The former stray has become hugely popular online thanks to his permanently surprised-looking expression.
Much as I love my cat, I’ve never been a fan of being startled awake by the little stinker jumping on my chest or slapping my cheek, only to find him right up in my face, staring as creepy as you please.
I now realize I’m fortunate. Imagine waking up to this dude yowling in your face:
Sheesh.
That’s Fedya, a four-year-old cat who presumably has some Persian lineage or a similar breed. His human, 42-year-old Natalya Zhdanova, found the little guy in her backyard when he was just a kitten. He was in a bad way at the time and she nursed him back to health with help from her neighbor’s kind cat.
His perpetually perplexed countenance wasn’t as obvious in his kitten days and Zhdanova has said she never imagined he’d become an online sensation with more than 300,000 people following the Russian feline on Instagram.
People have said Fedya looks like a real life cartoon character, but I think he looks like an orangutan, specifically an adult male with pronounced cheek flanges. In orangutans, cheek flanges are useful for attracting mates, as they signal a male is strong, healthy and his body is coursing with testosterone.
In cats? Who knows. Maybe they’re a result of Fedya’s swagger. (Fedya, by the way, is a diminutive of the Russian name Fyodor, also spelled Fedor, from the original Greek name Theodore, or Theodorus.)
We wish the big guy well, whether he’s curled up by a fire in Russia or stalking the humid jungles of Borneo!
The last few decades have revealed birds like crows and parrots possess astonishing intelligence. “Bird brain” might not be much of an insult after all.
Meet Kiki the cockatiel, a bird who loves Earth, Wind and Fire so much that he sings the band’s classic hit, September, regularly — whether he’s just chilling by himself, singing along to the recording or driving his human crazy by whistling the catchy hook at ungodly hours.
“Kiki, it’s seven in the morning!” she tells him in one clip, raising an admonishing finger. “Silence!”
I’ve always thought parrots are a fascinating example of animal cognition and further proof that we share our planet with billions of other minds who think and feel.
Humans and birds last shared a common ancestor more than 300 million years ago. That means between them there’s been more than 600 million years of divergent evolution resulting in radically different physiology, abilities and minds.
Yet parrots can speak while non-human primates (apes and monkeys) cannot!
For decades scientists thought apes and monkeys, by virtue of their relative similarity to humans, possessed an inmate affinity for language and that the physical limits of their vocal apparatus is what keeps them from speaking.
But a 2016 study by a team from Princeton University found monkeys do possess the vocal “hardware” to speak, meaning their mouths and throats are capable of making the sounds necessary for human language. It’s the lack of associated brain circuitry that prevents them from talking.
If the ability to speak and the ability to dance/appreciate music and rhythm is uniquely human among the primate order, and birds arrived at it at a different point in their evolutionary history, that means language and appreciation for music/rhythm developed separately along two divergent evolutionary lines!
That’s incredible and has intriguing implications for the cognitive abilities of animals.
A common argument is that birds with the ability to form human speech are simply mimicking sounds and don’t understand what they’re saying. That’s a natural assumption given what we think we know about non-human capacity for understanding language, but research suggests it’s wrong.
Take a look at this video of the famous late African grey parrot, Alex:
When Dr. Irene Pepperberg asks Alex how many blue blocks are present on a tray with a random assortment of blocks, balls and triangular toys in different colors, Alex can’t give a rote answer. First he has to understand that a question is a request for information and not part of the strange human ritual called small talk. He can’t simply count or guess at the number of blocks either.
Instead, Alex has to perform two calculations. He must tally the blue objects and count the number of them that are blocks, or he’s got to count the number of blocks and figure out how many of them are blue.
If he was simply repeating information in context — like saying “Hello!” when a person walks into a room — Alex wouldn’t be able to correctly answer the questions, and Pepperberg’s research funding would have dried up. Instead, Alex became a focal point of research that persisted for decades.
There’s no indication Alex could master syntax, which has proven elusive for even the smartest animals. But the African grey, who died in 2007 at 31 years old, was curious, asking questions that were unique and unexpected of an animal. He once asked his caretakers to describe his physical appearance, and the night before he died, he told Pepperberg: “You be good. I love you. See you tomorrow.”
We’ve talked about parrots before on PITB, including Snowball the dancing cockatiel who not only appreciates music and has a great sense of rhythm, but also has an entire repertoire of unique dance moves. Then there’s my personal favorite, Ruby the African grey, who has demonstrated mastery of absolutely vile, uniquely British insults.
