Buddy – Page 14 – Pain In The Bud

Cat Demands Human Swear Fealty, Submit Essay To Continue Serving Him

Realizing he could leverage his popularity to improve snack and head-rubbing service, Little Buddy demanded his human “bend the knee.”

NEW YORK — Tensions between the Buddies threatened to reach an all-time high on Wednesday after Little Buddy the Cat sought to formalize their alliance by having Big Buddy the Human swear fealty to him.

“I’ve been thinking,” Little Buddy the Cat said, padding into the living room, “and I’ve got an idea!”

“This should be brilliant,” his human replied, not bothering to look up from his newspaper.

Little Buddy the Cat nodded in agreement.

“It is! It is!” he said excitedly. “I was thinking that since I have my own website, you know, and people all over the world love me, it’s time to reevaluate my options. There are people who would love to spoil me, you know.”

Big Buddy glowered.

“So I’m going to need an essay of no less than 800 words on why you should be allowed to continue serving me,” the feline continued. “Offer specifics, please. I’m gonna need that on my desk by 0800 tomorrow.”

“You don’t have a desk, you Tribble with a tail,” Big Buddy pointed out.

The tabby cat became exasperated. “My office! My…my eating nook where my bowls and all my important papers are stored! So you’ll submit your essay there, okay?”

Big Buddy nodded absentmindedly, flipping his newspaper to the sports section.

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say, little dude.”

Buddy clawed at the paper. “I wasn’t finished!”

Buddy and his tunnel — Buddy, pictured, wants his human to “bend the knee” and swear fealty to him.

When he had his human’s attention again, the silver tabby dragged out a crude replica of Game of Thrones’ Iron Throne made of cardboard, grunting with the effort.

“Now if I can just…get my feet up here…grip on the cardboard I can…grrr…okay. Whew!”

The feline settled onto the throne, the corrugated cardboard sagging beneath his weight, and tried to look regal.

“You may now bend the knee,” he said matter-of-factly. “Oooh! Ooh! Get your replica samurai sword, draw it and hold it as you kneel to me! That would be really cool.”

Buddy's cardboard throne — A Buddinese throne.

As of press time, Big Buddy had not stirred from the couch, retrieved his samurai sword or bent the knee.

“This is my fault,” he told a reporter. “I never should have let my cat watch Game of Thrones.”

Happy Valentine’s Day!

If you’re not feeling the love, you can always head to your local shelter and donate to have a cat neutered in the name of your ex!

Happy Valentine’s Day from the Buddies! Buddy Cupid, or Bupid, is currently flying around with his little bow and heart arrows, wondering why they can’t be used to shoot turkey.

He’ll figure it out soon enough, although knowing him, he’ll use his arrows to make people fall in love with him so he has an entire army of infatuated humans who would love nothing more than to feed him and cuddle him.

We hope you’re all having a great day and that you’re able to spend time with the people and pets you love most in this world.

And hey, if you’re not feeling the love, you can take the opportunity to participate in one of the many “Neuter Your Ex” promotions happening at cat shelters in Portland, Baltimore, New Jersey, Michigan and even Saskatchewan. For between $25 and $50, depending on the shelter, you’ll be given the opportunity to name a feline after the person you’d like to see, uh, fixed, and help reduce the stray cat population as a result. It’s win-win, except maybe for the person you’re imagining getting the snip.

Aye, Captain Buddy Be Searchin’ For Pieces O’ Eight, Ye Scallywags!

Buddy, aka Graybeard, has departed for his annual adventure on the high seas aboard his ship, the Fowl Play. He really gets into talking like a pirate.

Ahoy, me hearties!

Tis that time of year when I depart the frigid coasts of me headquarters of New York bound for the pirate heaven of Somalia! ‘Tis tradition ever since me Big Buddy temporarily sold me to pirates for a hoard of booty an a jest and I spent a season learnin’ the life of a cat-o-the-sea.

