P.U. Puss

Eeeew. I made a BIG stink. Again. The Man is going to come out of the bedroom when he wakes up and be like, "Awww, Charlie! Why do you stink, you Smelly Cat?" And I'll be like, "Dude! It's your turn to clean out the Crappe Chateau. Just do it, man!"

I'd try to blame it on Gus- he's got some stinky poops, too- but I always give myself away. See, the People always know when I've made a poop even before they smell it because I FREAK OUT. I can't help it! I take off from the door of the Crappe Chateau and run all over the house, yowling and bouncing off whatever walls I run into. This morning I tried to run straight to the window ledge in the bedroom. I would've made it too, except that the door was closed. Owwww...

The Man's theory is that I'm fleeing the scene of the stink so it doesn't kill me. I say not so... but I don't actually know why I freak out. I also don't know why he complains about it. At least he gets a warning about what's coming, and he has time to get the hissssssss-y spray thing out that makes the air to have a different stink that isn't my stink.

Oops- here it comes now. Gotta go!

*MROWL!!!*

An Open Letter to Santa

Dear Santa;

The Woman says I am not allowed to write a letter to you and put it in the mail. She says there are limits to what she'll do within the scope of her secretarial duties, and letters to Santa from cats are not included in her job description. My blog, however, is one of her duties, so I got her to help me with my letter here. Aren't I a clever Puss, Santa?

Santa, I have been such a good boy this year. Much has been asked of me; I had to change houses again, and it was scary, but I didn't complain. The Baby has become more Person-like. last Christmas he was just a lump that lay on the floor and smelled bad sometimes; now he can chase me around, rub my belly and sometimes pull my hair. I am always nice to him, though. OK, I have yelled a few times when I was in a bad mood anyway, but come on... you can't tell me you never get upset when the elves tug your beard!

I have also recently been asked to endure the indignity of having another cat introduced to my household. He is a big fluffy thing, and he has CLAWS. When we tussle it is not a fair fight, but I have been a very good cat, and I have forgiven The People for doing this to me.

Santa, I don't ask for much. Just a few token gifts to let me know that my efforts to be a Very Good Puss have not gone unnoticed. When you come to leave presents for The Baby, please bring me:

- some treats that I do not have to share with Gus (the aforementioned big fluffy thing). I ALWAYS have to share with him.

- Catnip. For some reason I have been cut off... this may have something to do with my erratic behaviour when I am on the 'nip. That, or the fact that The Woman thinks I am losing brain cells and my remembory, and becoming a Catnip Burnout. Whatever.

- Prosthetic Claws. Gus has very sharp claws. We don't fight much anymore, but when we do, it's just not fair. The Woman has clipped his claws, and that helps a little, but I think the only way to really even things up is to have you bring me some claws of my own. (A set of Ginsu knives would be just as good.)

- A new Crappe Chateau. I am currently sharing with the New Guy, and it's gross. It's getting cleaned more than it used to, but still! Please bring one with a lid, a privacy door, and one of those curvy red velour couches they have in fancy ladies' rooms. That looks cozy!

- Catnip. For some reason I have been cut off... this may have something to do with my erratic behaviour when I am on the 'nip. That, or the fact that The Woman thinks I am losing brain cells and my remembory, and becoming a Catnip burnout. Whatever. (So not true!)

See, Santa? I don't ask for much. Yes, there are other things I'd like... a trip outside with no leash on, a large safe to drop on Gus, my own boudoir... but these are things I can do without (for now). I'm not a greedy Puss, after all. Please bring me these things, and I promise I won't pee in your milk. I mean drink your milk. Yeah, drink...

your friend,

Charlie

He's INTERLOPING Again!!!

As if it's not bad enough that this guy came into my house and is being all charming to MY people, sleeping on MY bed and eating MY food, now he's trying to share my hobbies, too. Yes, just when I was starting to think that this guy might not be so bad after all, The Woman goes and makes him a Catster page. The good news is that my page kicks his page's butt; the only picture he has is not very good. Unfortunately, The Woman is beginning to understand him a little, and she helped him do a diary entry today. Can I just say, I am not amused? I'm the best writer in this family, and I don't appreciate him trying to get a cut of the action. He's already got cats wanting to be his friends, and he's been invited to join a group. Bah!