Sure, there may not be much research value in hearing Ruby hurl verbal abuse at her very loving human, Nick Chapman, but few things have made me laugh as hard as that extraordinarily foul-mouthed bird. She has to be seen and heard to be believed. (But if you’ve got kids in the room, stick with the wholesome Snowball. He’s got serious moves.)
Scientists credit Snowball with choreographing his own dance routines, with dozens of individual dance moves and combinations, and moves that change depending on the song he’s rocking out to.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to teach a certain feline a few Earth, Wind and Fire songs in the hope that he’ll give up on the screeching meows and use his natural falsetto for a more gentle wake-up experience.
Hey, hey, hey Ba-dee-ya, hey there my Big Buddy Ba-dee-ya, Little Buddy’s hungry! Ba-dee-ya, get your lazy ass up and feeeeeed me!
The challenges of getting a lazy cat interested in play time and toys again.
Buddy is friendly, outgoing and incredibly vocal, but he’s always been a bit lazy.
His preferred method of getting down from the couch isn’t jumping — although he does jump sometimes — it’s slowly oozing off the cushion like he’s liquid, taking the path of least resistance and letting gravity do all the work until he drops down and lands with a “Mmmrrrrrppp!”
When we wake up, the first thing he does is demand a snack, then he lays down for First Nap, apparently because the act of chewing and swallowing is so demanding.
“Now’s an excellent time for a nap.”
While he used to chase the laser with a fury and jump several times his own height to paw at it — even after figuring out it’s light fired out of a pen held by me — nowadays he can’t be bothered. At best he halfheartedly chases it for a bit and then loses interest even though I make an effort to move the laser like prey, as I do with his wand toys.
Worst of all, catnip makes him even lazier because he doesn’t just sniff the damn stuff, he eats it. I try to get him interested in his favorite wand toy when he’s buzzing on a heady combination of ‘nip and silver vine, but he won’t chase it. He just rolls onto his back and paws at it lazily, maybe getting in a few “rabbit kicks” if he’s feeling feisty.
All of this would be funny if he wasn’t about to turn 10 years old and if he didn’t tip the scale at about a pound and a half to two pounds above his normal body weight when the vet weighed him a few months ago.
“Hey fat boy!” I tell him, getting the familiar “Brrrrrr!” in response. (He’s a big time triller. Feline linguists estimate at least 60 percent of the Buddinese dialect consists of trills of various pitch, length and intensity.)
Fat Boy lost most of the excess weight during a particularly brutal stretch when he screeched at me for snacks constantly and I had to deny him most of the time. At least with kids you can explain things to ’em. I’ve got no way of communicating to the Budster that he’s a Chubster.
Since then he’s put some of the weight back on, so I’ve gotta do something.
Here’s my plan:
Training him to do new tricks. He already knows come, stop, sit and high-five, so we’re gonna have to try something new, like teaching him to roll and maybe teaching him to jump on my shoulder and “ride” around with me. Training is mentally stimulating, it should be fun for him, and it lays the groundwork for more challenging tricks.
A cat obstacle course! I can rig something up with his tunnel, some boxes and some “hazards” that he must traverse in order to get his paws on some catnip.
Snacks dispensed via puzzle feeder only. None of that free-feeding when he gavones the stuff down like he’s starving.
Rotating toys. Admittedly I haven’t been very good about doing that. Almost every guide mentions rotating cat toys so your little buddies don’t get tired of them.
A mirror so he can see how ripped chubby he’s gotten. He really needs to see himself loafing. It’s not pretty.
Okay that last one is a joke, mostly because I’m pretty sure he’ll just admire his “meowscles” in the mirror. Cats are masters of self deception. Bud is scared of rustling paper bags and absolutely terrified of vacuums, yet he still thinks he’s a hulking tiger. That’s impressive cognitive dissonance.
This is by far the fattest-looking photo of Buddy I could find. He’s in a super-meatloaf pose here, looking like a chonkmaster.
So we shall embark on this grand endeavor, and I’ll report back here to catalog successes and failures. Hopefully more of the former.
Buddy will always be like a baby to me, and I can’t quite wrap my head around the fact that he’s now a “senior” cat, but he is and it’s on me to make sure he remains active so he hopefully lives at least another 10 years in good health. There are many adventures yet to be had, many more schemes for world domination to hatch, and more turkey to eat.
This momentous occasion marks only the second time PITB has participated in the daily writing prompt via WordPress, and the reason we’re participating is to bring more awareness to the meowscular and powerful Buddinese Tiger — and its threatened cousins, the majestic tigers, jaguars, lions and leopards.
