Mon JAN 10

It’s a new year. Which, to a cat, means virtually nothing. The sun still comes up every day, signaling the presence of large flocks of birds feeding in the back yard that require being chased away. I still get fed at the usual times. The Husband and Wife still disappear periodically, but they always return to lavish attention on their faithful feline.

So what’s new about the new year? Numbers on the calendar. That’s all. Calendars are a human contrivance, so they know when to celebrate things (another human contrivance - celebrations). Cats celebrate life every day. What else is there?

All my woodland pals have their own built-in calendars; the squirrels know when to store away food, the mice burrow in, the birds head south. The migratory birds even know the time of day, so they know where the sun is supposed to be to keep them on course.

Humans have this ability also, but they choose to ignore it. The refer instead to their calendars and watches. They’d be surprised how well they could cope if they would just throw them away.

I know exactly when it’s time to be fed, when the best nap times are, when to come in outa the rain, when the tv will be operating (and hence when laps are available).

My calendar is full.

Sat JAN 22

Snow.

Snow is for kittens. They play in it, burrow in it, then run away. I just get cold feet. But I have to go out and check it out every time.

I joined the Husband when he went out to play in it (he likes to shovel big scoops of it off the driveway and throw it on the lawn. But that's not enough; he then does the same thing with the sidewalk in front of the house. But he still can't get enough, so he does the front steps too).

Frankly, I don't see the attraction. I tried to venture across the lawn toward the creek, but the white stuff just kept getting deeper. So I returned to the sancuary of the bushes where it stayed dry and watched the Husband enjoying himself.

A man ventured by with a dog on a leash. The dog was wearing a sweater. As if the leash isn't degrading enough. The dog didn't seem to mind. But he's a dog; what can I say. And a car went by very slowly, so as not to miss any of this snow stuff. But then a bunch of kids came running by, throwing snow at each other. You don't have to go slow when the snow hits you in the face, I guess.

When the Husband had had enough fun, he called me and we went inside.

The Wife had made the Husband a cup of hot chocolate and we all curled up on the couch (well, I did. Tucked my cold feet under my warm body and buried my cold nose in my warm fur).

They say each snowflake is different, but to me, if you've seen one, you've seen 'em all.

Tue JAN 25

It's snowing again. More fierce than it was three days ago. There's eight inches out there so far, and even though it's kinda quiet out there now, there's another four inches expected soon.

But I think I'm handling it well.

The Husband called in chicken today (he just didn't want to drive in this mess. I don't blame him).

So he took the shovel and went out to play. I found a spot on the living room chair and am contributing all I can to the situation (I'm staying out of the way).

Because it's been snowing all day long, the snow plows have been coming through all day long, which the Husband is enjoying. Every time a plow comes through, it leaves a low wall of dirty snow and ice in front of the driveway, and the Husband gets to grab the shovel and go out and play some more.

I'm happy for him.

But for me it's too cold, too wet, too annoying. But I'm doing fine.

Keep warm.

Thu JAN 27

Our assignment today is to select a photo that sums up our impression of the first serious snowfall of 2000.

Here's mine, entitled "Opie was here."

Mon JAN 31

The Wife usually spends Super Bowl Sunday with her I-could-care-less-about-the Super-Bowl female friends for a festive time in Atlantic City, gambling.

The Husband and I stay home and bond, eating tuna fish together out of the can. But not this year. The weekend was jammed with other celebrations (a godson turned 18, and a sister survived 22 years of marriage). The anniversary celebration was here, where the Husband and I usually spend this Sunday quietly.

I enjoy being around humans; never pass up the chance. But this time, when the nieces and nephews appeared, they all wanted to pet me. And they insisted on being really loud at the same time. They really like me. I just wish they'd like me a little more quietly.

The celebration wrapped up early 'cause there was a prediction of accumulating snow and ice, and it had begun around four. And the horde filed out.

Then it was quiet again. A conspicuous quiet that always follows the departure of the wee ones.

And we relaxed.

Wed FEB 2

Like I said last year (and every year prior):

The one thing most apparent about humans is their propensity to celebrate. Anything. I have concluded (and previously noted) that humans are so dissatisfied with their everyday lives that they are compelled to celebrate occurrences that have little or no bearing on their day-to-day existence.
Case in point: Groundhogs. Gimme a break.
Once a year, human beings making a big deal of celebrating the emergence of a sleepy, obese rodent from his burrow. TV stations, with exhorbitant, overpriced cost-per-minute airtime, cover this event. This is for a rodent, ladies and gentlemen. There are far more noble animals that deserve recognition (and I'm not just referring to cats) that receive no honorarium at all.

