When my brother, Salem, pushes my buttons, I immediately revert back into my five-year-old self. Sensing that this same phenomenon must be happening to him, I decide to use it to my advantage.
Salem has a third date with Tabby today. A third! It kind of annoys me. So when she comes over to see him, I say “Hi” in my most mature and polite voice.
Salem struts up and throws out a, “Hey,” all casual like, as though he had no previous plans with her, and this is all spur of the moment. I cringe inside. So, while they are talking, I stick my paw out and just ever so slightly touch him.
He cuts his eyes at me but continues his conversation unfazed. A second later, I slowly extend my paw and just barely graze his fur with the tip of my claw. His lips tighten, and he throws me another warning look. You know, the one that says, “I will tear your head off if you do it again.”
So, I do it again.
This time he loses it. A minute later, he’s sitting on my chest and holding my bottom paws to my nose and sneering, “Smell it! Smell those dirty paws!” I smile.
Then I glance over at Tabby, who is standing there, eyes bulging and mouth hanging open at the sight of her date: five-year-old Salem. That’s when I know my work here is done.
I see my little brother Salem heading for the water dish, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
He pauses in front of the dish, “Why? What’s wrong?”
I smile and launch into my spiel, “Well, earlier, my tummy wasn’t feeling good, so I went to the litter box. After that, I, of course, cleaned up. But that left my mouth dry and parched, so I drank some water. So, if you drink that water, it’s basically like you…”
Salem holds his paw up, “Stop. I beg of you not to finish that sentence.”
He turns his head to the side and dry heaves, “You’re a horrible brother, do you know that?”
My little brother Salem has a date with the Tabby down the street today. He’s been bragging about it all week.
When she arrived at the door, I waited close by to see him in action. He was smooth, I must admit. He managed to stand in a way that oddly highlighted his flexed muscles. I bent over to try it myself and pulled a hamstring.
He complimented her fur and whiskers. She giggled. Really?
He leaned in to sniff her, and instead, let out a loud and thunderous burp, right in her face. I pulled another hamstring, laughing.
It was the highlight of my week. The best part is, I now have a story to tell at every gathering EVER until I die. I began imagining all the people I would tell this to and the reactions I would get. I would suddenly become the life of the party. I could milk this story for years. I might even manage a date or two myself out of it.
The next time Salem teases me about my little pudge, I’ll say, “Oh yeah, well, at least I didn’t burp in my date’s face!” Take that. Or when he beats me at Catopoly, I will add, “Maybe I should just burp on you!” Burn.
Oh, the possibilities are endless. What I’ve learned from all this is that the phrase “This too shall pass” doesn’t apply to family.
I’m in the living room with my little brother Salem when I see the Maine Coon from next door walking up to the window. I mention this to Salem, and he frantically starts looking around for a place to hide.
“I can’t go out with her again! She’s nuts. Just go along with me, okay?”
The Maine Coon walks up, and Salem flops to the floor and closes his eyes.
So, of course, I invite her inside. I throw a paw toward Salem, “He’s not feeling very well.” She looks over and frowns.
Then, being the good big brother that I am, I bend over and wipe his nose with a tissue, “I think it’s time for somebody’s suppository.”
The beautiful calico down the street stopped by today to chat.
Bored, we decide to watch Salem scarf down all the food in his dish, a magnificent feat he accomplishes in under thirty seconds. Then he lifts his head and smiles at us, Meow Mix running down his chin.
The calico points a paw, “So that’s your little brother?”
“Yep,” I reply.
She just stares at him, “The resemblance is uncanny.”
Salem and I are looking out our window when we see this little bitty calico kick this labrador’s ass!! Our mouths drop open and we just stare in disbelief. I mean, she is some kind of fierce. I don’t know what he did to piss her off, but she’s giving him the business.
When he finally slinks away, she turns toward us and hisses. I peed a little, and Salem hid behind the curtain. I’m not 100% certain, but I’m pretty sure we’re not ready for the streets.
Salem later recalls to me how he told her, “you better not pull that crap on me.” I blink, “You said that to her?”
He points a paw toward his face, “With my eyes. I said it with my eyes.”
I stare at him and ask, “Can you tell what I’m saying with my eyes right now?”
It’s a typical Saturday morning, and I find myself pinned to the floor with my little brother Salem sitting on top of me.
“Say it. Say I’m the king.” He looks me square in the eyes and smiles.
“No! You’re not the king. You’re a fat-faced doo-doo head who couldn’t catch a mouse if he had opposable thumbs,” I sputter in defiance. I find it is important not to lose my dignity in these kinds of situations.
In a bold and classic sibling move, he grabs my tail and holds it, flicking and twitching, to my face. “Why are youhitting yourself? Why are you hittingyourself?” he mocks.
“AAhhhh! Stop that!” He finally releases his grip, and I wiggle out from under him. With one swipe of my paw, I slap his stupid face and flee to my human’s room where I know I will have protection.
Later that day, Salem mysteriously finds his favorite stick toy floating in the toilet. I sit and watch from my human’s bed in delight as he fishes it out. Well played, Suki. Well played, I tell myself.
It is only later, as I start to take a nap, I pause and wonder if it is wise to close my eyes right now?
My little brother Salem has been seeing a feline named Shorthair recently. I don’t know what she sees in him and not me. He drools and snores for Pete’s sake. What has he got that I haven’t? I look over at him, sleeping on the floor, with that stupid smug look on his face. I just want to smack it.
He just thinks he’s better than me now doesn’t he? I’ll bet they just sit around laughing at me. He probably tells her that I’m just his little servant. A loser kitty with fleas who can’t get a date. He probably jokes that dogs won’t even date me.
I cut my eyes at him sleeping over there like some kind of king. Who does he think he is anyway?
I start to walk away and as I pass by him he opens his eyes and asks, “Is dinner ready?”
As my brother Salem is sitting on top of me, pinning me down, a large drop of spittle is forming in the corner of his mouth. As brothers often do, he threatens to let it drop on my face if I don’t submit to his will.
“Say it. Say you won’t touch my things ever again.”
I can’t help but stare at the drool forming into a large droplet dangling precariously from his lips. It could drop at any moment and yet I surprisingly hold firm. “NO.”
He grins and shakes his head causing the droplet to start to separate from his mouth. “Swear you won’t take anything of mine again!” He leans closer so that his face is within one inch of mine and says it one more time with gusto, “Sweaaaaar it!”
“Aaaaah, I swear. I swear,” I utter as his claws dig into my chest.
He lifts his body off of mine and struts away in triumph. Sitting up, I shake his loose hairs off of me. I glance over and see that his food dish still has several Friskies treats in it. Hmm, I scratch my head. I wonder what flavor those are?
My little brother Salem has been sleeping on the floor for the last hour when he wakes up and glances around confused, “Where’d my sunbeam go?”
I smile, “Oh, I turned it off. Sorry.”
He cuts his eyes at me, “Well turn it back on.”
He stands up and says a bit louder, “I said, ‘turn it back on’.”
“I said, ‘No’.”
Salem crouches down, preparing to lunge, “Turn. It. On!”
I race away screaming, “Noooooooooooooo!”
P.S. I just wanted to share that I made FeedSpot.com’s top 200 cat blogs list. I’m number 123!! Hey, I’m estatic just to make the list!! Check it out: Their list of top cat blogs: https://blog.feedspot.com/cat_blogs/
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!