Happy Fourth of July from Little Buddy the Cat and Big Buddy the Human!
There’s a park less than a block from Casa de Buddy, and it’s the site of my town’s annual fireworks show, so Buddy handled the noise stoically as he always does. He’ll run screaming from a vacuum, but he’s a pro at ignoring fireworks thanks to experiencing them up close and loud every year since kittenhood.
I’ll be headed to a family barbecue, then the proper July 4 fireworks show in the neighboring town with my nieces. The Budster and I wish our readers well, and we hope your feline overlords are similarly unbothered if you happen to live in close proximity to a fireworks show. Happy 4th!
In the meantime we leave you with these important messages from the Americats:
Buddy the Cat praises the many comfortable lounging spots at Casa de Buddy, while Buddy the Cat blasts his human for sitting in his favorite spot! Who’s right?
There Are So Many Wonderful Places to Lounge!
You know what I like about our my home, human? It affords me seemingly endless comfortable places to lounge and nap.
There’s the rug underneath the dinner table, which is soft and makes me feel well-protected with a roof over my head and chairs blocking access to anyone larger than me.
There’s your padded fake leather office chair, which not only retains your butt heat, but is also a fabulous item to scratch.
There’s my bed, which used to be your bed, which I graciously still allow you to use 22.3 percent of. Oh, and the wonderful raised platform above my scratcher, where I can watch birds safely and make weird noises when they fly. In the winter, the radiator provides a toasty alternative to draftier spots.
When I was but a kitten, I never dreamed of having such a vast realm to call my own, with so many comfortable places to be lazy.
Indeed, there’s no place like home, and no places like my spots.
Dude, You’re In My Spot!
Come on! Get up!
This is not funny. You know that’s my favorite spot! The left side of the couch is comfortable, warm, gives me a good view of everything, and smells like you.
Get up! Get up! If you don’t vacate the premises immediately I will be forced to disappear, wait until you’re distracted, then nearly give you a heart attack with a well-timed ambush.
Or perhaps I will take my spot anyway by sitting on your head. How foolish would you look then, eh human?
Yes, there are plenty of other places for me to rest but I like this one because you’re sitting in it.
Grrrr, fine! But I’m sleeping on top of you, so if you need to heed nature’s call, do it now, human. I don’t like to be disturbed by your bathroom trips. Also, could you try to breathe a little less? It’s just that when I’m laying on your chest, I can feel your exhales on my fur and it’s really annoying. If you could keep breathing to a minimum, that’d be great.
With some muscle to back him up, Buddy the Cat becomes the scourge of the neighborhood.
NEW YORK — Taking refuge from the heat of an unusually humid early June day, cats and dogs alike were gathered around the neighborhood’s most popular watering hole when their quiet lapping was disturbed by a kittenish, falsetto-like meow.
“Coming through!” Buddy the Cat yelled. “Make way!”
The silver tabby ordered everyone to “vacate the premises,” declaring the water his “personal drinking spot.” One of the toughest cats on the block, a battle-scarred orange tom named Buster, continued drinking.
“Ahem!” Buddy said loudly. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me. Vacate the pond, Buster!”
“Or else my jaguar is not going to be happy,” Buddy replied.
Buster began laughing, then caught sight of the enormous apex predator and backed up warily.
“That’s right!” Buddy said. “Back up if you don’t want to become a light snack, Buster!”
Ek B’alam, Buddy’s jaguar friend, raised a paw sheepishly.
“Um, do we have to threaten violence? I’m not interested in hurting…”
“Shhhh! Yes, yes we do have to threaten them!” Buddy whispered. “Let’s see that intimidating pose you do…great, now roar!”
The jaguar let loose a primal rumble, sending every cat, dog, bird and squirrel within a mile running for cover.
Buddy and Ek B’alam enjoying a prime drinking spot after bullying its previous occupants.
After enjoying a leisurely drink with the pond to themselves, Buddy and Ek B’alam took a lazy route to a nearby dog park where the pair terrorized a pitbull and a gang of Dobermans.
Witnesses said Buddy strolled into the Doberman circle, needled the dogs with insults and told them they’d have to hand over their treats promptly or face dire consequences.
“Oh yea?” the canine leader said, his tail twitching with anticipation. “Says who?”
“Says my jaguar!” Buddy said theatrically, holding both paws out like a magician.
The dogs paused, looked at each other and laughed uproariously.
“Get outta here, you pudgy little…oh! Oh! He’s really got a jag…I mean, I d-d-didn’t…”
Buddy feigned indifference as Ek B’alam padded out from behind a tree. The dogs emptied their bladders.
“You were saying something about me being pudgy, weren’t you? We don’t like insulting little mutts, do we, Ek B’alam?”
“No, we do not, Buddy,” the big cat replied.
“Sometimes we eat them for breakfast, don’t we, Ek B’alam?”
“Yes we do, Buddy. Better than bacon and eggs, with an agreeable aftertaste!”