But today we will see, several times, a groundhog in western Pennsylvania dragged from his lair, with ruffles and flourishes, when the rodent himself would prefer to be left very much alone. And everybody will smile and be happy. Except the groundhog. And a few discerning felines such as myself.

Next on the celebration list: Presidents. Washington and Lincoln have apparently had some historic impact on the retailing industry, because they're the ones celebrating this particular occasion the most. At least they're celebrating their own species this time.

Happy celebrating, everyone.

Thu FEB 10

It's been almost five years that I've lived with the Husband and Wife. I don't remember anything of my life before that. I do remember discovering the woods (my private playground), which I still enjoy on a daily basis.

But I also remember three other cats in the neighborhood. One was my buddy Spooky, who moved away. We were always showing off for each other, playing one-upsmanship. Which was part of the thrill; knowing that they'd see me coming out of the woods with a captured critter, and being able to take it directly into the house (I was the only local feline with his own door).

So of course the other cats were jealous. Spooky would occasionally follow me into the house and stake out his own spot, as if to say "I can live here too." But after spending just enough time to justify squatter's rights, he would leave, but he let it be known he would be back.

It was all good-natured; we never had any real cat fights.

All the other cats were old and established. I was the new kid. But then Spooky moved away, and shortly thereafter one of the older cats finished up his ninth life, and that leaves only one local cat, and he's 15 in people years and doesn't venture out as often.

The Husband and Wife still appreciate the presents I bring them, but it's not the same without the adoration of your peers, y'know?

Mon FEB 21

Hey, cat caregivers!

You don’t eat the exact same food every day of your life do you? Of course not. So why do you feed the same stuff to your beloved pets every day?

I couldn’t ask for better human companionship than the Husband and Wife, but when it’s feeding time, they need a little training. I mean every day it’s been 9 Lives Tuna and Egg, or Tuna and Cheese, or sometimes, just plain Tuna.

I used to love the stuff, y’know? So they figured that’s what they’ll feed me, and I’ll just keep on loving it. Gimme a break.

So I started putting my paw down. I’ve begun snubbing the tuna combinations. I ignore it and immediately begin my hungry meows.

They were confused at first, but they eventually caught on. Soon, new flavors were ending up in my dish, for which I purred my appreciation.

Of course there was a good bit of trial and error involved (Seafood Sampler = Fish remains du jour. Mixed Grill = Byproducts au jus).

For a while I was getting the expensive stuff in the little Fancy Feast cans, but that didn’t last.

Or when the Husband would mix up a bowl of Chicken of the Sea for his lunchtime sandwiches, I’d be right there with my saddest eyes, and I’d end up with several mouthfuls of people tuna (much tastier than cat tuna).

But the variety in my regular meals has improved also. Being finicky is occasionally necessary.

Humans are great, but y’gotta watch ‘em.

Sat FEB 26

It's been very spring-like lately, when a tom cat lightly turn to thoughts of ... mice!

It was just after dawn; the Husband and Wife were still asleep, when I brought a mouse into the bedroom and turned it loose. And it scampered all over the place, and I just had to give chase. Of course the ensuing commotion awoke the Husband and Wife, and they immediately joined in the fun. The Wife and I cornered it behind the clothes basket, where it waited while the Husband returned with the green box he kept for just such an occasion.

After some clever logistics, the mouse was herded into the green box and, after a brief pause while the husband put on clothes, he was taken outdoors to the spot where the Husband keeps all my pets (he won't tell me where that is).

The Wife praised my skills and thanked me for the gift. She wasn't fully awake and therefore didn't sound all that sincere, but cats take any praise, when and where it's offered.

It had been a while since we had a good mousefest together; I'm glad I could do my part in the feline-human bonding process. :)

Tue FEB 29


It's leap year day. As a cat, that means nothing to me, except as a point of fascination in my ongoing study of human nature.

Humans go to impossible lengths to support their own conjured-up philosophies. Leap year is the consumate example. Someone figured out that one complete revolution of the sun took 365 days and built a calendar. Someone was wrong; it actually takes a quarter-day longer. So every four years their calendar invention is off by a whole day. No problem; to the arbitrarily-derived calender, they arbitrarily added an extra day every four years, and the Great Arbitrary Calender was made right, after three years of increasing inaccuracy.

But wait! That trip around the sun isn't exactly a quarter-day longer; it's actually twelve minutes shy of a quarter-day. So adding a day every four years eventually puts the calendar ahead of the constant, steady, unflinching, unadjusted orbit of the Earth that God and Nature had intended. No problem; every hundred years, mankind just drops one of the leap years to bring things back in line. Yes, calendar-dependent humans, once every hundred years, there is an eight-year stretch between February 29ths. It was determined (again, arbitrarily) that the hundredth year of further adjustment to be stripped of its February 29th would be that year ending in 00.

