In or out

There are people who have difficulties making up their minds.  Animals are no different, some also have a little trouble deciding what they want.  Mickey is a fine example of this. 

Before his adoption, Mickey’s previous owner (Mom’s father), had stated that Mick was a cat who needed a doorman.  Yeah, no kidding, I’ve seen Mickey at work and he is indeed a handful. 

For starters, he cannot stand closed doors.  If Mom or Dieter go into a room and close the door, he will position himself in front of it and start complaining.  The result of his whining is usually that the door is opened. 

It doesn’t take long though before he whines again.  Now that he’s been let in, he wants to go out.  After he’s been let out, he sits by the door and cries again for entrance or scratched the door.  Again it opens, Mickey slips in and a short while later it opens again and Mickey slips out.

The same applies for when Mickey wants to go on the balcony.  When he’s inside, he wants to go outside; when he’s outside he wants to come inside.  In, out, in, out ... can’t he make up his mind?

Don’t be alarmed when I say that Mickey goes out on the balcony.  There is no danger, as we cats have a kitty run on the balcony.  See picture above.

This talk about going inside and outside actually reminds me of someone ... Debbie.  She didn’t have a problem as such as to whether she wanted to be inside or out, as she had a problem with a door itself.

Debbie was a weasel and tiny as she was, she had a bit of an attitude.  I mean, if someone opened a door for her so she could slip through, she remained in place.  The door would be opened wider, but still Debbie didn’t move.  She would merely look up and wait.  Only after the door was opened wider still, enough to give access for a fully grown German Sheppard, would madam make her entrance.  Didn’t I say she had an attitude?

Debbie passed away a number of years ago, but we remember her very fondly.  She was good fun to play with.  Whenever she was awake, which wasn’t often as weasels sleep on average 18 hours a day, we would chase her around.  Don’t feel sorry for her.  Most of the time she would turn the table on us and we would have to run not to have our tails nipped by her sharp teeth.

I remember one time when Charlotte was running after Debbie, chasing her into one of the bedrooms.  Moments later Charlotte came sprinting back, with Debbie in hot pursuit.  In one fluid motion Charlotte jumped onto the sofa and from there onto the dining room table.  Debbie thought she could do the same.  She launched herself onto the sofa and took a leap of faith to the dining room table.  Unfortunately, Debbie’s ambition was writing checks her little legs couldn’t cash and she plummeted to the floor.

She was okay.  She gave herself a little shake and walked away, but she never attempted such a jump again.

Such a character she was.  Those who knew her, still miss her.

For those interested in the kitty run, please visit http://hsus.petfulfillment.com

NASCAR Cats

It’s Sunday and Sunday means NASCAR day.

We cats love NASCAR, especially my sister Charlotte.  There was a time when she sat in front of TV and watched the race very intently.  Sometimes she sat on a chair or a box and watched, sometimes she stood on her hind legs to get a closer look.  

It’s not surprising that Charlotte likes NASCAR as she was named after one of the tracks.  That’s right, the Sunday she joined this family as a small kitten, the drivers were set to race at Charlotte, so mom named her Charlotte.

Watching her watching the race was entertainment in itself.  She would move her head as the cars went by, touch the TV screen in an attempt to grab one of the cars, and take a peek at either side of the TV to find out where the cars were coming from and where they were going. 

Of course, at night, the cats in this family perform their own version of NASCAR.  Sometimes Charlotte and Mickey are the racers; sometimes it’s Mickey and Gabriel; and sometimes all three of them have a go.

It starts off quite innocently.  A game of patty cake, a swipe at the head or a grab and bite at a tail.  One moment they’re playing, the next it’s a case of ‘Gentlemen, start your engines’ and they’re off.

During such a race it’s best that the humans stay out of their way because they race at top speed and cat paws don’t come equipped with breaks.  They race from the living room to the bedroom and back again, jump on tables and leap over chairs.  

The funniest of racers is Gabriel.  He has a lot of fluff between the padding of his paws, causing him to lose his footing once in a while.  Mickey and Charlotte who don’t have that fluff are able to take corners with amazing accuracy, but Gabriel frequently miscalculates a corner and goes flying.  When this happens it’s quite funny.  When he regains his composure he stands there with a dumb look on his face, wondering what the hell happened.

Me, I don’t take part in those races.  The races on TV don’t interest me (if anything the zoom zoom of the cars puts me to sleep) and racing cats are of not much interest to me either.  Why exhaust myself running around when I can curl up in a ball and sleep.