A Kitten's Tale

Hello, hi there, hey y'all! Guest posting today on the blog is your one and only AJ Tiger John Wayne. That's me, right there, the suave and handsome guy in the photo.

Got that? Suave and handsome. I don't want to hear anyone even breathe the word 'cute' in my presence. There are many other 'c' words at your disposal such as 'cool', 'confident', 'charismatic', and a brilliant sense of humor.

That last one is actually not a 'c' word. I just wanted you to know.

It's a hard life around this place for sure. *yawn*

So I moved in with the O. Family about a month or so ago and have gotten along rather well with everyone. Pretty much. Have you seen the furry lump they keep around this place that might as well be a vegetable instead of a feline?

Uh huh. Him. Oliver. No, I'm not sharing a photo of him. I noticed he gets enough space of this blog devoted to him already. Me, I sort of have a love/hate relationship with the guy. My immediate thought when I first saw him was 'Country Bumpkin Pumpkin.' So I told him so. And that seemed to get our introduction off on the wrong paw. But I was just being honest. He does look like a big fur covered pumpkin.

I do like him well enough, especially as he makes a great fluffy punching bag and will occasionally put his paw around me when he's having a good day. Which isn't often.

To put it bluntly, the guy's a grump.

Case in point, I snuck up on him yesterday as he was doing what he does best: sleeping. (I really think he believes it to be an extreme sport). I decided he wasn't losing any pounds just lying there like a blob, so I grabbed him around the neck with my paws to heft him up. It wouldn't be an easy task for the average kitten as the guy has to weigh at least ninety to five hundred pounds. But you'll notice in the above photo that my paws and claws are made of steel and could easily rip through the leg of an antelope with a single swipe.

My middle name is Tiger, after all. I'm pretty sure it's what I'd be doing if I'd ended up on the Serengeti instead of this place.

Anyway, I hefted his head up with my mighty paws and was met with hisses, growls, and yes, even a snarl. 

Well, excuseee me for not seeing the 'No Touchy' sign, pal. Just go ahead and gain more weight lying there all day.

It's true. Yesterday, he slept in the same spot beside the front door for eight hours. *taps microphone with paw* Eight hours, people. Now if I were to pull a stunt like that, my owners would scoop me up to pat me and shake me and hug me while contemplating why I was so lethargic (their word, not mine). I know. It's happened before. A guy like me can't take a nap around here without his health being questioned.

The constant attention can definitely get a bit stressful. Earlier, I was trying to decide who had placed the rug upside down on the carpet. The tags were showing and it looked tacky.

 That's when I felt eyes...or something...on me thanks to my keen awareness abilities.

Abandoning my contemplation of the tacky rug, I glanced up to find Erin pointing that camera of hers in my direction. Again. 

Sheesh. The paparazzi never ceases. I have someone looking at me or holding me almost every second of the day. Between you and me, I believe that Erin and her sister, Elisabeth, are experiencing 'Youngest Brother has Grown and There is no Longer a Baby in the House to Cuddle' syndrome. Don't laugh. I've heard it's common. 

The fact that they're relieving their anxiety by coddling me has its perks and pitfalls.

 A perk? They'll do anything I ask. I have them trained that well. Illustration of my point? The youngest sister, Ellie, has a violin stand with little metal stringlike things that swing when brushed against. I saw it from below and was staring at it, thinking how much fun it would be to bat with my paw.

I heard an 'Awww' from above and was suddenly lifted to my destination.

One kitty going up.

I explored the stand to my heart's content and was only put down when I told my flunky- I mean, when I told Elisabeth she could do so.

After I was lowered, I scampered off to another corner of the room. That's when I heard Elisabeth say that I was so cute. (I'm used to it as I hear the word about every waking moment). And Erin remarked that she hoped I'd never do anything dumb like run into the road. I thought she was being considerate until she added, "Especially not after the bill from his last veterinarian's appointment."

Maybe she was being humorous, I don't know. I thought it rather morbid and uncouth of her, but didn't say so. Given time, I'm sure she'll learn one important fact of life:

The cost of flea treatment is overshadowed by the payment of pure love.

Does that make sense? It sounds good. You have my permission to add it to your collection of inspirational quotes or to use it as a Facebook status. I've got a million of 'em.

Come to think of it, I should share it with Erin using my best John Wayne impersonation (oh, yes, I do a mean impersonation of 'The Duke.'). That should make it resonate in her soul and take root. She sighs at anything he says anyway.

Now, I hear you asking what's one of the pitfalls to the constant attention I receive and I'll tell you. 

Nicknames. The names I've heard myself called include (but are not limited to):

Mongoose

Baby

Chuckles

Muzzy

Maxwell

Sweetie-kins

And last, but certainly not least:

Mr. Muffle Puffles.

If they were only embarrassing me from my ears to the tip of my tail, I could handle it. But when someone outright offends my masculinity... I mean, one of my names is John Wayne, after all. You wouldn't hear them calling him Chuckles or...Mr. Muffle Puffles.