But wait! This year ends in 00, and today is February 29th! How can this be? Well, chronology junkies, that deficit in the extra quarter day isn't precisely twelve minutes; it is in actuality 11 minutes, 14.49 seconds (I am NOT making this up!). So every 400 years, another tweak puts back the leap year they took out. That would be today.

So rejoice, time-calculators, today the calendar is precisely bang-on accurate. Tomorrow begins a 400-year slide to imprecision.

And finally, atomic scientists, the Keepers of the Holy Calendar, secretly and frequently add leap seconds to the grand scheme of things to cover all the imperfections not covered by the above machinations. They don't tell you because your head would explode.

How cool is that quartz watch now, bunky?

Tue MAR 7

If you are a politico, it is Super Tuesday, and you have statistics from twenty states to pour through. This is just another plateau in the "Who Wants to be a President" game. Not that this has anything to do with the democratic process; the parties get behind who they want. He who gets the most money gets the most exposure and ultimately wins the war of attrition. It's all a marketing ploy; there are plenty of gullible sheep to do what they're told, and they effectively negate the minority of intelligent voters -- good advertising, good president. Right.

If you are a party animal, it's Fat Tuesday, like you need a reason to party. It's supposed to a last chance to indulge yourself in your petty vices that you feel guilty about, so that you can abstain from them successfully for forty days and feel good about yourself. Of course Fat Tuesday has denigrated into an excuse for the rankest debauchery so you can spend the next forty days smugly pleased with yourself. Part of the Dumbing Down of America that allows tabloid journalism to kill princesses and make money, and marketing concepts to sway votes and elect presidents.

And if you're a cat, it's Tuesday.

Fri MAR 17

Happy St. Patrick's Day, where applicable.
From Opie McCat

It was a balmy Wednesday night in the neighborhood. I was enjoying one of my favorite spots on the cool cement under the shrubs at the bottom of the front steps, when I happened to glance across the driveway to catch the return glare of a pair of hot, beady red eyes from under the Husband's truck.

In my years with the Husband and Wife, I have seen local pets come and go, but they had all learned quickly that this is my territory, my world. And I am King of the World. And I have eighteen pounds of muscle and well-honed fangs and claws to back me up. So there was no indecision, no hestitation, no second guessing.

Fur and tail puffed up mightily, I attacked. The usual scenario has the interloper turning tail and making for other parts of town. But this guy didn't know the rules. He stood his ground. We collided under the truck, flailing at each other in the shadows. He managed to sink teeth into my upper front leg and hold on. I wasn't used to this kind of resistance; I responded with tooth and claw. Though it seemed an eternity, the entire altercation lasted only a few seconds, then he was gone into the night.

Blood flowed from the leg wounds. Repeated licking ceased neither its flow nor its sting. I couldn't put any weight on the injured leg without pain. This wasn't right. I sought the shelter of the indoors 'til things made sense.

Hobbling into the living room on three legs (the fourth blood-soaked) assured I would be attracting some attention. The Husband and Wife cleaned me up with some odorous liquid that took away the blood, but not the pain. I limped into a back room, where I go when I want to be left alone.

The next day I am fine. But I got shoved into that stupid plastic carrier and taken to that place where they poke, prod and stick needles in me, and that apparently means I'm okay. The limp is gone, though soreness and inflammation remain. I get a pill shoved down my throat with every meal for a while, "to avoid infection" say the Husband and Wife soothingly as they hold my jaws shut 'til I swallow.

Undaunted, I have returned to my spot on the cool cement under the shrubs at the bottom of the front steps. Older and wiser.

Sun MAR 26

Didja ever notice how human beings try to get all their sleeping out of the way at one time? What's the point? Life goes on continually, and they choose to bypass large chunks of it by sleeping. Then, during non-sleeping periods, when they are bored and idle, instead of sleeping, they sit in front of the tv and pay little or no attention.

Cats had worked out the details ages ago. Do what you must, then nap. This way, when the next event arrives, they're ready. Napping is a cat's default activity. A cat gets more sleep than a human, yet rarely misses a thing. Have you ever approached a sleeping cat? Just your proximity awakens the animal. Once in a while you can catch a cat napping, but not often.

Still, I enjoy the quiet time with the Husband and Wife while they sleep away the hours in the darkness. I stand guard at the foot of the bed, periodically napping, ready to alert them so they don't miss anything. Like if I get hungry at 3 am. But they can sleep so soundly that sometimes walking all over them doesn't even alert them (Note: all cats should be aware that half-awake humans can be dangerous. Approach with caution).

Most humans (at least those with felines in their lives) know from observation the value of a cat nap, and occasionally partake. But they can't seem to shake that boring dragged-out human sleep period that could be better used to shower attention on their faithful furry pals. I guess it's all a matter of evolution -- they'll catch up eventually.

