Author: Mr. Bo

If I’m looking a little wild-eyed today, it’s because I’m fantasizing about something.

I’ve overheard humans play a little game that goes something like this: If you could be any animal, what animal would you be? I know Mama G, who is a pilot, would like to be a bird, probably a hawk or an eagle, so that she could hang out in the sky without having to pay $125 an hour to rent a plane. I know Mama C has said she’d like to be a house cat, just like me, so that she could simply hang out.

As for me, I’d like to be a cheetah. I love to run fast, and it doesn’t get any faster than the cheetah. Check out this amazing video from the Smithsonian Channel and you’ll see what I’m dreaming about (minus the killing part, of course). Cheetahs can accelerate faster than a Ferrari or Lamborghini! So take that, Mr. Rich Guy!

Humans always seem to be dreaming about being something entirely different than what they are. I just like to dream about being a better version of myself.

Those Two are in Las Vegas right now, celebrating Mama C’s birthday (happy birthday, Mama C!). I know they miss me, and are probably wondering what I’m up to right now, so I thought I’d post a photo for them.

What? I’m not supposed to be up here?

Well you know what they say: When the humans are away, the cat will play!

 

 

Today I’m taking it to a new level, and I’m going to do some thinking next to the box. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything.

As anyone who has ever had a cat knows, we love to eat houseplants. Now this should concern our humans, because many common plants can be quite toxic to us. Of course we cats laugh at such unexciting dangers. If we want an adrenaline rush, we’ll jump out of a second-story window, or climb so high in a tree that the local fire department has to come rescue us.

I don’t have to worry about poisonous plants in my house. The only thing poisonous is my mamas’ attempts to nurture greenery. Yes, Those Two have the two brownest thumbs imaginable. Or would that be four thumbs? In any case, from a plant’s perspective, their thumbs put the OW in brown!

Well, there is that one sole survivor of their carnage, a pothos that has defiantly hung for years from the ceiling of their bathroom, well out of my reach. (Mama C is probably going to be upset that I’m posting a photo of their toilet. Humans can be so funny about such things!)

Those Two eventually gave up on real plants, and decided to decorate the house with fake plants. I have to say, some of them are quite realistic! I have a favorite. It sits atop the dresser in the spare bedroom. Sometimes I like to jump up there and nosh on it for a bit.

It’s probably a lot like when you go to make a dish from a recipe, only to discover that you lack a key ingredient, so you substitute something else. The dish might not taste as good, but it’s satisfying enough.

Hey, what are you looking at? Can’t a guy grab a bite to eat in peace?

 

In an effort to keep your interest here, I’m going to experiment with some new features, because let’s face it: There are only so many stories about a cute little orange guy a person can take, right?

Today I’m trying out what I hope will become a regular feature called “Oxbow says …” In it I will take a common human expression and put my spin on it. And believe me, I love to spin things!

So, here goes …

The Human says …

He who dies with the most toys wins.

Oxbow says …

He who dies with the most toys clearly has no idea how to play with toys.

 

The other day I mentioned the great cats-versus-dogs debate. Well not to beat a dead horse (where do humans come up with these bizarre expressions?), but cats and dogs are different creatures for sure. And I’m sure you can guess which side of the debate I fall on. I mean c’mon, you won’t find a cleaner, smarter, more self-sufficient pet than a cat. It’s obvious we’re superior to dogs!

There’s a joke that’s been making the rounds for years involving excerpts from a dog’s diary and a cat’s diary. I’m not sure who the original author is, since it appears in several variations on many different sites, all without attribution, but I always get a kick out of it, and hope you will, too.

DOG DIARY

8:00 a.m.  — Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 a.m.  — A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 a.m.  — A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 a.m.  — Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 p.m. — Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 p.m. — Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 p.m. — Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 p.m. — Milk Bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 p.m. — Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 p.m. — Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 p.m. — Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

CAT DIARY

Day 983 of my captivity!
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.

In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet. Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a “good little hunter” I am. The sick bastards!

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of “allergies.” I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow — but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released – and seems to be more than willing to return. He obviously has issues. The bird must be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now …

Pretty funny, huh? Although I do think it overstates our slyness a bit.

Say, where are Those Two? I’ve been waiting for hours.

So just what am I supposed to do with this product, scratch it or lounge in it? Now that the sun has finally appeared again, I think I’ll lounge.