The Woman says I should try to be big about this. So, in the spirit of proving that my confidence in my superiority is in no way threatened by this new development, I will share his address with you (knowing that I will always be your favourite):

www.catster.com/?415989

Oh, and you needn't bother checking up on his diary as often as you do mine; I told him that he'd better not be trying to take any of my computer time away from me, and I'm sure he won't have anything interesting to say, anyway.

What? New Pussycat?!! Woe, Woe, WOE!!!

The interloper has arrived. I was apparently incorrect in my assumption that "Roxie" would be a little sissy; he is, in fact, a freakin' TANK. He's huge- he makes me look small, and I'm a pretty big guy. He's also extremely fluffy, so it's hard to tell exactly how huge he is. He's a big, orange PUFFBALL is what he is.

I decided immediately upon seeing him that he was not to be trusted. The Man said that I don't like him because (and I quote): "Charlie doesn't worry about people or dogs coming into the house because he knows he's smarter than us- he's a cat. With another cat, though, he doesn't know, so he feels threatened."

Moi? Threatened? I think not! Thanks for the compliment, though- The Man may claim not to like me, but he obviously respects my massive intelligence. This is as it should be. He should know, though, that I am not intimidated by anyone, least of all by Fluffy over there. Oh, that reminds me- they're calling him "Gus", short for Augustine, because they adopted him on All Saints' Day. SAINT MY ARSE. He's a red devil, that's what he is.

No, I just don't like him. I was happy being an Only Cat, and I plan to make my displeasure known every time I see this "Gus", day or night. Actually, I'm pretty tired today; I was up all night protecting my spot on the bed.

The People are trying to suck up to me now, giving me lots of love and stuff. I REFUSE to purr for them. They are traitors. I don't care if he DID need a home. I'm fine with cats getting homes, as long as they're not coming to MINE.

Oh, one more thing: This New Cat just stares at me when I hiss and growl at him, only growling back once in a while, and he as yet to growl first. He's trying to act cool, but I know the truth: he's scared silent. Yep, I'm THAT scary. He'd better watch his back.

Back to Normal, My Arse!

Ugh. I swear, a guy can't get a break around here. OK, maybe some guys can, but not me. Allow me to explain:

That Dog that was here? Totally landed on his feet. The "Ess-Pee-See-Ay" called yesterday to tell The Woman that the Dog's owners had picked him up from the "shelter". Yes, the beast went home, and we're all happy for him. Apparently his People lost him quite a distance away from where The Woman found him, and they were very glad she'd picked him up, and that she and The Man were nice to him and kept him safe. I'm a little hurt that I was not specifically thanked for not biting his face off or something; I'm VERY tough like that, you know. I totally could've done it, but I felt sorry for the poor bugger, so I didn't.

So he's OK, and that's all very well and good, but the "Ess-Pee-See-Ay" is causing me some grief. Apparently this place, which they still insist on spelling in front of me, not only returns Dogs to their families (much to the dismay of any Cats who are trying to dispose of them, I'm sure). No, they also place abandoned or lost kitties in new homes, much like when I joined this family a few years ago. Do you see where I'm going with this?

Last night The Man and The Woman sat me down on the bed and gave me a Talk; they said I might be getting a Brother Cat. They said I'll always be Numero Uno, blah, blah, blah. Damn right, I will! The point is, I'm perfectly happy being an Only Puss, and I see no reason to change the situation. The People seem to think that bringing this Cat home would be a nice thing to do, and they think (get this!) that I might ENJOY THE COMPANY of another Cat. Bah! I'll believe THAT when I see it!

And get this: the poor Bugger's name is Roxie. A BOY named ROXIE!!! I don't care if they DO give him a more macho name when he comes to live here, I'm going to TEASE him sooo much! Ooh, I should practice... um, let's see... "Hey, Roxie, that's a, um, like, a GIRL NAME!" Ha ha ha ha!!! Oh, this is too easy!