Nap time ...

Fri MAR 31

Clocks and calendars. Human control devices.

Humans wear slave bracelets on their wrists that control their movements. They call them watches. They can be basic or fancy, depending on the slave's status. Those wearing the fancier ones are generally more a slave to time than those with the basic utilitarian model.

Humans must consult these devices on a regular basis or they will die. Their master is an amalgamous supreme being that is accepted on faith by the slaves who do not wish to incur its wrath.

The supreme being can be cruel at times. Like this weekend, when he steals an hour away while the slaves are asleep (okay, he gives it back in six months, but then he takes it away again six months after that!). The slaves must frantically reset all the slave bracelets and master clocks, and woe be to the slave who does not comply!

This year, the slaves of time celebrate this loss of an hour on April Fools' Day. Seems appropriate.

Fri APR 14

I'm a male cat. A Tom cat. Why Tom? Why not Fred or Brutus or Opie? Or Randy?

Male cats have been called Tom for over two hundred years. A Tom cat was always attributed to being randy and troublesome and headstrong. Human females who grow into womanhood but retain their headstrong independence are sometimes referred to as Tomboys, derived from the stereotype of a Tomcat.

I have no problem with that. But both cat genders are headstrong and independent, not just the Toms. And make no mistake, we're quite proud of that, too.

But why Tom? Well, I'm gonna tell you. Way back in England in the eighteenth century, there was a short story published called The Adventures of a Cat, in which the protagonist was a male cat named Tom. And Tom exhibited all the traits attributed to the stereotypical Tom cat. What was unique about this story was that very few people knew (or cared) about how a cat lived. They kept them around to catch mice, but were not very involved in their daily routines. Or they avoided them entirely because they were witches' "familiars."

But this particular story involved the reader in a cat's dual nature (wild/domestic), its independence and its personality, and did much to endear the cat to the population at large. And since literacy was not high on the priority hit parade then, the story made the rounds by word of mouth, suffering alterations and adjustments as it went. But through it all, the cat was Tom.

Before that, cats were known by gender as rams and ewes. I like Tom.

Wed APR 19

Last month, after my altercation with the Beast With The Big Teeth, followed by a week of the Wife forcing antibiotic pills down my throat, I was due for my annual shots. After patching up my wounds, the vet gave me my rabies shot at that time, but suggested postponing the others 'til after I was off the antibiotics.

So I was off the antibiotics for several weeks, when the Husband and Wife realized that I still hadn’t had the rest of my shots (they have something called Alaska on their minds), so they hastily took the earliest possible appointment. Which was last night. The Husband returned home, fed me, then shoved me unceremoniously into the carrier (I hate that), and we were off to the vet.

I think last night musta been Big Dog Night at the vet. The waiting room was occupied by an Irish Setter, a Golden Retriever and a coupla Black Labradors. I maintained a low profile in my carrier. They were more curious about each other, however, with lots of sniffing and entanglement of leashes, despite attempted restraint by the attending humans.

I can be very nonchalant at the vet, as long as nobody pulls any surprises. I sat aloof on the stainless steel table while the vet inspected me in general. The vet’s assistant distracted me while the vet stabbed me with hypodermic things (like I didn’t know I was getting shots), and that was it. We waded through the dog throng and headed home.

Soon I was back to my regular evening routine. Napping.

Mon APR 24

Hotmail. One of the first free web-wide e-mail services. Maybe the first, I dunno. They've grown to include chat, news and more, trying to keep ahead of the competition. Their latest innovation is the kid's passport, designed to keep kids from posting personal info on the web.

Being a self-sufficient feline, I got my own personal hotmail account years ago, when it was just e-mail. When you sign up, you fill out a personal profile that asks among, other things, the year of your birth. Not being vanity-burdened, I proudly entered 1991 (I am a middle-aged kitty).

This weekend, Hotmail, in their wisdom, and without notice to me, assigned me a kid's passport, since I'm "only" nine years old. I can't get into my own site without parental approval. Gimme a break!

Contact with Hotmail returned only form letters. To get parental approval, parents must enter their password, which they get by supplying a credit card number (to prove they are adults). I'm a cat! I don't need no stinking credit card numbers. And if I had one, I wouldn't arbitrarily throw it out on the web. So Hotmail can keep its old address. I opened a new Hotmail account with my age in people years (I'm almost as old as the Husband. Geez!).

So listen up:

Old Account: <opcat@hotmail.com> is now defunct. Mail will still go there for 90 days, but there it will rot. I'll never see it, and it won't be returned to you. So if you have the opcat@hotmail.com address stored somewhere, dump it. If you've sent anything there since Thursday (4/20), please re-send it to the new account. Thanks.