So yes, it's a life filled with grumps, kitten huggers, and blush-worthy nicknames, but I've learned to be patient with the individuals in my life for the most part. I mainly just keep silent about their faults. What's done is done and you won't hear me bringing it up again.

But for the record, I don't chuckle. I purr. I meow. I roar.

I don't chuckle.

It's anyone's guess where they got that one.

Go Hug a Puppy

Cats have a withering look that is universal to the species. The message that look conveys is the equivalent to our "Take a hike" or "Go jump in the lake." Meaning their respect for you has sunk low--very low.

It is "the look" that means:

Go hug a puppy.

But before we get to the chilling story, let me take a moment to introduce you to a certain little feline whose only expression in the above photo is one of confusion at the black lens stuck in his face.

Friends, this is our new kitten. His name is AJ Tiger John Wayne.

For short, we're calling him AJ Tiger John Wayne.

He was given to us by our very dear friends a mere two days ago and seems to be adjusting well.

I wish I could say the same for other furry members of the family. Call me something of an idealist or an optimist, but I thought that their meeting would be somewhat different. I did. 

Like maybe Oliver would look into those sweet innocent eyes and be won forever. 

Like maybe Oliver would observe this younger version of himself and be given the incentive to lose weight.

Like maybe Oliver would wrap his arm around the little fella and decide that he was the Simba to his Mufasa.

Reader, that was not how it played out. The actual meeting involved, well, hissing.

So much for dreams of Oliver playing surrogate daddy. Does anyone know where I can return the "Proud Parent" cat-sized T-shirt I bought? It's an X-Large.

Have you ever seen a cat sulk? I hadn't either until Sunday. With a hurt glance in our direction that said "I thought you were better than this," Oliver flicked his tail and retreated to a spot on the outside grill. Guilt ensued on our part and we dashed over to console him.

Ohh. I could literally feel the disgust. No, what's more I could see it with every look he gave us.

"Oliver? Oliver? Come on, Oliver, perk up."

Go hug a puppy.

"Oliver? Please don't be this way. We still love you."

Go hug a puppy.

"Oliver? Please purr or something? You're making me feel guilty."

Good. Go hug a puppy.

Well, it's taken about two days, but Oliver isn't shooting imaginary fiery darts at the kitten anymore. Either he's coming around or is really enjoying the leftover canned kitten food that comes in an assortment of flavors. It could be that. Possibly.

As for AJ Tiger John Wayne, he seems happy and hasn't been telling us to go hug any puppies. We're thinking we'll keep him around.

In Which I Share Worthwhile Thoughts

Today, I want to introduce you to the very picture of productiveness on a Saturday.

Yes, Oliver is awesome in the fact that he can spend many hours doing exactly what he's done every Saturday of his life.

Actually, what he's done every day of his life.

It involves sneaking into the house, finding a bed, snuggling down, and proceeding to resemble a corpse for the next three to six hours.

Comatose. Completely comatose. Didn't even flinch or budge when I shoved the webcam in his face a few minutes ago.

Although Oliver has not voiced any complaints about his lot in life, I have my own thoughts as to how to spice it up a bit. See those pink handled scissors in the background, left behind by a seamstress sister? That, and fluffy orange fur sitting right beside an imaginative blogger are not a good mix at all.

I have a feeling I could cut out some pretty snazzy heart patterns or triangles or circles. Give Ollie's look a little more pizazz if I wanted to.

It's a good thing I'm a mature adult. At least, that's what I keep telling myself. We'll see. Someone better move either the cat or the scissors before I forget.

Wow, after reviewing this post, I'm thinking I should write a book about Oliver--you know, like the bestselling stuff that some people write about their pets. If it received any negative reviews, it would only be due to the fact that others wish they had the guts to live out their dream like Ollie does every day of his life. ;)

Guess what? No, I really want you to guess! It's really cute and we're getting it in a few short weeks. It looks just like Oliver, only miniature. Care to guess? :)

The Good, the Bad, and the Fluffy

The Good:

After a busy day of constant activity, the little brother has finally fallen into an exhausted sleep.

The Bad:

The big orange fluffy thing draped on the other side of the couch really isn't supposed to be inside the house.

And the Fluffy:

I...think that this one is pretty self-explanatory.

Sleep well, guys.

Yep, I'm back. It was a good break, but I'm glad to be back in the blogosphere. :) More posts coming later this week. Ciao for now!

A Cat is a Cat

 

A cat is a cat

 Is a cat

 Is a cat.

Yes, personal hygiene is as imperative as sleeping and must be done no less than close to 24/7. 

Dare to interrupt or ruffle the precious fur? You will promptly receive "the look."

It is seemingly universal to the species. (Just go look at yours at the moment...what is it doing?)

That's what I thought.

Thus I reiterate,

A cat is a cat is a cat. ;)

And that is that.