Breakfast in Bed

Smelling food, I instinctively walk into the kitchen. One of the little humans is cooking. Umm, smells good.

I stop dead in my tracks. Glancing around I spot my sister Sasha and my little brother Salem nearby, “Hide!” I shout.

Once we are safely hidden, Salem turns to me, “Why are we hiding?”

In between pants, I reply, “One of the little humans is flipping pancakes with our litter box scoop.”

A grin spreads across Salem’s face, “But that isn’t our fault.”

“I know, but our human is almost done eating. Do you want to be around when she finds out?”

I Bet

Salem: “I bet I can jump on that countertop.”

Me: “I bet I can jump on that cabinet.”

Salem: “I bet I can jump on top of the cabinet.”

Two seconds later I am standing in a puddle of water, broken dishes and scattered utensils. I look around at the mess and scratch my head. “I bet I can jump on top of the refrigerator.”

My Crappy Day

My little brother, Salem, and I end up at the Vet’s office today for our annual checkup. I’m healthy as can be, but whatever.

We are both sitting in our carrier and the prettiest tabby you ever laid eyes on walks up to us. Her hair is spun of gold I tell you, pure gold.

I can’t think of anything to say to her. Finally, I get so nervous my body starts to vibrate and before I can stop myself, “Purrrrrrrrrr.”

Oh my God! Did I just flipping purr out loud? Tabby’s eyes wrinkle up and she turns toward Salem, “Do you come here often?”

He just smiles and winks at her and they start chatting it up. Asshole.

They spend the next thirty minutes chatting while I hide in the back of the carrier.

This place blows.

Naughty and Nice: Merry Christmas to All

Ah, the moment of glory is almost upon me. That moment when I present my human with what is to be the most illustrious gift she has ever received. The stunned look of surprise and admiration that will come across her face is going to go down in history subsequently marking my gift as the greatest feline gift of all time.

This is it. I trot up to my human and mew to get her attention. She smiles and looks down on me with loving eyes. I’ve got her eating out of the pad of my paw. I smile back and drop my beloved and beautiful Meow Mix leopard print mouse with the long string tail and belly that squeaks when you bite it at her feet. I sit back and await the marvelous harrahs and praise she is about to shower upon me for such an excellent and generous gift.

Here it comes. She bends down and gently pats the top of my head and coos. Oh, this is going to be good. I tremble with anticipation.

“Well, isn’t this the sweetest thing you ever saw? Thank you both so much. You’re the best little kitties in the world.”

What the @%$#!&*! Both? Perplexed, I turn my head slightly to the left, and to my horror, sitting right beside me with the biggest grin you ever laid eyes on, is my little brother, Salem.

Oh, I’ve been outmaneuvered. Swindled. Bamboozled and hoodwinked. Yes, I’ve been duped by the best in the business. I would like to take this time to say “Merry Christmas to all and God bless you, each and every one,” but first I have to kill a cat.

Santa Claws is Coming

Suffice it to say, I’ve been wavering between the Naughty and Nice list all year and with Santa Claws coming soon, I figure I need to do something to solidify my place on the Nice side. An amazing gift for my human just might do the trick. But what do I get her?

“Hey, Salem. What do you think we should get our human for Christmas?”

Salem’s mouth drops open, “We have to get her something?”

I blink a few times and then raise my right paw and bitch slap him. I bitch slap him hard. “Of course we do you numbskull.” Then I duck down and in my fastest auctioneering voice I blurt out, “If you want Santa to bring you treats you have to get her something so you’ll be on the Nice list and not the Naughty list so don’t slap me back I’m only trying to help you.”

He lowers his paw and I breathe again and stand back up.

“How about that old piece of string over there?” he motions toward the corner.

I restrain myself from slapping him again. “No, no. It has to be something she would love. Something special, beautiful, something extravagant.”

Salem’s eyebrows dip and he smiles, “Are you talking about yarn?”

Oh. My. God. How on earth does he get more dates than I do?

