Geez, you know this site has really gone downhill lately. I haven’t had a single spam comment for a week now. In the old days, I would get a good 20-30 a day. Now? Nothing. I think that is telling me something. That something is very very wrong. When the spammer’s can’t even be bothered to send their penis size increasing wares your way, there is something not going right with the world of WTHD.
Is it that there is not enough cutesey wootsey posts? Not enough interesting posts? Not enough posts about the tribes in the Amazon, now that they have Internet access, and feel they are being left out?
It is because this blog isn’t about cats isn’t it. See, I just googled “Blogs about cats” and there are thousands of them. Do a search for “Blogs about hamsters” and the results are different. You lot are hamsterest aren’t you.
Fine. If that is what you want, I will do a damn post about a cat.
Called Yogi.
Well, not a cat yet. He is still a kitten.
When I look in to his eyes, I see emotion. I see love. I see someone who wants to be cuddled all the time.
But most of all, I see tumbleweeds rolling.
He isn’t “all there”.
In fact, he is a hamper short of a picnic. Hell, you could even say that the wheel is turning but the hamster is dead.
Yes. Poor Yogi the Kitten is a little on the “stupid” side. Normally, as people and animals get older, they get wiser. As he gets older, he is getting more and more stupid.
Or is he?
I think he has a plan. His cutesey wootsey thing is a ploy. A ploy to inflict damage to me in the most heinous way.
You see, Yogi has sharp kitten claws. And I am a man. So I have an appendage which I am very close to, and love like that toy you have as a kid that goes everywhere with you. In fact as young as a year old I was happily playing with my favourite toy. As any man will attest, this does not change with age. Just the way you play is different. But you still care for it (or “him” or “Neville” if you have named him).
So claws and appendages mix as well as me and religion. They just don’t work well together. A great distance should be left between us.
Yogi doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand. Which you think he would being that he is a boy. But he just doesn’t. Instead, it is his “holy grail”. It is his Everest. It is him standing in front of an army of 500 cats, but being outnumbered, he has to prevail. Against all odds. The odds for him in this case is a 33 year old man who is getting mighty pissed that he has to walk around cupping his nuts in the name of keeping them safe. And when someone knocks on the front door and I go answering it with a handful over my goodies, it can get mighty uncomfortable, especially when I have to sign for something. Or the Women’s Lib are asking for me to sign a petition against those sexist men in the area.
It is sad that I have to inform you that he is doing a damn good effort. The little shit.
Every single day that I have a bath, he walks around the edge of the bath purring his head off. And then falls in the bath. He struggles to get out, being that he is all wet and now under water. So his claws come out. And strangely, he is always in exactly the same place. He never falls in by my feet. Or my chest. Or my knees. It is ALWAYS by my waist. You would think that if this was not a planned attack, we would learn that he is going to fall in to the bath. But no. He falls in. And what does he do when he falls in?
He goes claws out and goes on the attack.
It doesn’t end there.
The other night I had a nightmare that he had chopped off “Neville” and was beating me on the head with him. I woke up in a cold sweat, I look over and he is looking at me. His big round black eyes penetratign my every being. Why was he looking at me? It was 3am. It was pretty dark. Why wasn’t he asleep? He is haunting me.
But it isn’t just the bath when he does manage to inflict pain.
When I am in bed, I am apparently free game. “purr purr purr” he goes as he cutely wanders under the covers. *slash*. “OOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!! DAMMIT!!! YOGI GET THE HELL OFF” is often heard shortly afterwards. A few days ago he figured biting is much more fun, so went that way. A few seconds later, young Yogi took a flying lesson.
This morning, as I was getting dressed, he decided as the tumbleweed went passing through his brain that “Heeey…if I jump high enough, I can get there!” and then thought “Tell you what, how about I just climb up his leg to get there. He has that fleshy skin that my claws stick in to which help me climb!” So I am so bothered about the pain being inflicted on my leg that I completely forget his actual target. So he got a swipe in. I needed a plaster and a hug.
What have I done in life to deserve this? And why, when whoever it is that is planning the demise of Neville, did they choose to use a kitten?
I would post a picture of young Yogi. But you know, the only pics I have are the ones my wife takes while laughing her head off as me and him are playing tug of war. Well, no, let me rephrase that. He is playing tug of war, I just want him to leave Neville alone.
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