Known in scientific nomenclature as panthera tigris muscularis handsomus, the Buddinese Tiger is an apex predator who rules over his natural habitat, the living room, with an iron paw. No one is safe from the Buddinese Tiger’s charms or its rage when sufficient snacks are not provided.
You can’t tell the difference, can you? I mean, they’re virtually identical!
All jokes aside, I’d compare myself to tigers and jaguars because they’re awesome and they’re my favorite cats, aside from the above-mentioned panthera tigris muscularis handsomus. Cats are solitary hunters, they don’t like to be disturbed when they’re sleeping, and they appreciate the value of a good nap as well as a good snack. They are creatures of extraordinary taste!
Most of all, we need more people to appreciate big cats because the future doesn’t look good for them if we don’t do more to save them. Although tiger numbers have rebounded somewhat thanks to concerted conservation efforts in places like India (Bengal) and Russia (Amur), they’re still extremely vulnerable to habitat loss, poaching and revenge killing by farmers and rural villagers who often blame the big cats for being cats and going after livestock.
Likewise, while jaguars were once the sole success story in the big cat world thanks to their isolation deep in the Amazon rainforest and their elusive nature, they face a massive threat to their existence from deforestation and from the Chinese presence in countries like Brazil and Peru, where Chinese nationals poach the majestic felids to fuel the destructive Chinese traditional “medicine” market.
Just as TCM has devastated tiger, lion, elephant, rhinoceros and pangolin populations, it’s moved on to jaguars. Even vast “tiger farms” in places like South Africa, which cater to canned hunts and the TCM market, aren’t enough to meet the demand for big cat parts for use in folk “medicine,” in which ground tiger bones, fur, claws and other body parts are included in various elixirs people believe will cure everything from baldness to sexual dysfunction.
Check out Panthera for more information on conservation efforts and how you can help.
As the masterminds behind the genius heist, Buddy and his associates stand to become extraordinarily wealthy in cardboard boxes, making them the envy of all felines.
NEW YORK — Crammed into a small, smokey room, the felines huddled around a table laden with cocktails, cigars and architectural schematics for a large arena.
Seated at the table was Salvatore “Carniclaws” Catzarelli, Tomasso “Tommy Two Times” Felinzano, Jimmy “Little Jim” Fitzpawtrick, Desmond “Sensimeowla” Neville, a group of junior associates and Buddy the Cat.
“This here boxing is a goldmine, fellas,” Buddy told the other gangster cats, pointing a paw at the original building plans for Madison Square Garden. “The humans, they don’t want to share their boxes, which is why they guarded the secret of boxing from us cats. They want us to be satisfied with one lousy box every week or two. But we’re onto ’em now, see?”
Thousands of glorious boxes litter the central court at Madison Square Garden in New York. Now that cats are wise to the human sport of “boxing,” humans won’t be able to hoard all the boxes to themselves anymore.
Neville licked the edge of his rolling papers, carefully adding potent catnip as he meowed without looking up.
“Mi finna be down wit da heist, mon,” he said, wrapping the paper tight around a generous portion of ‘nip. “Long as di score gonna be split equitably, ya hear?”
“That’s right,” Catzarelli nodded, digging into the pockets of his trench coat for a lighter, which he passed to Neville. “Youse guys know, there’s five of us so we split it nice and even, 15 percent each!”
A smile barely crinkled the corners of Buddy’s mouth before it vanished.
“Of course, my friend,” he said. “You’ll all walk away with 15 percent of the proceeds. If I’m right and this ‘boxing match’ is the goldmine I think it is, we’ll be richer in boxes than we ever imagined! Boxes for every mood and sleeping position. Boxes for your friends and guests. Boxes inside boxes inside boxes!
Felinzano and associates refine plans for the first boxing heist in the history of catdom.
One of the junior associates, a kitten named Crispy, raised a paw.
“Uh, sirs, with all due respect,” he said, “I don’t think boxing is what you think it is. There are two humans in a ring and…”
Buddy cut the kitten off with a wave of his paw.
“Crispy?”
“Yes sir?”
“Who’s the criminal mastermind in this room?”
The kitten looked unsure of himself. “You, uh…you are, sir.”
“That’s right. And who pulled off the legendary turkey heist of 2018?”
“You did, sir, it’s just…”
Buddy held up a paw.
“Unless you wanna be known as Extra Crispy from now on, I’d pipe down if I was youse,” Felinzano told the kitten.
As of press time, the feline criminal ring was putting the final touches on the genius heist, so close to being unimaginably wealthy in boxes that they could almost taste it.
