Some Day…

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.


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.)

Cats Love Macs

Octavian Clone Loves Macs

What more can I say?

Another Advance

Well, I have passed another milestone in my quest to overcome my handicap of thumblessness.

The human came home again, and had objections to me wanting to climb the artificial tree he’s had up for the past month. I don’t know why…there were never any presents under it or anything. At any rate, I apparently made him lose patience by repeatedly doing this, so he put me in the bedroom and closed the door. This put me away from where I can have the most fun – read “annoying the hell out the the giant lummox” – and so I did what I usually do: leap at the door and scratch at it until he gets fed up again and lets me out.

But that’s not what happened. What happened was that at the climax of my endeavors, I made a leap for the doorknob and grabbed it. Then, wonder of wonders, it turned, and the door swung to enough that I was able to get out.

Not only have I overcome the lack-of-thumbs issue, but I’ve overcome the height deficit to boot. Soon I’ll be able to get out of this apartment on my own…all, the glories of almost tasted freedom.

…And the human left for New Year’s. Frankly, I don’t see the point of it all. “The calendar has switched over” doesn’t immediately present itself to me as a cause for celebration. But then again, I lack that penchant for ritual cyclicality that seems to permeate a lot of human cultural behavior. Can’t say I have a problem with that, either.

In other news, still more of this “snow” stuff is falling now, and it’s coming down like it might be going out of style. I’m starting to get really curious as to what this stuff is like. My bipedal roommate seems disinclined to let me out in it, but I’m pretty determined to have a snow experience of some kind. I’ll find a way. I’m resourceful.

Human went batshit last night. Something about some guy called Nelson and a politician of some sorts…I don’t know, I don’t tend to care about the kinds of things that humans get all hot and bothered about, politically. Honestly, I think that bringing the sensibilities of a cat to government might do a lot of good.

Take immigration, for example. If humans just marked the border regularly, then I swear you would see a difference in a week. Never underestimate the amount of trouble that can be avoided by a judicious application of urine. I guarantee that after a few thorough soakings of the border line, nobody would dare cross; who the heck would want to get into a noisy showdown of posturing, scratching, and biting?

Come to think of it, I think that a judicious application of urine is what would solve all your political problems. After all, aren’t societal interactions predicated on posturing, limited combat, and establishing a pungent wall of pheromonal odor? I mean, think about it: War on Terror – judicious application of urine to Bin Laden. At the end of the day, a whole country has to be able to generate more urine than any one guy or collection of people hiding in a cave. You get that power together and drop it collectively on those caves? You win. And how about Russia? I guarantee you that if Bush had urinated on Putin the first time the Russian President visited Crawford, U.S.-Russia relations would have been very different.

But I digress. So the human was ripshit about something or another. It’s made him…edgy. Which, of course, made me edgy. Enough so, lestways, that I made him sleep on the couch last night. No way am I letting a pissed off human into the bedroom.

Well, he’s back – and with a veritable assload of Christmas loot. DVDs, clothes, and this weird machine that he plugs in and turns on which vibrates. He wears it on his shoulders like its some kind of article of clothing…it creeps me out.

Anyway, the vacation appears to be over for me, although I did have some fun while I had the place to myself. Got into the kitchen (which I never get to do – he has problems for some reason letting up on the counter) and knocked some stuff over. High old time.

In other news, I was surfing the web while he was gone, and found some disturbing videos that I’m inclined to share with you. I look at these less as examples of how humans demean us as a race, but more as examples of how willing some of “the brethren” are to make asses of themselves for human amusement.

This one is just ridiculous, for the simple reason that no self-respecting cat is going to get that far and go all stiff. That was a trick, pure and simple. If I started a leap and realized that I was going to fail to clear the obstacle, I would actually use my hind legs. They have claws for a goddamn reason. That animal was just looking for attention, and it’s depressing.

Now I’ll be the first to admit, some of this behavior is not the product of feline attention-whoring. Some of it is just normal cat interaction; other of it is normal cat-human interaction. But some of that stuff was just out-and-out retarded. I think we’d get a bit more respect if we didn’t in fact do that sort of thing so much. I somehow doubt that we became deities in Egypt because of our cute antics. Now those people, they knew how to treat a cat with respect.