New Account: <opiecat2@hotmail.com> is now in effect. Or just click on the colorful e-mail icon at the bottom of this page (that goes to the collective site mail). Either way, I'd love to hear from you. :)

Now, what was that new address?

opiecat2@hotmail.com

Fr APR 28

Meow :(

Sun APR 30

I'm psyched.

A couple weeks ago, I was doing my morning patrol of the perimeter, when I noticed not one, but two cats in the window of the house next door. I know I'd never seen them there before, and being a cat, curiosity is Job 1, so I went over and sat myself down where they could get a good look at me. They were naturally curious, so when I thought they'd had enough, I showed them my aloof departure.

And that has become my new morning ritual. I sit out in their front lawn and study each carefully. And they in turn study me. It's been pretty intense sessions too.

I'm wondering if they're eternal housecats, or just housebound 'til they're familiar with their new surroundings. It's been a coupla weeks already. I know I impressed them with my worldliness, and I have the advantage of knowing the territory. When they venture out, it is presumed they will know they're on my turf :)

Today I wandered over and sat myself in front of their window again, and it wasn't long before they appeared. We're getting to know each other.

Fri MAY 5

Cinco de Mayo!

Another celebration. Humans are not statisfied with their daily existence, so they have to find a reason to make it seem worthwhile, i.e. a reason to celebrate. Today's reason is the successful triumph in battle of the Mexicans over the French, which ultimately led to Mexican independence.

This is sufficient cause to consume six-packs of Dos Equiis and down dozens of burritos, tortillas, enchiladas, tacos, nachos, chimichangas and Tums.

Does Mexico celebrate Quatro de Julio and guzzle Budweiser?

Yo puedo hablar Espanol, y por un gato, es una razon para celebrar, verdad? Pero no es. Asi es la vida de este gato.

Around here they celebrate "The Twins." They are the Wife's niece and nephew who turn three today. And the celebration may or may not include beer imported from south of the border, and it may or may not include Mexican cuisine. But it will include large plastic toys (didja ever notice that the size of an infant's toys are inversely proportional to his/her age?). Right now, they are scattered all over the living room, awaiting gift wrap, taking up all available seating areas (a.k.a. my napping spots). But I don't take this ...er... lying down. I work my way into the spaces between the boxes, and with a little creative pushing and shoving, I prepare a cozy napping niche among the gifts. I just have to be careful that I don't get wrapped :)

Although today is the actual birthdays, the celebration is next week. Why? This week another nephew experiences his first holy communion, so this is his weekend for partying and gifts. I'm sleeping on one of his gifts. Would someone please explain what a gift of Pokemon cards has to do with transubstantiation? On second thought, don't.

Whatever you're celebrating, enjoy.

Thu MAY 11

I love this time of year. The mice are very active, scurrying about in the sunshine. Mice are conveniently small and not too fast. Ideal exercise.

I have a shady spot under the shrubbery out front, where I go to curl up on sunny afternoons to watch the birds and rabbits. I can also spot the Husband’s car coming down the street, on his way home to feed me. So we have a routine. I see the car and race to the front steps and wait while he pulls in the driveway. He gets the mail and, as he’s walking up the driveway, I go sit by the front door. He awkwardly unlocks the door and simultaneously pats me on the head, while balancing the mail and his lunch bag. We both proceed to the kitchen for my immediate feeding.

Today I caught a mouse (thank you, no big deal) just as I spotted the Husband’s car heading home. So the routine went into effect, with the singular exception of having a mouse in my mouth. The Husband performed his part of the routine as usual and never noticed the brown furry mouthful ‘til I set him down on the kitchen floor. He, of course, headed for the nearest neutral corner, then proceeded to circle the kitchen along the baseboard. The Husband tried to intervene before he reached the stove (behind which is Mouse Sanctuary), but the mouse prevailed.

The Husband got one of the green boxes he calls a humane trap, baited it and set it on the floor near the stove. I, in the meantime, had been patiently waiting to be fed. I watched for a moment of eye contract, then emitted a very disgruntled meow. That worked.

So now they wait for the little green box to do all the work. Where’s the fun in that? Humans!

Once I turn a critter loose in the house, my work is done. I can’t be expected to do everything.

Wed MAY 17

Monday night I was perched comfortably on the Husband’s lap while we watched Ally McBeal, and he was absently stroking my fur when he hesitated at a particular spot. He called the Wife and asked her to feel a lump on my left flank. She did. They both said "hmm." The also used the word "vet." I’m getting to know that word too well. I’ve been there too many times in the last two months, starting with the Critter with the Big Teeth that tried to take a chunk outa my leg, then a visit for regular annual vaccines, then for a Leukemia booster. I’m gettin’ tired of those visits.

