Cat's Log (Prince's Diary) Week of 2/14/99

I hear there's a rumor going around that GlennaJo has me "wrapped around her little finger," so I'm here to set you straight.

Ya gotta remember GlennaJo's doing the typing here. So if I say, "GlennaJo's the lamest human on the planet," it comes out something like "GlennaJo's even lamer than the average human, which is pretty lame indeed." And if I say, "I know you're just using that catnip to manipulate me into letting you take pictures," it comes out like, "it took all of my dignity and self-control not to ask for another photo shoot with catnip today." As you can see, my words are really being twisted to fit GlennaJo's evil plots.

And speaking of evil plots, GlennaJo hasn't taken my picture all day. I know she's saving up for something real special. I've been drugged with catnip and bombarded with cat toys--what's next?

GlennaJo says she's home today because it's Presidents Day, a holiday that honors two of the greatest presidents of the United States.

She says Washington is famous because he led the forces that emancipated the United States from Great Britain, and Lincoln is famous for emancipating the slaves. I'm here to point out that I think they forgot someone when they were doing all that emancipating. True, I don't pay taxes (which is a good thing since I don't have any representation around here). And I also don't work hard all day without pay (although the without pay part is right on). But I don't have the freedom to go to the basement, on the kitchen table or even on top of the freezer.

Presidents have to follow the constitution; we Princes do what we want
Presidents go to meetings, sign bills and make decisions all day; we Princes take naps, play and eat
Presidents declare war; we Princes psych out the opponent by hissing and looking big
Presidents get around by walking, riding and flying; we Princes are often carried by our attendants
Presidents find their every flaw detailed in the newspapers;

Even now, she's typing a few words and then poking me or grasping my paws. I mean, how's a guy to get any rest? For example, she just said: "How can I write a diary entry for you today; all you've done is sleep on the couch, on the chair, in the window, on the bed ..." Precisely.

Sleeping all day long isn't as easy as it seems. You can't just lie still in the same position and expect to get away without sores. Sometimes you just gotta stand up, turn around and then try to get back to sleep. Now, when you've just slept 23 of the past 24 hours, it isn't easy to go back to sleep, but who's ever heard of a cat with insomnia? So, to vary the routine, we practice the ancient martial art known as stretching. First you arch your back, "accidentally" swiping your tail across your attendant's face. Then you turn a few degrees to the left, presenting your backside for inspection. Finally, you do the famous reverse stretch, segueing from full length to a sleeping lump in a single second.

You know the one--it brings back old odors from inside the carpets and removes a lot of your scent. It takes a lot of effort to scatter litter that far from the box, and I really resent it when GlennaJo removes it. In case you people haven't noticed, we felines don't have that highly over-rated thumb thing, so we have to hold our toes tight together while we walk from the box to the carpet. In 15 minutes GlennaJo undid hours of work!

Anyway, GlennaJo seemed very impressed that I stayed on the shelf by the kitchen window rather than hiding under something. As if! And no, I did not run away when she started on the kitchen--

GlennaJo saw me sleeping in the sunshine and thought it would be a good opportunity for some natural light photos. I disagreed.

Apparently assuming my cooperation, she went to get the camera and got comfortable on a chair on the other side of the room, so I walked up to her and rubbed her legs in a friendly way. She set me back in the sunshine and sat down, so I decided to play along and came up to her again. She set me down in the sunshine again and then started messing with my hair, trying to get it to lay down flat. [I just don't think cowlicks are attractive on cats.] (First you call me a poodle and now a cow. Why don't you show a little respect!)

Anyway, after trying to pet the hair down flat a few times, GlennaJo went to the sink and ran water on her hand and then petted me with the wet hand. I left that room in a hurry, I can tell you!

First it was the silent prey, I could have sworn I caught it a dozen times over, but after I made my move, the prey was still on top of my paw. It's very light weight and also lightening fast, because every time I move my paw to trap it, it leaps away faster than I can see. It's looking like I may have to trap it in the gray tube, but every time I try to check the tube out, GlennaJo moves it away quickly. I think she does it just to frustrate me!

Then we switched to the toy hanging from the wand. Now this toy changes from time to time, and GlennaJo picked today to make the change. First she detached the fluffy feather thing, so I grabbed it and started chewing. I'd been trying to grab it for weeks, but it's usually a good foot off the floor, so I wasn't going to miss this opportunity. In its place on the wand, she attached this new wing feather thing that didn't smell like a bird at all and started waving it around and touching my nose with it. I continued chewing.

I will never understand what it is that humans see in waving things around. They must think we share their fascination the way they keep looking at us expectantly as though they think we'll jump into the game at any time.

Just to be sociable, after GlennaJo took the fluffy feather thing away from me, I swatted at the wing feather toy a couple of times before getting back to work on my nap.

I got to sit next to the prin-brat on the couch today, and she didn't stop spitting the whole time.

In my younger days [last year] I may have been a bit obnoxious, jumping on her and chasing her every chance I got. But by now she should have figured out I'm here to stay. You'd think she'd get over it. Just because of the size difference is no reason to pull a tantrum every time I come near. [Don't forget to mention that you still chase her every chance you get, which may have some effect on how soon she's gonna "get over it."]

Anyway, this alleged "princess" is highly overrated. As near as I can tell all she does is sleep. If she's a genuine princess, I'm a full-size tiger. I, on the other hand, AM a genuine Prince.

My Mother was a Persian princess who came to this country travelling with royalty and jumped out of a limo in LA. My Father was top cat in the whole Los Angeles area. He rescued my Mom from certain starvation (if not worse) in a strange and dangerous city.

I'd like to see Mz. Veldt come up with a royal pedigree. {I didn't know this was a creative writing contest. Maybe in my next appearance, I'll have quite a story to tell.}

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