I admit it.  I do horrible things to the family cats.

Cats are predators, and ought to be free.  But my
family keeps ours cooped up indoors.  This keeps them
from living anything like a natural life, with a
natural lifespan, natural stresses, natural maladies...

I twist and warp their predatory instincts.  I drag
fake, inedible "prey" past them and allow them to chase
it, in a cruel mockery of what they should be.  Sometimes
I even use a hand-held laser and deprive them even of
the materiality of an object to chase.  I often do
this for half an hour or more.

Then there's the physical aspect.  Some cats hide when I
approach, so they escape this part.  But the ones who are
too slow, or have absorbed enough of the "is that REALLY
wet paint?" mentality from humans... they get the full
treatment.  Chin rubs.  Ear rubs.  Most cats have good
coordination under normal circumstances, but too many of
them suffer a loss of directional sense under a concerted
attack of ear-rubs.  Trying to get away, they go in circles
and keep bumping into chair legs, table legs, walls, ankles,
and anything else in the vicinity.  

Let me not forget the back-scritches.  Most cats will stick
their backs up in the air to try to get them out of reach,
but this only puts them closer to the source.  Some cats have
tried to protect their backs by rolling over onto them, making
them inaccessible.  This just makes them vulnerable to belly-rubs.

Some cats eventually make good their escape, but others get
scritched into a comatose state from which they may take an
hour or more to recover.

What kind of stuff do you do to YOUR pets?

77 responses total.

My cat is also indoors. He gets hugs, ear scritches, chin rubs, and 
sometimes stomach pats when he is in the mood for them.

He no longer accepts silly toys. If I bring one home he looks at me 
like "hmph". For the 3 hours he is awake during the day, he curls up on 
the coffee table and takes a bath, chews his nails or watches TV.

   I am amazed at how cats fall for the laser dots, every time,
over and over and over again.  I have never seen photonic drugs
before, but I now know they're real.

re#2: Ditto.  'Go' (dog in mandarin) will chase a laser
dot until she(it) is out of breath and will still track
it.

re: #2  i always cautioned people who bought laser pointers that they could
induce a heart attack in their cats if they didn't stop teasing them with it,
because the cats would not quit.   btw, it works on tropical fish as well.
oh, and watching four year olds try to stomp on a dot on the floor is a hoot.
you pause when their foot covers it, then turn it on again when they lift
their shoe to see if they squashed it.  then they try to stomp it again.
(do this only a few times, anything more would be abusive)

YOu get that laser in your eye and it can blind you (in that eye).

Naperville has a cat leash law, so they have to stay inside.

Our cats are our babies.  They always climb all over us for attention, and they
LOVE their feather wands.  Gomez will drag it over to me and point at it until
I pick it up.  Morticia accepts belly rubs, Gomez will accept them only from me
(sometimes Anney if he's really slutty that day), and Sasha...well...Sasha
takes her loving from Anney.  Once in a while, I am deemed cool enough to pet
the Queen Sasha.  

They all have their own body language, verbal language, and "look".  I can read
Gomez as if he was my own kid, and I'm always right about what he's going to do
and what he wants.  It's neat.  Morticia is still growing up, so she's
kinda...weird.  They also love to play hockey in the bathtub.  Gomez and
Morticia will hop in there with a ball, and they'll bat it around 'til someone
gets it in the drain.  Morticia usually wins.

re: #5  a "swipe" across the eye with one will be uncomfortable but will not
induce blindness.  it's a cold laser.  you'd have to stare into it for an
extended period of time.   however, it is not recommended that you aim it at
anyone's face.

        Bees gets extra style points for the Soul Coughing pseudo.

 
 My orange cat (Baci) will only play with the laser for a few minutes. And
then he gets indignant and pretends like he wasn't really playing in the first
place. He is a wicked cat.
 
