The Three Truths of Cats

I’ve been a cat owner essentially all my life.  We got my lil sister Sweetie Pie when I was three.  Jack-Jack was an adoption of a 12 year old boy who needed respite from his busy house.  Tony and Gino were adoptees from the Katrina disaster.  Razputin, my current baby, was an adoptee who wouldn’t let me leave without him.  I’ve had a full menagerie in my life, but I always come back to cats as the lil furry companions I relate the most to.
Over the years I’ve found some things that cat owners will completely understand.  In the spirit of our Third Anniversary I thought I’d mention the top three things cat owners understand.

3.) They are the pauper kings/queens of the residence:

Every cat rules his or her house.  At least they believe they do.  Strangely however they are all entirely reliant on their chosen hairless housemate for food, water, and entertainment.  It’s unusual to have a tiny little fur-face essentially tell you what to do (and you do it…at least you’d better) when you are, at least logically, the boss round the place.  As royalty they can also be adorably mentally abusive.  They will innocently use noise (mreoow…mreeeeow…MREEEOW) to get you up at 2am.  Then look at you like, “what? Oh did that wake you?  Sorry, but as long as you’re up…look at this toy!  Or these treats!  And pet me here!”  They can destroy your whole world [40k players understand how a furry monstrous creature, eternal warrior, with hatred (all models), and 12D6 attacks can wreck your gaming s**t].  Then look at you with a sweet kitty face and make you love them for it.  If that’s not the behavior of an insecure monarch I don’t know what is…

2.) They see many things…maybe even dead people…
They will stare.  Stare at things.  There’s nothing there…but there’s SOMETHING there.  Sweetie (miss my lil sis) stared mostly at ME.  It’s unnerving to be eyed by a predator.  Even a little cute one.  Jack-Jack (he was connected to me and we gave him the best last years of his life we could) was nearly blind but his hood-eyed scowl often drew attention.  Tony only stares to smash things and even as a senior cat now he still has that young man athleticism.  Gino (miss my lil crazy booboo) would just stare…at dust or fuzzies or microscopic particles only visible with an electron microscope.  Raz stares up walls and at ceilings.  But often…there’s nothing there.  At least nothing I can see.  Occasionally I’ll spot a tiny bug or a spot on the wall that has his attention.  But sometimes nothing.  He’s intently staring at the air.  And cats do that.  Just stare, fascinated by the various nematodes and bogeymen only visible to cat-kind.  I know this.  I’m not worried about it…but every now and then I’m drawn into the fantasy.  I get up to check what he’s staring at.   I think he does it to laugh at me…

1.) You mean NOTHING….but you mean everything…

Cats are the world’s greatest actors.  They make you feel tiny, usually from self-important cattitude, but in the end one slow blink, one head butt, or one nose touch lets you know that, even though they make you feel utterly beneath contempt…they’re as glad to have you as you are to have them.  I know my various babies liked to pretend I mean nothing to them…but for all the kitty bravado they all loved to have me there…even when all they wanted was for me to be in the same space as them.   And for us, we’re happy to be in their space too.

Look for Life with Raz Cat coming soon on RevPub!  A webcomic series featuring stories from life with a Mad Russian Blue!


It’s good to be the king…

Story of the Month: April Fooled

On this April Fool’s day I thought a story of how I was fooled by no one in particular and how it was the most fooled I’ve been in ages..

I have a lil Russian Blue cat named Rasputin (Raz or Raz-cat for short).  Raz is a weird little animal and he plays with everything, but one of his favorite toys is the springy doorstops that stop doorknobs from crashing through dry wall.  He’s crazy but he’s soft and sweet and likes to sleep on the pillow next to my head.


One night a few weeks ago I was asleep around midnight when I heard the sproy-yo-yo-yoing of one of the doorstops.  I sat up and thought “what is that little maniac doing…” when I noticed Raz sitting bolt upright next to me.  Then my sleep-addled brain caught up with the situation; if Raz was here…what hit the doorstop?


I turned on the light and looked at my bedroom door, which was propped open.  I have a few wooden swords leaned up behind it but both were still standing.  Then I slowly looked up and realized it must have been the door in the game room across the hall.  The door was closed.  I live on the second floor and that room is the only window accessible from the outside.  The rest of my windows are all two stories up and unless you’re Spiderman you’d have trouble breaking in through them.

I immediately started thinking of what I could use as a weapon, and it occurred to me that all of the most useful stuff was in the living room…not wanting to cross in front of the door in question I looked around my room and the only weapon I could find was a replica Danish War axe leaning against my book shelf.  It’s not a convenient indoor weapon, about 42 inches long with a 7-pound axe head at the business end.  A quote from Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels went through my head, “I don’t want to blow the arsehole out of the world, but I don’t want nobody blowing a raspberry at me either…”  It’s kind of a ridiculous weapon in a CQC situation, but it was all I had.


Still I picked it up and headed toward the door.  Raz was sitting in the bed looking at me and the game room door with an expression that read, “Was it in there?  You’re not going in there are you?”


I leaned against the wall next to the door and listened.  I didn’t hear anything in there.  I decided not to be an idiot and yell out “hello?” and resolved when I opened the door I’d slam it open to go with the shock and awe tactic. I silently braced my shoulder against the door, took a deep breath (looked back at Raz who looked like he was saying “don’t do it…don’t open the door!”) and barged into the door.

To my shock something was pushing back.  The door wouldn’t open as if someone was leaning on the other side or had their foot on the bottom of the door to keep me from opening it.

I pushed harder and went in, axe handle first (I decided I didn’t want to swing that thing and get it caught on the door jamb…).  The door finally opened and I flipped the light on.  I didn’t find any medieval intruders…I found my rolled up Frontline game mat, which I keep standing behind the game room door, had fallen across the doorway and hit the door stop.  I actually fell to me knees and laughed.  Raz looked at me like I was nuts.


I’m paranoid, so I still searched the rest of my house before calming down and going to bed.

I learned a couple of good lessons from this incident.  First: It never hurts to be cautious but don’t always assume the worst.  Second, and maybe more importantly, Danish War Axes are not ideal for home defence.