laney's quick and has big teeth and doesn't like her tail touched. So this practice session may also include speed tactics when I have to bolt lest I get chomped.

MARKING MY TERRITORY
VICTIM: Leo
ACTIVITY: Establishing dominance by rubbing my face on him, thereby marking him with my scent. Note that I also sleep in both of his beds to leave my scent there as well. Note also that I do not "mark" by spraying. Only lame, skill-less cats do that.
COMPLICATING FACTOR: Leo bites.

THE ESCAPE.
VICTIM: Rules and Warmth
ACTIVITY: Sliding out of the house any time any door or window is open.
COMPLICATING FACTOR: They're onto me.

It was while I was practicing the escape one day that my hate of conks began.

Warmth was trying to keep me out of the bedroom. Which smelled bad. But regardless of why he wanted me out, I saw an opportunity to practice getting through doors that I shouldn't be getting through. Therefore, when he slipped in, I raced through his legs and found myself in the middle of an empty room. An empty room with sticky floors. Really sticky floors.

Warmth freaked out and snatched me up.

He ran out to tell Rules who yelled at Warmth in a very high-pitched voice which she gets when something very bad has happened. I must have really performed a good Escape; I was definitely not supposed to be in there. I am a superior escape artist.

Rules pulled me from Warmth and threw me down in the snow. Which was uncool. I hate snow. I ran back to the door but she kept doing it. She was also talking on the phone while she did this. I think she was talking to The Feeder. I think this only because that's the only other person I know.

Then she picked me up and we went to the sink, were I usually drink my water from the faucet because I am a male Diva. This time, however, I was not allowed near the faucet. Instead they started rubbing goop all over my paws which, I was starting to notice, were all sticky and yellow. And then they put my paws under water. And more goop. And more water. And then some oil. And then peanut butter.

They finally let me go and I retreated to Leo's bed to clean my peanut butter paws. This took several hours. When I finally emerged, Rules inspected my feet and yelled at Warmth again. She took me back to the sink and repeated the whole mystifying ritual which was stupid because I had cleaned my feet properly. I was so mad at her, that when she let me go, I decided to run across her counters. Which would have been fine, but for the fact that one counter burned my oil/peanut butter/sticky paws. So I again retreated to Leo's bed to clean myself up, the smell of peanut butter and burned toes sticking in my nose like boogers.

Now, whenever I smell peanut butter, I want to throw up.

Which isn't great, because peanut butter is a fixture in this house.

It's in the conk.

(Note: For the real story, click here. He's not awesome. He's a freakshow. And mean. And his tail is always dirty. Love Turtle)

The Dogs are Gone

The dogs are not here.

I don't know where they are. I don't know when they are coming back. And quite frankly, I do not care. The dogs, who you haven't met yet, are two loud, high-strung, smelly, clumsy, stupid masses of yellow fur and ugly paws.

I hate them.

And it's not just because they eat poop. (!)

I hate them because they break up all of my fights with Turtle. I hate them because they spoil my hunts all the time because there is nothing stealth about Miss Border Patrol who races around the perimeter and yells at everyone to run away or about Mr. Digger who insists that barking at a wounded mole is the way to kill it.

These are not smart creatures.

I mean, Turtle isn't playing with a full deck either but at least she's a cat -- inescapably elegant (but, really, not so bright). And, she's easy to bully out of food/cat-nip/the best spot on the kitty tower. So, there's that.

But anyway. The dogs are not, and have not been here. And let me tell you, it's been awesome. You see, when the dogs are gone, that means Rules and Warmth are gone. When Rules and Warmth are gone, The Feeder arrives.

Oh my GOD, I love The Feeder. The Feeder was the first to let me outside. The Feeder brings me moist food that Rules doesn't like. The Feeder provides crazy amounts of Green Heaven for me to roll around. The Feeder never lectures me about the condition of my tail (it's pretty dirty) like Rules does. The Feeder has never tried to wash me (Rules) or prevented me eating a chipmunk head (Rules). Of course, neither The Feeder nor Rules let me sleep on their heads like Warmth does. Warmth is my best friend. Even though he doesn't clean my litter box enough. (And Rules: NEVER).

Rules and Warmth came back last night. The Feeder hasn't come over yet. Which means those dogs are probably coming soon. Or, maybe, they've left forever and I'll never have to lose my spot to that fat little one again. I can't tell you how many times I've been kicked out of The Cave (my cave, thank you) so he can go to bed in there. He also takes my blankets and beds. Rules seems to indicate they all belong to Fattie. She's wrong about that. She's soooo wrong.

Mookie is a Bully.

He is not awesome.
-- Turtle

Turtle

He scratched me in the face and I was incapacitated for 25 days and my face has been forever disfigured.

-- Leo

Leo

Who's Mookie?
-- Laney

Introduction: Part 1, Take 2094

by Mookie

I am The Emperor.

That's me. To the left. I'm pretty spectacular, aren't I?

I live with three other animals two humans. We'll get to them later. For now, let's talk about me. Because I'm awesome. I'm the Tsar of Awesome. That's what you can call me, "The Tsar of Awesome." Forget "The Emperor" stuff. Tsar of Awesome is more awesome. I'm awesome in so many ways. For example, I can eat disgusting cat food which leaves me with disgusting breath but then clean my whole body with that same stinky mouth and smell awesome. Also, I am a totally stellar hunter. I am the only animal in this house who has killed things. That's awesome. I'm also a highly-successful escape artist, a certified mechanic's assistant, I'm learning to sew (hard, I can only catch the threads at this point), and can tame dogs, both large and small. And then there are my good looks, charm, ability to be cool at the same time I'm being cute and snuggly. I mean seriously people: what's more totally awesome than that?

I wasn't always so awesome. I know it's hard to believe, but it's totally true. When I was first rescued and brought to the shelter, I had a cold and a runny nose. In fact, I was so sick that they named me, "Bugger." I'm not making that up. Bugger. Totally uncool.

Despite my whacked name, I was taken in by the no-kill rescue folks. I like them for two reasons:

1. Uh, hello? NO KILL.

2. They renamed me. Dancer. Which will not yet awesome, isn't Bugger.

You know everyone wants a friggin kitten. Kittens, I'll have you know, are total spazzes who are going to destroy your house and tip over a lot. If you want a cat, get a cat. Get a cat who knows who he is (like the Tsar of Awesome) and will bring that personality into your life and force you to like it. That's sort of thing promises to build character and patience rather than the narcissism that comes from trying to develop a cat into what you want him to be (BTW, fat chance with that and if you think you're successful, check the animal again. You probably gotten a dog by mistake or a super lame cat). That should be a slogan: Adopt and Adult: Stop Narcissism.

Moving on.

I came to live with Rules and Warmth. I belong to Warmth. But I wouldn't be here without Rules. She picked me out. Even though she said she thought white cats are a little dorky.

And along the way, I'll tell you all about that.

And about my minions: Leo the Drama Queen, Laney the Green Beret, and Turtle the Turtle (she's got some issues). BTW, their nicknames changed based on their particular antics on any given day and/or how much they've displeased me. Which is rather a lot.

But for today, let's just focus on two things:

1. The Tsar of Awesome (me)

2. Adopt and Adult. Stop Narcissism

Rules' note: the picture at the top of the page is an inaccurate depiction of The Tsar's head only. For more inaccurate images of him, please go here.

Accurate image to the right.

He managed the construction of that cat house.

And his name is Mookie and he's more akin to a clumsy monkey than a fierce tiger.

He is indeed, however, quite awesome.