 My other cat (Cloud Chaser  -cuz he has a cloud in one eye from a bad fight)
will play with the laser till he is panting. He is not the brightest cat but
is the most lovable.

re: #8... was wondering when someone was gonna notice that :)

Harlis has discovered the shower. I have a stand-in shower with a door. 
He sits and waits for me to get out. When I do, he walks in and laps up 
the water. Strange, especially since if one drop drips on him, he's out 
like a rocket.

I held my aunt's week-old kittens yesterday. Two have eyes open. It's 
so cute, they try to hiss and be fierce and the hiss either has no 
sound, or it's a little squeak. :)

 
 You are scared and you know it.

Gomez waits 'til I'm out of the shower then climbs all over me to make sure I'm
alive and not hurt.  He always looks so *worried*.  It's adorable and sad all
at once.

kitten fried steak.

 Diary of a cat . . .
 
  DAY 752 - My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling 
objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry 
cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and  
the mild satisfaction I get from ruining the occasional piece of 
furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant.
  
  DAY 761 - Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their
feet while they were walking almost succeeded, must try this at the top 
of the stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile 
oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite 
chair...must try this on their bed.
  
  DAY 762 - Slept all day so that I could annoy my captors with sleep 
depriving, incessant, pleas for food at ungodly hours of the night.
 
  DAY 765 - Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body, in 
attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike 
fear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a 
good little cat I was...Hmmm. Not working according to plan......
  
  DAY 768 - I am finally aware of how sadistic they are. For no good 
reason I was chosen for the water torture. This time however it included 
a burning foamy chemical called "shampoo." What sick minds could invent 
such a liquid. My only consolation is the piece of thumb still stuck 
between my teeth.
  
  DAY 771 - There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. I was 
placed in solitary throughout the event. However, I could hear the noise 
and smell the foul odor of the glass tubes they call "beer." More 
importantly I overheard that my confinement was due to MY power of 
"allergies." Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.
  
  DAY 774 - I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe 
snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to 
return. He is obviously a half-wit. The Bird on the other hand has got 
to be an informant.  He has mastered their frightful tongue (something 
akin to mole speak) and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he 
reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room 
his safety is assured. But I can wait, it is only a matter of time. 
> 

 
 Hey! That is Baci's diary! You are going to have to pay him royalties now!
 Fresh tuna steaks would prolly work.

Has anyone read Kafka's "Investigations of a Dog"? #14 reminded me of it,
except that slynne's cat is more aware of its surroundings than was
Kafka's dog. 

Re Cat Diary: Sasha wrote that...I swear...it's her style of "speaking"...

 
  I'm getting a lawyer. *huff*

cat stew.  with a garnish of cat dander puree.

Oh I didnt write #14. It was one of those emails that get sent all over 
the web. Although, I think my cat *does* think like that ;) 

I have never read "investigations of a dog" I will have to get that. 

I think the hunt-and-pounce thing is a hardwired reflex in most cats.  They
see something move, and they leap for it, without their brains ever getting
involved.  That's why the go for things they know aren't edible, even if they
are *not* in the mood for play, and that's why they are so embarrassed
afterwards.  I've never beena ble to decide if they actually enjoy it at all.

My cat has taken to spitting up his hairballs under the bed. Mmm.

The cats don't appear to have hairballs... course they have this 5'6" plant
they are allowed to chew on... it was gotten just for the cats...

i'm allergic to cats, cat-dander. or what-ever. if i touch a cat with my 
hands, my eyes puff up itchy red raw and my sinuses flood. if i spend an 
hour in a cat's home, same result. years ago the theory blamed the 
allergic reaction on something cats like to play with when frolicking 
outside. but all cats have the ability to induce this suffering in me.

of course -- and i suspect as a result, goddamn conniving over-decorated 
rodents -- most cats take an immediate shine to my presence, crawling 
over to stick their ass in my face, or to sit on my lap. usually i'll 
grab a pillow and batter the creature off. to deal with cats of a more 
tenacious air i'll try to sell the cat off, easing the pillow under it. 
can't use my hands. i've learned that abruptly standing to remove my 
cozy lap from their practical and immediate existence results in a 
panicked cat digging in to hang on.