The dogs whimpered, tails between their legs.
“Leave your toys and treats and scram!” Buddy said, making the canines flinch as he faked a leap toward them.
“You were right, this is kinda fun!” Ek B’alam said as he ate the dogs’ snacks. “Who do we terrorize next?”
Buddy rested his chin on his right paw thoughtfully.
“We could rob Los Gatos of every ounce of catnip they possess. We could put the fear of God into those ‘hunters’ who shoot at our puma buddies. I also have a revenge list of everyone who ever insulted me on the internet. That could be fun!”
As of late Tuesday night, local police scanner frequencies were buzzing with reports of two cats, one small and the other enormous, gleefully tearing apart industrial vacuum cleaners at a nearby Stanley Steemer shop.
The Chief Mouser of No. 10 Downing St. is still going strong after 13 years on the job.
At first it didn’t seem like Larry the Cat would last.
The then-four-year-old moggie was adopted from a London rescue because of his apparent predatorial skill and in November of 2011 was appointed Chief Mouser at No. 10 Downing St., the UK prime minister’s office and residence.
The prime minister and his staff hoped the highly-touted feline would rid them of a persistent rodent problem. It was so bad that when a mouse scurried into view during a state dinner in late 2011, Prime Minister David Cameron tossed a fork at it in frustration, and staff set about looking for a more comprehensive solution than the usual traps.
Larry arrived to great fanfare but had to remind the humans who’s boss first. He was almost an hour late to his public introduction because he was napping, then took a swipe at a news reporter trying to get in a live shot with him.
In his first weeks on the job, the imperious tabby made a big show of dozing off in public view, often on the window sill of No. 10. During his waking hours he was much more keen on visiting his “lady friend,” next door mouser Maisie, than he was on performing his official duties.
Larry the Cat. Credit: No. 10 Downing St./Wikimedia Commons
The chief mouser eventually found his hunting groove, and almost thirteen years later four prime ministers have come and gone, but Larry remains.
Rishi Sunak, the fifth prime minister of the Larry Era, called elections for July 10 and if his conservative party — currently behind in the polls — doesn’t maintain control of the House of Commons after the votes are counted, Larry will wave goodbye to Sunak and welcome the sixth prime minister under his watch.
Larry’s outlasted David Cameron, Theresa May, Liz Truss and Boris Johnson. Sunak assumed office in 2022.
At this point, No. 10 Downing St. should probably be renamed Larry’s House.
He seems to have a knack for knowing who’s going to stick around and who won’t last. When Truss bent down to pet Larry shortly after assuming office in late 2022, Larry gave her the cold shoulder. Truss lasted only 50 days, the shortest tenure of any prime minister in UK history.
The famous little guy is now 17 years old, but the staff who feed and care for him, and the veterinarians who help keep him in mouse-hunting shape, say he’s hale and healthy.
If the next prime minister is smart, he or she should look to Larry for advice on enduring popularity — and political survival.
Header photo of former US President Barack Obama and former UK Prime Minister David Cameron with Larry the Cat credit: Peter Souza/Official White House photo.
Larry, perched on the window sill on the left, photobombed former Prime Minister Theresa May during a visit by former US President Donald Trump and First Lady Melania Trump. Credit: White House press photo/Wikimedia CommonsLarry was looking strong as he patrolled his territory in December of 2023. Credit: Justin Ng/Twitter
The cat food cupboard is bare, and Buddy the Cat is not amused.
NEW YORK — The unthinkable happened on late Thursday night when Buddy the Cat’s human servant opened the very last package of chicken pate only to realize the meat inside had gone bad, probably from a hole in the damaged container.
It was a catastrophe. For the first time in 10 years, poor Buddy was bereft of wet food!
Making matters worse, and signaling a deep betrayal, Big Buddy elected not to potentially lose his parking space to make a late night run to a 24-7 store to buy emergency cat food for his feline overlord.
He is required to do so under the terms of the Cat Servant Agreement of 2014, which stipulates that running out of food is “unacceptable” and supplies “must be replenished when the Strategic Yums Reserve is reduced to five (5) cans or three (3) packages of Perfect Portions remaining in the Cupboard of Yums.”
Poor Buddy was left with nothing except Blue Buffalo dry food, Friskies dry treats, Rachael Ray Nutrish soft treats, chicken puree from a squeeze tube, diced gouda cheese, and a bowl of fresh water.
“Oh why Big Buddy have ye forsaken me?” Buddy asked, collapsing from the lack of meaty caloric energy his meowscular frame relies on to fuel his finely-tuned physique. “Et tu, Big Buddy? Et tu?”
Sources say Little Buddy vowed to exact bitter revenge on his irresponsible, traitorous, callous, selfish, non-empathetic, backstabbing, inconsiderate, terrible human…if he makes it through the night.
A visibly angry Buddy, pictured above, was in danger of starving on Thursday night due to lack of wet food.
You know what I like about 
Pain In The Bud 