This was late in the evening, and they postponed their fretting over me ‘til morning.

Morning. The Husband was in his usual spot on the couch with newspaper and coffee, and I leapt into the middle of his lap, as usual. He manages to deal with me, coffee and newspaper very well by now. He checks out the lump of the previous day; no change. But as he’s absently stroking my fur again, he finds another one between the shoulder blades. The Wife is summoned again. More "hmmm" and "vet" words. And other words spoken in serious tones. "Infection," "Abcess," "Cyst" and "Tumor." The wife calls the vet.

Two hours later I’m in that cat carrier again, bouncing around in the truck. The Husband and Wife usually try to comfort me by talking to me. Today was total silence, all the way to the vet (all of five minutes). Not very reassuring.

Once we were in the vet’s office, I didn’t want to come out of the carrier. They had to dump me out. The vet came in and petted me and immediately began feeling the suspect lumps, without being told where they were. Three weeks ago she had given me annual shots that included steroids in the precise location of the lumps. She explained that sometimes the injection sites become inflamed. She always gives cats those shots in the same places (left flank and between the shoulders), so if there’s a reaction, she knows what it’s a reaction to. She said they’re nothing to worry about, and the Husband and Wife exhaled in unison.

Back into the carrier. The Husband and Wife couldn’t stop talking to me all the way home.

Humans. Y’gotta love ‘em.

Tue MAY 23

Who are all these people? And why aren’t they going home? The living room is full of luggage. Are they moving in?

There’s a change, and I’m not gonna like it.

I hate having my routine disrupted. I’ll just stay outa the way ‘til they’re gone.

Fri JUN 2

I have no comment until someone explains what's going on.

Sun JUN 4

I like the new family, but for the large number of them, they don't seem very generous with their attention. I get talked to when they feed me (which is only ONCE A DAY!), but other than that I'm pretty much ignored. Meowing at the Husband always got me some kind of treat. Now all it gets me is "What?" from whomever I meow at.

There has been much mention of the Husband and Wife lately. I sense that their return is imminent.

I hope so.

Tue JUN 6

Where'd everybody go? The entire new family vanished yesterday afternoon. One of them returned this morning to feed me, then was gone.

I'm so confused. But she did mention the Husband and Wife several times while feeding me. I guess that's good. I wish humans would make more of an effort to make themselves understood.

Fri JUN 16

Things are just starting to get back to normal around here. For the past week, both the Husband and Wife have been ignoring the loudly-buzzing clock in the bedroom and sleeping through the noise, until they suddenly bolt out of bed and perform all the usual morning routines at double speed (including my breakfast), then they're out the door in a big hurry. They blame it on Alaska time, which apparently makes humans get up late and go to bed late.

You will remember (or not) that two new cats have appeared in the neighborhood, and they're next door. But they never come out. I go over to their front lawn every morning and stare at them in their living room window, just so they know I'm here.

Last week, I was showing off for one of the kids next door, when one of them opened the back door, and out streaked a black blur of fur, hellbent for yours truly. He was on me in a moment of stunned realization, and the next thing I knew, we were rolling around in the grass.

How embarrassing. Blind-sided in my own back yard.

It didn't last long; the neighbor lady was there in a flash, repeatedly admonishing "No!"

And the stupid cat actually obeyed her. He immediately ran back to the house, leaving me standing there with a "what the ..." look on my face. The neighbor lady noted a few scratches on my back and informed the Husband. But I've suffered worse in defense of my territory. Except I was caught so off guard, I didn't have a chance to defend anything. It was a little late, but I was angry enough to parade back and forth in the yard for a while.

But we have now met. And I will not be quite so unprepared next time.

Hmmph.

Fri JUN 30

It's nice that things are getting back to normal around here. I look forward nightly to crawling onto the Husband's lap while he tries to read the paper. Or cuddling up against the Wife when she oversleeps in the morning. I enjoy roaming the woods in the early summer evening, knowing that human companionship is waiting back home.

It's not that I need all that to survive, but it doesn't hurt, y'know? I suspect that's true of humans too ... so I'm glad to help.

Thu JUL 6

The humans recently celebrated another holiday. Another anomaly in the arbitrary and somewhat confusing time-measurement system that is uniquely human. They call it the fourth of July so they'll remember when it is.

This holiday involves placing a flag on a pole out on the deck for the day. Two other requirements are noisy explosions at night and godawful heat during the day.

It's the latter two that I find most annoying. It's much too hot for hunting down small critters (which usually disappear underground to escape the heat themselves). And no animal gets any enjoyment from loud noises.

Every year the surrounding neighbors have loud parties, which also diminish a cat's outdoor pleasures. I suspect the Husband and Wife didn't like it either, 'cause they took off for parts unknown.