fucking cats.

the first time i had to put up with the feline mote on a daily basis in 
my very own living quarters was when i lived in my dad's basement for a 
summer; his wife is a cat person, and my two young sisters dig cats, so 
there were two kittens (willy, a quiet white-and-brown with a soft-step 
and an admirable prescience; cubby, a black brawler with reckless 
abandon) and one old fat tabby (i don't remember its name or sex -- i'll 
refer to it as 'stoopid'). for the first week of residence, i didn't 
breathe. this enabled me to keep my head immersed in a bucket of water, 
saving me from the allergenic discomforts. for two weeks after that, i 
carried an electric cattle prod.

at the five-week mark, the allergic reaction to 'Cat' had diminished 
almost completely. i still hated those damn cats.

but willy was irresistibly cute.
so i broke down the communication barriers, and we started snuggling. he 
was all for it, opting to curl up in my bed while i slept at night, 
sometimes on my belly, sometimes at my feet.
the allergies were no longer an issue.

willy, in his diplomatic way (full name: william wallace), got cubby and 
'stoopid' to hang out with me in the basement more often. most of my 
nights were spent alone -- i didn't know many folks in dearborn, i'd be 
tired from my high-octane restaurant job, and i had a lot of movies and 
books on queue for ingestion -- so the cats joined me for the nocturnal 
study-sessions-toward-internal-excellence.

willy was the intellectual of the crew, and cubby the brash buccaneer. 
when willy wasn't interested in playfighting, cubby would play with some 
toys or some string, or would beat up on 'stoopid' (who had no 
discernible personality to show for, besides what the pseudonym 
'stoopid' conveys).

then 'stoopid' learned how to climb into the ceiling of the basement. 
'stoopid' didn't know how to get down.

the first night i learned about her/his new trick was when s/he broke me 
out of exhaustedly dream-ridden sleep with his/her exasperated mewing, 
"help me! help me! help me you jerk, i'm too stupid to get myself out of 
the ceiling!" *i* had no idea what to do because the ceiling panels were 
not removable. i tried to entice 'stoopid' over to an open portion of 
the ceiling -- but even there, when the cat was on the precipice, 
staring down, mewing petulantly, no success. i'd coax her/him, to no 
avail. i'd try to grab the pussy, but the pussy reacted violently. 
reminded me of high school.

s/he'd figure it out eventually.
then s/he'd get stuck again, the next night.
this went on for days.

i even wrote a song about it, to drive the inso-maniacal felinity from 
out my tender melon. an ambitious e-riff, dramatic chorus chord-changes, 
filled up with atmospheric guitar solo w/ reverb, like you've been out 
on the prairie for too long.

                LOVE AND A GOOD DEAL
                 lyrics: me
                 music: will & paul myers

               window's open wide now and the banjo's gettin' wet,
                 and the cat's stuck in the ceiling, again.

               mewing keeps me up, while my darlin' gets me down,
                 and the cat's stuck in the ceiling, again.

               sabakawa pillow's down to $19.95
                 and the cat's stuck in the ceiling--
                     the cat's stuck in the ceiling--
                     the cat's stuck in the ceiling, again

                 only kitty can get her down . . .
                 and he's stuck out in the storm,
                     fighting bobcats
                      fighting romance
                     fighting tragic
                      fighting traffic
                     fighting fighting
                      fighting fighting fighting fighting . . .

this was back when i didn't have to shave very often to keep up 
profitable appearances. as a waiter, for example. one night, however, 
after depriving myself of sleep for a couple days, i shaved my entire 
body from the neck down with a single disposable bic razor. it started 
out with my armpits, which were shorn for curiosity's sake -- i was 
dwelling in a basement with cats, remember. then i decided to shave my 
legs, and that was the point of no return. as i neared my crotch, i, 
with my lack of experience in these matters, didn't know where to stop, 
or how to go about doing so. my bikini line stood like maginot as the 
razor marched past, into my primeval pubic forest. this is a canned 
story, and some of you'll recognize it, but i throw it in there only to 
enrich the timeline.