Havin’ obtained me all the plunder I could carry, I returned to New York in time for the spring, rich in gold and the vocabulary of a true privateer. (And a proper cutlass too, though truth be told it were redundant with me sharp claws.) Ye landlubbers were mighty surprised!

So now I be known as Graybeard and my ship, the Fowl Play, is the Scourge o’ the Seas, makin’ sailors tremble in their boots at the sight o’ me mast with a big hulkin’ tiger eatin’ a plump turkey.

Captain Bud — “Ahoy! Land ho! Be prepared to drop anchor, all hands to the poop deck!”

Ahoy! ‘Tis many an incautious feline captain who met the watery grave of Davy Jones’ locker fer understimatin’ the Foul Play, tis it true. Many a red ensign me plunder for the rum, many a seadog know the name o’ Ol’ Graybeard an heard it true me put a shot across they bow!

Them sons o’ biscuit eaters become sharkbait if they underestimate Graybeard, so ye better strike colors an succumb to the inevitable — that Buddy’ll strike anchor, invite hisself aboard ye vessels and help hisself to the prime booty!

Only problem is, not a spot o’ turkey to be had on the high seas, so I have me men squib the deck, get the Fowl Play shipshape and make port often to keep the turkey larders topped up for the galley, ye savvy? Anyone who raid me turkey stash be playin’ with Jack Ketch and be sure to feed the fish, if ye catch me drift!

Avast me, ol’ Graybeard’s adventures on the high seas will continue till I find the legendary pieces of eight or the grog strike me with a clap o’ thunder, I always say.

Fer legend has it that there be an island where turkeys have eight wings, each more delicious than the last, and it be Graybeard’s obsession to find this isle o’ wonders. Just imagine how awesome it would be! Arrrr…belay that! Put it in yer mind that Graybeard’ll be rich in plunder and turkey if the mythical isle be found!

I have me pigeon here who’ll carry me dispatches back to that landlubber Big Buddy, so he can continue the bloggin’ an apprise ye buckos of me adventures. Until such time as the Fowl Play make port, I’d advise ye stay off the shippin’ lanes between the kingdom and the Caribbean.

Yer captain,

Buddy

If You Could Make Your Pet Understand One Thing, What Would It Be?

For the first time, PITB is participating in Wordpress’s daily writing prompt!

Bloganuary writing prompt

If you could make your pet understand one thing, what would it be?

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If I could make my cat understand one thing, it’s that he is a chubby 11-lb house cat, NOT a hulking 600-lb tiger with “huge meowscles” who strikes fear into the hearts of every creature to walk the Earth.

Just kidding. I’m perfectly happy going along with his delusions.

The one thing I really would communicate is that we are buddies for life and I’ll never abandon him.

Buddy’s an awesome cat. He’s super friendly, curious, lively, intelligent and vocal. His antics are hilarious. He’s a good boy.

He also knows I love him. That much is abundantly clear.

Buddy the Handsome Cat — Buddy the Cat, pictured, says he’s “totally ripped” under his fur.

Unfortunately he suffers from separation anxiety, which has manifested in unfortunate ways, including a track record of attacking every person who has ever been kind enough to cat sit for him.

Aside from the fact that it’s getting more difficult to arrange care for him (his usual cat sitter now sneaks in, feeds him and gets out as fast as possible since he’s attacked her twice), it sucks to know that he suffers anxiety and sadness when I’m gone.

I see his accusatory stare when I start to pack a suitcase and set food aside for the sitter to give him. And I see his little act when I come home, the way he sniffs and feigns nonchalance. The act lasts a few minutes tops before he forgets he’s supposed to be mad at me. Then he glues himself to me for the next few days, never letting me out of sight for fear of losing me.

The truth is that I feel separation anxiety from my little pal when I’m away too, but I know precisely when I’m coming home. He doesn’t have that luxury.

So Buddy, if you ever learn to read, know that you aren’t going anywhere and neither am I. The only way we’ll be separated is if someone pries you from my cold, dead fingers.

And don’t let anyone tell you you’re not a fierce tiger!