Not far away is an Indian reservation (yeah, I was surprised too), and every year at this time they set off a long and loud sequence of colorful explosions in the sky. It's their celebration of the fourth of July.

Does that strike anyone as unusual? That native Americans would be celebrating the birth of the USA? But they do. Maybe I'm reading it wrong.

So by mid-afternoon, when the parties and the sidewalks both begin heating up, I retire to the computer room and stretch out on the windowsill over the air conditioning vent and await to be dazzled by the native American fireworks display, for which the windowsill is a front-row seat.

Happy holiday, again.

Sun JUL 9

There are three cats next door. I thought there were only two. They don't come outside, so we communicate at the front window each morning. I just noticed the third one recently; an off-white/light gray skinny thing.

A few weeks ago the long-haired one got out of the house and attacked me when I wasn't looking, then retreated. I was caught totally off-guard, and vowed that that would not happen again.

But in subsequent weeks of staring at each other each morning, an understanding has developed between us. I've been saying "this is my territory," and he's been saying "you don't scare me."

So yesterday evening, as I was finishing up my last patrol of the woods for the evening and returning to the house, there he was. In my yard! I stopped and sat down, waiting to see what his intentions were. We stared for a while, as though we were at the front window. Finally he stood and paraded aloofly back to his own turf. But he stopped right by his fence post and waited. What a cool feline! He was respecting my territory, but letting me know he wasn't surrendering anything else.

I walked non-aggressively to within a few feet and sat. Apparently we have an understanding. After a few minutes of this he walked back into his own yard. I did the right thing and walked away. This cat's gonna be okay.

Now what about his roommates? Stay tuned.

Tue JUL 18

Wow, I am honored. Today I received an e-mail from a Coupla Cool Cats in Colorado (I like saying that). They wrote me a SONG! How cool is that? If I had buttons I'd be bustin' 'em. This must be shared with the www. So without further ado, here is Hundredth Acre Dreaming (sung to the tune of California Dreaming) by Clio and Reggie

=====

All the mice are gone...and the floor is beige...
We look out the window, on a summer's day
It's too safe and boring, we wish we could play...
Hundredth Acre Dreaming, on such a summer's day...

Looked up a website, a friend had passed our way,
Well, we licked our whiskers clean! To read of Opie's fray...
You know we'd be there if we could, but here we have to stay...
Hundredth Acre Dreaming, on such a summer's day...

All the mice are gone...and the floor is beige...
We look out the window, on a summer's day
If we could open up the window, we'd get a bird today
Hundredth Acre Dreaming, on such a summer's day...
Hundredth Acre Dreaming, on such a summer's day...

=====

A gem from the Tin Pan Alley Cats :)

I'm touched. Thanks guys

Sun JUL 23

I don't like it when they go away overnight. I never know when they're coming back. Not that I'm concerned. They always make sure I'm cared for. Still they disappeared for a coupla days. And then only the Husband came back. But that was okay too; we kept each other company. But then he went away again, though just for one night.

I'm a cat; I need routine. I brought them mice and birds last week to show my appreciation of their return from that Alaska thing. But they took off again anyway. Okay, I'll keep trying. Maybe birds aren't what they're looking for. So last night I brought home a mouse. A big one. The Husband saw me coming up the stairs into the living room with it. He immediately dashed to the sliding glass door and opened it, and began calling me. Curious as to what all this was about, I put the mouse down and went to the Husband. The mouse darted under the love seat. As soon as I reached the Husband, he went back into the living room. He gets so distracted. Apparently he saw the mouse scurry under the love seat. I joined him to share the fun. As we both peered under the love seat, the mouse spotted the open door onto the deck and made a break for it.

Did you ever see a mouse "make a break for it?" It is to laugh. Those tiny little legs are not built for speed. So I effortlessly took out after him, but the Husband grabbed me; he wanted to go first (we play this game often; it's a lotta fun!). Of course his mousing skills are no match for mine, and the mouse made it out onto the deck. I was willing to go get it, but the Husband insisted on holding me back. The mouse found the stairs and was quickly on the ground and headed for cover.

It was brief, but we had fun. We coulda had a lot more fun if the door hadn't been open.

The Wife returned home in the afternoon. We're all together again and routines are back in place. I can cat nap in peace.

Mon JUL 31

Well, it's either been too hot to go out, or it's been raining cats and ... raining furiously. At first it was simply a matter of curling up on the couch and not caring. Now it's cabin fever time.

The critters that I like to collect have all burrowed underground to escape the heat. My only chance at them is when it starts to rain. They come out then. But I've gotten pretty comfy being a house cat. There is no joy in wet fur when there is a dry house to occupy. So the critter situation can wait. Unless I get lucky (note: there is no luck. It's all skill and opportunity).