I’m very thankful I wasn’t born in the Dark Ages, when humans thought nothing of “declawing” their cats. Fortunately, I came along during the Age of Enlightenment, when it became widely known that declawing involved amputation of a portion of our “toes” and is in fact a cruel practice. Most shelters now will not let you adopt a cat if you intend to declaw it.

My predecessor was declawed, and so when my mamas got ready to adopt me, they fretted that I would leave their furniture in tatters. If you look carefully at that chair in the photo at the top of this blog, you’ll probably wonder why they cared. It’s not exactly like their place is ready for a Better Homes & Gardens photo shoot. But OK, I get it that no one wants their stuff ruined.

After searching online for ways to save their precious belongings from my expected Reign of Terror, my mamas found what they thought was a perfect solution: a product called Soft Paws, which are soft vinyl caps that are glued onto cats’ nails and minimize damage from scratching. Yes, I said glued! If that sounds almost as barbaric as amputation, it really isn’t. The caps are designed to fall off in four to six weeks as the nails grow.

At first Those Two treated them as a fashion accessory, changing colors with the seasons or holidays (I’m sporting my Halloween orange here). I didn’t really mind the caps, since I could still satisfy my natural urge to scratch everything in sight. And I’m strictly an indoor cat, so I didn’t have to worry about ridicule from my peers in the wild.

After a few months, though, I began shedding the caps more quickly than the company had advertised, and Those Two grew tired of having to reapply them. One day, they simply stopped putting them on me.

I’d like to think part of it was that they had grown to trust me, and realized I was not a four-legged shredding machine. As in any new relationship, it took time for trust to grow.

I prefer my nails uncapped and natural, and I mostly leave the furniture alone. I’m hoping Those Two haven’t noticed that carpet shopping might be in their not-too-distant future.

I’ve gathered during my six years that humans love to debate issues, and there are some real classics out there: Toilet paper over or under? Yankees or Red Sox? And my favorite, dogs or cats?

Mama G has a friend who clearly is not a cat person. In fact, this friend pretty much regards us as useless creatures, and cites as evidence the fact that while there are plenty of stories about “hero dogs,” no one hears much about heroic cats.

How silly! As everyone now knows, most of the news humans are fed is fake! So I’m just not buying it that cats are incapable of heroism, and I offer this story as proof. It’s definitely not fake.

Now I’m not going to pretend that I could possibly be a big hero. As I mentioned the other day, I’m a bit of a coward. So if the house ever catches fire in the middle of the night, Those Two can fend for themselves — I’ll be cowering in the basement.

But I’d like to think of myself as something of an everyday hero, just a little guy who tries to bring joy to people’s lives, making them smile, maybe even laugh, and lowering their blood pressure a little. And that’s sort of like saving people, isn’t it?

Oh, and just for the record, I prefer the toilet paper over. It makes it much easier to wreak havoc that way.

 

Have you ever had one of those days that plods along in ordinary fashion, and then suddenly one unexpected moment turns it extraordinary? Well I had just such a day on Wednesday.

There I was, just lounging around, when Mama G came in from outside with a box under one arm and told me I had received a package. I didn’t believe it at first, but there was my name on the shipping label. I could hardly contain my excitement! Those Two, on the other hand, were at first worried it might be a bomb. They spend way too much time watching Forensic Files, Evil Women, Fear Thy Neighbor and other such TV shows. I don’t think it’s healthy.

Anyway, I couldn’t begin to imagine what could be in that box. Mama G helped me open it, since it’s hard to remove packing tape without opposable thumbs. She pulled out a beautiful water bowl — with my name on it! I wanted to squeal with delight, but since I’m a cat, squealing is not really my thing. A little gift card inside identified the sender as Joyce, a faithful reader who also happens to be my godmother.

Those of you who have been with me since the beginning of this adventure might remember that I was recently depressed one day, prompted by the sight of my old water bowl, which simply read “CAT,” like I was some generic, easily replaceable pet. Well, apparently Joyce was equally incensed at the insensitivity of Those Two and ordered me my new bowl.

Now Joyce has a lot on her plate these days, and I don’t mean Fancy Feast, so I was incredibly touched not only that she took my sadness seriously, but that she also made time to try to remedy it.

That one gesture of love and kindness gave me new hope for humans, and my water has never tasted better. Thanks Joyce, you made my day!