“Never mind. I’ll think of something myself.” I’ll get all the credit if I do it myself anyway.

The Pacifist In Me

My little brother Salem is what you might call hospitably challenged. You see, in the world of felines, there are bullies and there are those that are bullied. Salem is a born and bred bully. He kind of prides himself on it. I myself am an accomplished pacifist. Which means I can run fast. Very, very fast.

I’m more of a brains cat than a brawny one. My battles take planning. Scheming. I find that revenge, like tuna, is best served cold.

Today, I found the outer shell of one of Salem’s claws stuck in my fur. A souvenir from yesterday’s surprise attack. Well, I’m getting even. When he wakes from his nap, he’ll find his face staring at the business end of Teenager’s underwear. Underwear I found on the floor!

“Suuuukkkkkkiiii!!!!!!”

Ack! I gotta go.

Secret Society of Idiots

I walk into the kitchen, ready for a little snack, and peer down into my empty food dish. Why does my human hate me? I shake my head and make my way into the living room.

“Wha?” I stop and stare, stunned. There, chatting and laughing it up through the living room window, is my little brother Salem and some scraggly looking alley cat from down the block.

All of a sudden, the AC (alley cat) spots me out of the corner of his eye. His eyes narrow to slits and he stops talking and smiling and points a steady paw in my direction. Salem turns and glances at me. He smirks and looks back at the AC. And there, through the glass, they exchange some curious movements that involve a turn, a butt wiggle, a high five paw move that ends with a tapping together of their right paws in unison through the glass window.

Why, was that a secret paw shake? Does my goofy, stupid, smelly little brother belong to some secret society that I am unaware of? And worse yet, not privy to membership in? My stomach churned. They probably just sit and watch each other drool. Or chase their own tails like dogs, what idiots, what imbeciles. I want in. Every fiber of my being wants in. Oh, he will rue the day!

Salem raises his tail and starts to strut off without even acknowledging me.

“Uh, hmm,” I snort.

With all the fake innocence he can muster, he asks, “What?”

“What was that?”

“What?”

My anger rises inside me, incensed by the humilation of being excluded and now ignored. “Who was that? Are you in a secret club?” I bore my eyes into him, willing him to spill the beans with my brain waves.

He lays his paw on his chest, “Me? No. Why ever do you ask?”

“Arghh!!!” I shake with fury. Salem saunters off and I vow I will find out what he is up to. I will have him begging me to join and just when he’s on his knees crying, I will reject him in a fit of laughter and then walk away forever the superior feline.

Now, where do I begin? I think I need some tuna and maybe a nap first.

A New Toy From Meow Mix

About a month ago, there, shining like a beacon on the side of my trusty Meow Mix box of kitty chow, was an advertisement for the latest and greatest in feline entertainment novelties. And all you had to do to obtain this miraculous objet was collect a dozen upc codes from the sides of the boxes and mail them in to Meow Mix headquarters in Decatur, Alabama.

I did my part and ate all of the Meow Mix I could, so that my human could gather the required upc’s. Two days later, my human mailed them in. It’s been a torturous wait since then. At least two of my lives have been spent in the interim, but I believe my day has arrived. I can hear the dogs barking now.

Dogs following our mailman always alert me to his arrival in our neighborhood. For next door, there lives a dog named Little Man, who can yelp with the best of them. It is rumored that his bark alone sends birds flying off two counties over. Today, Little Man wailed like his tail was on fire signaling the mail has arrived.

I run to the window and my eyes behold the glorious package clutched in his mittened hands espousing the Meow Mix yellow and red logo all over it. The time has come. I follow my human to the kitchen and sit at her feet staring and waiting. Three years later she opens the box, rubs my head, and hands me my very own leopard print mouse with the long string tail and insides that squeak when you bite it.

I run to the bedroom to score some alone time with my new prized possession. I bat it around the room with careless abandon. I pounce on it no less than six times, two in sneak attacks from under the bed. I sniff and I chew. Wanting to mark it as my very own, I end my most magnificent afternoon by sitting on it. Yes, I rub my bottom all over it and then promptly collapse into a deep sleep.