the cats.
willy eventually learned how to climb up into the ceiling, which he 
would do to find 'stoopid' and drag him/her out. for which i was 
grateful, although it wasn't really keeping me up anymore, and i got a 
song out of it ('only kitty can get her down' must be a reference to 
willy . . . and it must mean that 'stoopid' was a female).

then willy ran away.

poof, disappeared, not even a "thank you, ma'am". i looked around the 
neighborhood. i drove to several dearborn humane society locations. no 
luck. no dice. no willy. one of the neighbor kids, no older than 8, made 
a joke about arabs eating my cat.

fuck it. so i made friends with cubby, or cubby made friends with me. to 
compensate for our loss. like mutual friends fucking after a funeral.

a week later, cubby disappeared. same story.

i was left with 'stoopid'.

so i moved out.
it was time, anyway.

'stoopid' has since bit the bullet, ending her miserable fatass life in 
her sleep one night. really freaked out bailey (my dad's rottweiler, 
dumb and strong but cute as a child with down-syndrome dressed in a 
sailor-suit) cuz bailey would sleep curled up next to her. the kittens 
never returned from . . . wherever. these days, my dad's house is feline 
free.

and my allergic tolerance to 'cat' returned to zero within two months 
following my exit from that scene.

fucking cats.
since those days, i've had limited exposure to the little race of 
fuzzball demons. i had an lsd-enhanced one-night-stand with a cat named 
joey. an overpampered longhair named lakshmi likes me because she/he 
knows i won't bother him/her by touching her when she doesn't want to be 
touched. her/his brother bast likes to sneak up on me and dig claws into 
me. he'll sex me up, get all cuddly, get all snoogly, and will wait 
until i relax to pull his prank.

all cats should be declawed.
all cats should be sheared annually, the fur burned for alternative 
fuel.
cats should be used for research. medical, biological, atomic, and 
ESPECIALLY cosmetic.
cats should be fed to alligators in florida.
cats should be the exception to laws protecting animal abuse in 
filmmaking. just like in milo & otis. how many milo's were killed to 
make that 'cat falling off cliff into water while fleeing from seagulls' 
scene? seven? eight?

i love cats.

you should read a book i used to hawk:  101 uses for a dead cat.

 
 lelande, were you faster after you shaved yerself?

Just as a note to allergic to cats folks everywhere -- bathing your cat HELPS.
I do it once a week. (And, no, the psycho-kitty doesn't shred me. I even do
it in the nude -- we take a shower together.)

oh, adn get horse tranquilizers... it stops the dander...

<wipes a tear and sneezes>

Petty cat cruelties:
        Rapidly moving my feet *away* from passing felines to elicit startled
        jumps straight up.

        Basho, the escape artist, annually would be tossed into the winter's
        first *big* snow drift.  I only did it once per ann.  The act symbol-
        ized my frustration at trying to keep him indoors.

        I allowed my kids to do the laser pointer to my mother's cats:  it was
        rather boring until they aimed the light dot on the butt of the 
        unaware cat and then the cat crashes began.  (I wish my Dad had 
        lived to see that:  It would have cracked him up.)

        My first wife and I teased a territorial siamese on the stairway
        by our apartment door.  It was an ill-tempered, quarrelsome beast.
        We retreated inside when we heard someone coming.  We wondered 
        what was wrong when the footsteps went up past the spot we last 
        saw the mean cat.  Suddenly, there were cat and human screams when
        the blind guy upstairs stepped on the cat that we sort of wound up.

resp:26
faster pussycat.
kill.
kill.

