Archive for the ‘Cats’ Category

Why can’t a woman be more like a cat?

Thursday, April 15th, 2010


By Tiber

I walked by my sister Iris Nell’s bedroom and heard such a loud rumbling, I thought for a second she was riding around on a power mower. Of course, the fact that I even considered this as a possibility proves how weird this family is.

It turned out it was just Paracelsus, our cat, who loves Iris Nell so much, that his purr box was revving on high.

And I got to thinking, why can’t a woman be more like a cat?

The thing about cats is, they give off very clear signals – so wouldn’t it be great if women could purr too?  Then, whenever they liked something, you’d be spared a 1500 word monologue on the topic because they’d just start purring and you’d know!

And how many millions of men could have avoided the humiliation of being rejected when they stopped and  delivered their best pick-up line? If it was going to be a “no,” before a dude even got there, a cat-woman would hiss and bare her teeth and all of her hair would stand up on end, allowing the guy to just keep on moving right past, as if he was just heading to the bathroom, his dignity intact.

I’d also be fine with the lap-sitting. And clothing-wise, what guy doesn’t like a good cat-suit? Now that I think about it, though, that’s not really an inheritance from cats, is it?  Actually, if you saw your neighbor’s cat constantly sporting a cat-suit, I really think you might have to call PETA.

Anyway, a cat-woman would also really help me out right now in the “short of cash” department. It would save you a lot of money to date someone who, instead of wanting dinner and a movie, would be just as happy enjoying dinner and a piece of string.

Of course, it’s true that she might cough up the occasional furball in a restaurant. But I think most people know the Heimlich maneuver by now, so my guess is, we would both be just fine.

Flee the flying feline

Tuesday, March 9th, 2010

By Tiber

We’ve always had lots of pets and Paracelsus, our cat, is one of the most eccentric. He’s had a complete territorial fixation on one of the second-floor bathrooms, ever since he wandered in there once and happened to meow. The meow echoed but to Paracelsus, it could mean only one thing.

 “Intruder cat in the john!”

And forever after, in spite of his busy nap schedule, he still finds hours to hang out in there in hopes of eventually nabbing the stranger. Of course, no strange cat is ever found but since Paracelsus is in there constantly, haunting the bathroom like Moaning Myrtle, he’s had to figure out some way to pass the time.

So when any person comes in, usually an uninformed guest, Paracelsus quickly hides behind the shower curtain. He waits silently until said guest is seated on the john, relieving him or herself, and then the cat makes his move.

He suddenly shoots out from behind the curtain, claws extended, and sails over the head of the stunned person on the john, maniacally grinning all the way until he reaches the drain board on the other side.

By then, the guest has leaped up in a vault of terror, still pissing or worse, pretty much all over the room. I make a point of warning my guests to please check for cats behind the shower curtain before they go in there. Everyone else in the family assures me that they warn their guests too but I know that’s a lie, because they think the whole thing is really funny.

Yeah, it’s funny if you don’t have to clean it up.  Taffy, the maid, has, more than once, found a mess on the seat, the floor, the walls and once, even the ceiling. Mrs. Brunty, the housekeeper, refuses to believe it could be “that sweet cat’s fault” and instead just murmurs to Taffy, “You know…the older guests…”

My guess is, that fearing the prospect of that in her own future, Taffy will probably kill herself when she turns fifty.

The cat in the hat, the dog in the shades

Wednesday, November 11th, 2009

By Tiber

Our golden lab, Cax, got conjunctivitis and had to have some eye drops put in for awhile. Dad worried about him and when they were going out for a walk, as a joke, he put a pair of old sunglasses on him “to cut out the glare.”

He figured Cax would buck them off in under five seconds but it turns out the opposite has occurred.  Cax liked them so much that now he won’t go out without them.

It’s like living with three-quarters of the Blues Brothers. Four legs but only one head.

The other day, Dad wanted to take Cax for his follow-up appointment with the vet and woe to the world, Cax’s sunglasses couldn’t be found.

We all tried to fit him up with anything else we could find – a baseball cap, a plastic tiara, a hoodie. We even tried somebody else’s sunglasses. But no. Evidently, Cax thinks sunglasses are like toothbrushes. He has to have his own.

So everybody was dispatched all over the house to locate his glasses. Finally, they were found behind our Irish setter, Brendan’s, water bowl.  There’s no denying that Brendan hid them there. And who can blame him?

As everyone was solicitously adjusting Cax’s shades to his ever more demanding perfect angle, Paracelsus, the cat, walked by. Brendan barked at him but Paracelsus just took one look at Cax’s so undog-like diva preening, sat down a few inches away from both of them and took a bath.

Brendan flopped down and literally put his paws over his face. You could actually see him thinking with dismay,

“All of my work. Destroyed.”