I later awake to my brother Salem standing over me, shaking my new toy asking, “Is this new? And why does it reek of your butt?”

All I could do was give the most, down to my bone, gratifying smile a happy cat can give. Then I wink just to piss him off.

A Scaredy-Cat, A Teen, Some Blood, Oh My

Our Teenager hobbled upstairs today, blood pouring from his foot, exclaiming he had just stepped on a small light bulb. We all ran over to see the excitement.

Blood was spewing out of him like water from a fire hose. I stopped and stared in awe. Sasha fainted.

Salem pointed a paw and said, “You’re going to die.” Then he turned away. I glanced over and his face was turning green.

I waved my paw, “That ain’t nothing. Whatcha afraid of?”

Salem cut his eyes at me, “I’m no scaredy-cat. I don’t let stuff like that bother me at all.”

I shake my head, “No. That is not your style,” my eyes roll upward.

Teenager runs in ten directions at once leaving red streaks and puddles all over the floor. Later, as Salem is walking away, he slips and falls. When he lifts his paw up and sees red goo all over it, he passes out.

“Yeah, you’re a regular lion.” I just step over him and take the good spot on the bed.

Pride Goeth Before The Fall

My little brother Salem was riding one of his bouts of excessive bragging today when he did the unthinkable. It went down like this:

My sister Sasha and I were looking out the window, watching a woodpecker hammer away at a tree when Salem walks up.

“I ate one of those before. They’re pretty good.” He smiles and flicks his paw toward the bird.

“Sure you did,” I roll my eyes. Sasha just stares at him, half smiling, half wondering if it’s true.

Salem straightens up and points a paw right at me, “I did too. It was chewy, but good.”

Feeling superior, well, because I am, I counter, “You know lying is a sin. You could burn in Hell with all the bad dogs.” Sasha gasps.

His eyes narrow, his tail puffs up and poking his paw at me with each word, he says, “I’M. NOT. LYING.”

Then I say it. The big It. “Swear to God?” Sasha’s mouth drops open and even I am stunned to have spoken those words out loud.

Salem gulps. But he doesn’t back down. “I swear.” We all step back. For every creature knows that once those words are uttered, there is no taking them back. No out clause, no back tracking or fine legal print to save you. For we all know that if you swear on a lie, you go straight to Hell. We were taught since kittenhood that God created us and that he did not tolerate creatures who lied. Hell is horrible. It is filled with rabid dogs barking non-stop and even worse: there is no food in Hell.

Beads of sweat trickle down his cheeks. We all glance around in silence waiting to see what would happen. A piece of dust fell to the floor.

After a few minutes Salem takes a deep breath, visually relieved to have not been struck down by lightening right there and then in our human’s living room. His voice quivers, “See,” and he stumbles away on shaky legs.

I’m pretty sure I heard several “Hail Mary’s” under his breath as he tottered off. A very important lesson was learned today: You don’t lie to Suki.

My Little Brother Brags Too Much, So……

Lately, my little brother Salem has been bragging like a dog about his two dates with Shorthair. It fluffs my tail if you know what I mean.

So, needless to say, I was not in the most gracious mood today.

Salem saunters over to take a sip of water out of our new water dish.

I hold up my paw, “Halt! You can’t drink out of that.”

Salem’s mouth drops open and he stares at me, “Why not?”

“That dish is sacred. Do you see that chip on the edge? It is said that it came from the human who is a cousin to the human who once pet Grumpy Cat’s real live mother.” My paw flourishes over the dish to show the magnitude of the situation.

He steps back in awe, “Ahh, I had no idea.”

I puff up my chest with pride and lower my voice in respect of “the dish”. I point a paw toward our human’s bathroom toilet, “You may drink from there.”

Salem trots off and I snicker as I drink the sweet water of revenge.