Re #2:  Depends on the cat.  Our old ones would chase real ojects,
but would not leap after a laser spot.  My brother's oldest has
become crotchety in his old age (2 years) and will watch the spot
but won't even paw at it.  The two younger ones go nuts.

Re #4:  I've had a twenty-something-year-old kid stomp on my laser
spot.  (He's ex-armed forces, maybe that has something to do with it.)

I'm disappointed that the pet owners posting to this item haven't
faced up to the real nature of their deeds.  For instance, #1
would probably read something like this:

        My cat never gets the liberty of going outdoors.  He has to
        endure hugs, ear scritches and chin rubs no matter how loudly
        he rumbles for mercy.  Sometimes he is too slow to avoid
        stomach pats.
 
        He has learned to avoid the torment of silly toys. If I bring
        one home he looks at me like "hmph".  The inmate is gaining
        control of the prison.

#6 might be re-written thusly:

        We treat our cats like babies.  They always climb all over us
        for attention like ill-mannered rug rats who want snacks.  We
        never let them have any good stuff like steak or salmon.
        Instead, we only let them chase inedible surrogate-prey like
        feather wands.  Cats are susceptible to Stockholm Syndrome,
        sympathizing with their kidnappers and their world-view; Gomez
        will drag his wand over to me and point at it until I pick it up.
        He has truly become One of Us.
        
        Morticia often fails to move fast enough to avoid belly rubs,
        Gomez is too slow for me but manages to avoid Anney on most days.
        Sasha...well...Sasha is Anney's subordinate.  Once in a while I
        get to pull rank, and then Sasha has to endure my scritchings.

You must admit what we know to be true:  the poor puddy cats
are so ABUSED and NEGLECTED!

                                                                        ;-)

<laughs her ass off>  Nice work.  =)

Except well... Sasha is much more arrogant...  Just ask her.

Sasha is queen of all she surveys, and though she is forcibly kept 
cooped up (all escape attempts thus far have been foiled somewhere in 
the apt. building before she manages to get outside (save for the one 
time she got to the front porch and the time she managed to get out the 
back patio doors... but that last time she was foiled by Sarah, who 
snagged her and handed the grey fuzzy Queen over the fence to me where 
she was forced to endure head pets and an introduction to our neighbor 
Steve...) she rules.  The Queen sits on her throne, but knows that if 
she condescends to attention from me she'll get more in way of food... 
more food means more to bulk up on for when one of those escape 
attempts work and she wants to be prepared.

Toys?  Playing?  Right, only if you're not looking.  Try to torture her 
with a feather wand and ooooh the look she gives... Laser pointer?  
Nope, well... only if the little ones (Morticia and Gomez) aren't 
around, she has to keep up appearances for them, donchaknow, be a good 
example and all that.  

Why does your cat hate me?  ;P

Scott must have a secret source of catnip, or a bong... i am not sure. But
boy is he always looking about all parnoid and stupid.  But i wub him.

He always has a look of surprise on his face.  It cracks me up.  =)

Sasha will let me pet her if I bow to her upon entering a room and call her
"Your Majesty".  There are times, however, when she'll let me scritch her
behind the ears and on top of her head, but only if Anney isn't around.  What a
character...

I think she's just mad because I've started calling her "Sashalupagus" (after
Mr. Snuffleupagus).  She's a BBC (big beautiful cat).

Yeah, but the look of surprise is just more so when he is just wakingup.  The
inner dialogue is the following, i swear:

"Dude! Where am I?  Oh, I fell asleep, again... I wonder if I slept more than
17 hours?", yawns, "Where is that orange cat, i need to hunt... must kill..."
goes off to hunt down Pinky or furry toys.

...and then falls asleep again...

My cat is still limping, though x-rays show no break or swelling. I 
think he's just scared to put weight on his foot. He looks so weird 
hopping around. Poor little guy.

- Backtalk version 1.3.30 - Copyright 1996-2006, Jan Wolter and Steve Weiss