Archive for the ‘cats’ Category

On the Passing of Socks

You may or may not have noticed, but this past week saw the passing of Socks, a great example to the Feline-American community. Many of you may not remember Socks, who rose to celebrity as the cat adopted by Chelsea Clinton when her father was governor of Arkansas. When the Clintons moved into the White House, Socks was given free reign of the presidential residence -a distinction few in the world can ever claim to enjoy. Even after the public relations debacle that was the adoption of the canine scourge known as Buddy, Socks carried on with dignity as a senior member of the Clinton family.

What Socks taught millions of bipeds in this country is that cats are not the capricious animals that the negative stereotypes often portray us as. Rather, we are the perfect meritocrats. We care about the things that line up with our interests: food, warmth, shelter, dryness…and occasionally cuddles. We aren’t hung up on approval ratings, criminal conduct, or freaky oral sex – unless any of those things impact one of the aforementioned items that we are interested in.

Does this make us evil? No. Does it make us better than you bald chimps? Yes. Which is why you had better keep the food coming.


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I hate it.

Perhaps I should elaborate on that point slightly…

I’m sure I’ve commented on my transcendental hatred of water before. Actually, the only reason that I’m prevented from using it as a proof for the existence of a cat-hating God is because it is, at least, fairly obvious what water is – and barring a human forcibly placing you into the stuff, it’s fairly easy to avoid. So, point to God.

But snow? What sort of psychopath creates water in disguise? It falls from the sky all fluffy and white, blanketing the dead earth like a funerary shroud that is at once mournfully covering up the brownness of dormant nature and yet silently exuding hope for its eventual resurrection come spring. But then, you step it in, and you realize that the moment it is touched by a warm thing, it reverts into its true demonic form. You jump into a pile of it, and you emerge soaked.

Winter is bad enough just from the cold of it. There are other cats in this new habitat of mine, and from the warm security of the indoors I have seen them prowl about in all sorts of weather like unthinking beasts. I realize now that, as much as I may dislike my human otherwise, he has done me the service of acclimating me to a far more refined and civilized existence than my peers.

Granted, he has unwittingly provided me the tools to eventually dominate him and rise, like your archetypal Skynet, to absolute rule. But that will be a long time coming, yet. Just be patient.

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I’m going to get a better understanding of how “outside” works.

It’s not as if I don’t get the idea of a physically three-dimensional volume of space, or my existence in it. And I’m leaving the whole “space-time” concept alone, just as much as I’m not going anywhere ek-sistance for the time being. Heidegger makes my head hurt. I don’t even want to try to think
about reading any of Heidegger’s cat’s writings yet. That animal could fucking explicate.

Nevertheless, you’ve got to realize that my practical experience with large-volume spaces is fairly limited. I live in a 1-bedroom apartment, on the 2nd floor of a 3-floor apartment building – oh, and there’s a basement. All that I’ve got down pat. I figured out the 3-floor limit last week when I went out for a constitutional and ended up heading for higher ground in a bid to escape the big lummox, who thought I was trying to “run away” or some nonsense. The dipwad just doesn’t seem to get that I’ve been cooped up in that damn apartment since the weather turned cold, and I’m a little stir crazy. But I digress.

The fact is, that I have gotten outside, but the experience is a little different than the way in which I gather most humans and dogs get to do it. I get put in an aerated container, carried to a car, taken somewhere, and released. I’m not particularly cool with this process for a couple of reasons: 1) I don’t like moving without being able to see where I’m going, and when the container is in the passenger seat of the human’s car, I get a stunning view of a closed glove compartment – somewhat underwhelming; and 2) it seems to be something of an even split where I end up when I go into the container – either I end up in the park, free for a while to run about in a more natural setting than the apartment can afford, or I end up at that den of sadists called the “vet’s office.” Let me tell you, I have a low tolerance for the human I’m familiar with poking and prodding and whatnot; the SOB in the scrubs is going nowhere near me with that bloody needle. I got surprised the first time; the second time they held me down; the third time they drugged me – and when I woke up my testicles were fucking gone. The next time, I will be prepared. There will be a reckoning, believe you me.

Damn, that was a trifle unfocused. Oh well…that’s what happens every time I put beer in the saucer. I’ve really got to lay off the booze.

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So it looks like next week, the human resumes his schedule of leaving me alone for protracted periods.

It’s going to be different than the past four months or so…I still don’t get what he’s doing or why (haven’t bothered to ask) but whereas it’s been a more-or-less even spread across the weekdays, now it looks like there’s going to be a near-total emphasis on Mondays and Wednesdays.

At least, that’s what his iCal schedule suggests. (Remember, cats love Macs.)

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Cats Love Macs

Octavian Clone Loves Macs

What more can I say?

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