Posts Tagged ‘Paracelsus the cat’

Don’t ignore the cat behind the curtain

Friday, July 8th, 2011

By Tiber

My family has the best friends in the world – not only because they’re smart and decent but also because they put up with us.

I wouldn’t put up with us and I’m one of us.

First of all, our 4th of July celebration was pretty lame but now, for one of the men who stayed on, his week has gotten even worse.

Our cat, Amadeus, is always pretty well-behaved. Plus, he’s always composing symphonies for us so that’s nice.

Our other cat, Paracelsus, however, is another story.

As I’ve written before, we really do try to warn guests entering Paracelsus’ favorite bathroom to check first behind the shower curtain. But it’s been hot and everybody just forgot.

The male guest had sat down and was doing his business which then, unfortunately, allowed Paracelsus to do his business which is his sure-fire cat practical joke of suddenly bursting through the shower curtain and sailing over the head of the seated terrified guest, until he lands on the sink on the far side.

The guest, in the midst of relieving himself, has now leaped up involuntarily and relieved himself all over the room.

Some of the guests never come out again.

They don’t want to hose down the entire place themselves but they certainly don’t want anybody else doing it either.

I’ve just had a thought, though.

Since my sister, Iris Nell, already makes weird little animal outfits, maybe she can whip up some tiny mop shoes for Paracelsus to wear.

That way, he wouldn’t have to give up his fun but he could at least help some with the inevitable-
“Cleanup in bathroom 5!”

Cat Stash…or The British Museum Now Under Your Chair

Tuesday, October 19th, 2010

By Tiber

When I was a kid, I used to carry all sorts of junk around in my pockets. It had no value in the real world but, to me, every piece was a useful treasure.

Tonight, Dad forgot something in his study and when he turned around and went back in, he saw Paracelsus,  one of our cats, whirl around, clearly looking guilty.

The cat was carrying a pencil stub in his mouth and he quickly tried to act casual about it, as if he was just planning to jot a few things down. Then he glanced at the old, upholstered chair, dropped the pencil and ran out.

Dad decided to look under the chair, clearly not an action undertaken by anyone on the cleaning staff in years, and there was Paracelsus’ own guy-stash of treasures, his own little boy pants pockets.

We kept pulling things out as if we were in Tut’s tomb.

The cat had carried off and saved two wine corks, a walnut, a straw, a small compass, a gargoyle, a jack of clubs, a Christmas decoration that Mom said disappeared two years ago, a man’s tie, a yo-yo, a set of those Russian dolls (which, unsurprisingly, he couldn‘t restack), an antique sugar spoon, a trilobite fossil and a photograph of Megan Fox.

I’ve got to hand it to him. His horde was a whole lot better than mine.

The LitterAce Man

Wednesday, May 26th, 2010

By Tiber

Since Dad decreed that everyone in the family now has to get a job (and no one can actually do anything), my brother Duncan has managed to come up with some work  for our younger brother Kru.

Duncan happened to notice our cat, Paracelsus, heading for his cat box. And inspiration struck. Duncan got to thinking about cat sand being heavy. What a nuisance it must be, especially for women, to have to keep buying it and toting it home. Somebody should start a service that delivers cat litter directly to your door. The service could even haul the used cat sand away! Duncan ran the idea by Kru and The LitterAce Man was born.

Kru has a friend whose father loaned him an old truck that had hauled who-knows-what in its original life. But it has a handy spigot in back that allows cat sand, bought cheaply in bulk, to be poured out into any size bag requested.

And the customers have appeared. It’s hard work, toting all of that sand into homes all day long but Kru, by far the fittest of us all, has really taken to this job. And according to him, the women on his route have really taken to him.

Kru thinks there must be some sort of attraction hardwired in females, about seeing a guy lugging something heavy over his shoulder – you know, like a prehistoric alpha male hoisting a dead sabre-tooth tiger back home to the cave. I reminded Kru that he was just a guy toting dead kitty litter back to the utility room.

 “Hey, the hormones released are the same!” he snapped.

He may have a point. To be truthful, I laughed out loud when I first heard about this job. But now, suddenly, women are asking Kru if he might want to stay on for awhile and have a cup of coffee. I’m the one sitting here with the cute cat but Kru, armed only with the cat sand, may soon be getting a lot more than a sandwich.

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.”