Normally I can stretch out on the cool concrete at the base of the front stairs, shaded by shrubbery and partake of cool breezes.

Except there haven't been any cool breezes. And before long, the heat has me panting, and my tongue hangs out so far I trip over it.

So the couch it is.

For now.

Meow.

Sat AUG 5

It was the middle of the day in the middle of the week, when solitude reigns. I can catnap wherever I please, enjoy the air conditioning, and know that I have several hours before the Husband returns to feed me.

So I was a bit surprised when I heard the key in the lock in the early afternoon. I guessed it was going to be the Husband, just because he was due to come through the door next. Instead it was the Wife's 17-year-old nephew. He said hello to me but that was it. He hooked his portable cd player to his belt, donned headphones and headed back outside to mow the lawn.

He usually shows up on the weekend. I could have pondered why he appeared mid-week, but I'm a cat. I went back to my air-conditioned nap.

Wed AUG 9

Pounce. Humans certainly outdid themselves with this one. I know I've been a good boy when this comes out. But this is a special Pounce. It heads off hairballs. I hate hairballs. They're disgusting. And this is the time of the year for the nasty things. The Husband and Wife aren't too crazy about them either. Not that they get them; they don't like it when I get them. I choose to come into the living room to hack them up when they're watching television. They ask me to take it outside. Of course I don't.

Then one day they came home with this Pounce Hairball Treatment stuff. I was immediately interested. It seemed that anytime I meowed, I was treated to a coupla Pounce. It was too easy. But I knew what the catch was. Once they were gone, that was it. After they get me used to frequent treats.

So do I continue hacking up hairballs to continue getting the "treatment?" Or do they conclude that, if I do, it doesn't work, and the treats stop? No, I hafta work this out judiciously. Stop hacking up the hairballs in their presence for a while so they think it's working, then suddenly have a relapse. Out will come the treats again.

I'll let you know how this works out. :)

Tue AUG 15

I spotted a bird in the tree behind the deck, and I stealthily crept along the railing toward it, but it spotted me and took off. End of story, right? No way.

The bird was a Blue Jay, and Jays have no sense of humor. So as I was walking to the end of the railing to jump down to the deck, the Jay returned and swooped down on me from behind, giving me a nasty peck on the back of my head. I was so surprised, I leapt straight into the air and came down square on the glass-topped patio table. More correctly, THROUGH the glass-topped patio table.

The Husband, who had been watching this pageant from the kitchen window, came running to my rescue, but I had already extricated myself and was fleeing down the stairs in humiliation. He caught up with me and carried me back into the house. Oh, I'm gonna get it now, thought I. But he spoke gently as he searched me all over for cuts. Except for the table top and my pride, there were no injuries. The table top was safety glass and shattered into tiny little cubes. Looks like ice, doesn't it? Coulda been nasty otherwise.

Still, I don't think they'll let me out on the deck now. And frankly, I don't think I wanna go.

Wed AUG 23

All cats have dual personalities. One is the Kitten, playfully enjoying the company and security of human companionship; the other is the Wild Beast, the untamed instinct that drives all cats of all sizes.

My Beast has been leading me outdoors more and more lately. The weather has been very cooperative and inviting. The humidity and temperatures have not been excessive, there has been a decent amount of rain to keep everything green and fresh (I hate that long trip across the back yard to the woods when the grass is dry and crunchy). Then it's not important what I catch or how many of 'em; it's the thrill of the hunt on a sunny day.

I have this new location on the creek bank where I can stretch out in the late afternoon and have a good view of the road (where I can spot the Husband arriving home to feed me). The Husband's Beast must be working on him too. He takes the roof off The Truck at every available opportunity.

Blue skies and sunny days to all!

Thu AUG 31

Okay, stream-of-consciousness time. Except I have no consciousness.

It's been raining a lot lately, though lightly and briefly. Isn't rain s'posed to cool things off? It's not. It just gets muggier. Yuck! My tongue is really draggin'.

The Wife has been on a DVD-buying spree lately. Tonight they watched "The Talented Mr. Ripley," and they spent the whole time explaining to each other what they had just seen. It was one of those movies. I spent the time between them just enjoying their presence together. It's been rare this summer. And they would occasionally feed me popcorn (which I eat, occasionally).

Then they remained for "Who Wants to be a Millionaire," shouting out the answers to each of the questions, occasionally getting them right. Then they actually got engrossed in a documentary on Johns Hopkins Hospital, though they remained quiet throughout that.

I didn't have to move all evening. A night fit for a feline.

END OF PHASE ONE

Less than a week later, Opie would meet his soon-to-be best friend