Feline Overlords – Page 18

A Vet Says ‘It Matters What You Say To Your Cat.’ Ruh Roh!

I love my cat, except when he’s standing on my head and screeching into my ear at 80 decibels to make sure sleep is not an option.

Regular readers of this blog know I dote on my cat.

I don’t call him “Your Grace” without reason. He always eats first. He regularly uses me as his pillow. He knows how to manipulate me, he always gets what he wants, and I’ve been told many times how he’s got me “wrapped around his paw.”

He rules the roost, and has done so since the night he arrived as a baby and came striding out of his carrier like a furry little Ghenghis Khan, conquering everything in sight.

No one can doubt that I love the little guy.

But if you were a fly on the wall when I wake up, well, you might think differently. Bud is, to put it bluntly, absolutely relentless when he wants something, which puts us at odds when it comes to that most crucial commodity, sleep.

Some of the most vile things that have ever come out of my mouth have been prompted by the little guy’s snooze-disturbing antics. I’ve called him ALF (Annoying Little F—-er), I’ve threatened to sell him to the local Chinese restaurant, I’ve thrown pillows at him, and when my sleep-deprived brain can’t come up with something more creative, I half-mumble “Shut up, you furry little turdball!”

Buddy roaring — Buddy the Cat: Never at a loss for meows.

Those are the more tame ones! The worst thing, the bit that makes me feel bad, is that Bud just wants me to wake up so we can hang out and be buddies.

He doesn’t want food. He’s got a bowl of dry food set out for him before bed every night precisely so he doesn’t have to wake me up. Nope. He wants to knead my shoulder, purr up a storm and have me scratch his chin while I tell him what a good boy he is. And instead of that, I’m turtling up beneath the blanket, pillow over my head, telling him he’ll be served as General Tsao’s Buddy if he doesn’t shut his trap.

All this time I’ve told myself that it’s okay because he doesn’t understand what I’m saying, and he knows I wouldn’t harm a hair on his head.

But what if he does understand some of it?

That’s the subject of a new column by Karin Spicer. Writing in the Dayton Daily News, Spicer describes her morning ritual with her cat, Pip, and how she’s encouraged her naturally vocal cat to vocalize even more by talking to him.

Buddy from above — “No sleep for you, human! There are foreheads to rub, chins to scratch and ‘good boys’ to be said!”

Like Pip, Bud is a naturally talkative cat, and like Pip, his motor mouth tendencies have been cultivated by plenty of attention, affection and interaction.

“Cats want to bond with their owners,” says Catster’s Michelle Gunter, who is quoted in Spicer’s column about Pip. “If you take the time to communicate with them in soft, calming tones, that bond will strengthen faster. Your tone and the affection you offer during these periods can help show your cat that you love them and want to spend time with them.”

You mean to tell me all this time I’ve been undoing some of that bonding by hurling vile invective at my Buddy when he tries to annoy me out of sleep?

You mean to tell me he can infer by my tone of voice that I’m threatening to sell him to Somali pirates for $15 and a pack of gum?!?

Sheeeeit!

Disclaimer: No Buddies were harmed in the creation of this content, except perhaps for some bruised egos.

Bud talking — “Mrrrrrrroooowww! Meeeeerrrrrooowww!! Mrrrrrrrp! Yeeeeeeooo!!! MEOW!”

Larry The Cat Is Now On His 6th Prime Minister: Long Live Larry The Cat!

While the prime minister is the official government executive in the UK, Larry the Cat is the country’s de facto leader, setting policy on important issues like nap time quiet enforcement.

LONDON — Looking for a change after tiring of outgoing Prime Minister Rishi Sunak and his Conservative party, British voters on Thursday selected a new human to serve Larry the Cat, the nation’s de facto leader.

Incoming Prime Minister Keir Starmer was expected to meet with his feline master on Saturday, a day after a scheduled audience with King Charles.

“Lord Larry will lay out his expectations, go over the house rules at No. 10, and warn the new prime minister that national emergencies are not an excuse to be tardy with meals,” said Alastair Lamb, a political columnist for The Guardian. “This isn’t Larry’s first rodeo, as the Yanks might say. He is succinct in communicating what’s expected of a new prime minister.”

Indeed, Starmer is the sixth prime minister to serve under Larry, who arrived at No. 10 to great fanfare in 2011 during the premiership of David Cameron.

53d40c25d996d_-_larry-the-cat-151111-lrg — Favorite of the ladies, chief mouser and renaissance feline: Larry the Cat.

Although Larry was initially brought on to combat a stubborn rodent infestation in the 400-year-old structure, he began to take on more duties related to the day-to-day running of the country when it became clear he was more competent — and much more popular — than the men and women officially running the country.

An Ipsos poll released on July 4 reaffirmed the feline’s supremacy: Larry’s favorability ratings are more than double Sunak’s, and he holds an 11 percent favorability lead over Starmer.

Larry has outlasted Cameron, Theresa May, Boris Johnson, Liz Truss and Sunak.

Sunak’s fate was sealed when staff at No. 10 leaked news that the prime minister had gotten on Larry’s bad side for ignoring the feline’s repeated demands for scritches while Sunak was on the phone with US President Joe Biden.

“Sunak made the mistake of believing the real power was in Washington, D.C., when it was in fact the 13-pounds of glorious fur sitting on his desk,” said Sir Felix Finch, editor of the Trafalgar Review of Books. “If he’s smart, Starmer will ingratiate himself with Lord Larry and ensure he remains on the cat’s good side by providing treats and a lap to nap on.”

Larry has directly or indirectly impacted the fates of most of No. 10’s previous occupants. When Johnson was ensnared in a scandal of his own making in 2020 — after he was caught hosting parties while the entire country was quarantining in lockdown — it appeared the 60-year-old former Etonian was on his way out. But in a show of confidence, Larry climbed on Johnson’s shoulder and sat there as the beleaguered politician apologized to British citizens in a televised address.

“His Lordship was sending a strong message: ‘This Boris guy isn’t bad, his treat game is strong and he lets me sleep on his head at night,” Finch said. “The public really responded, concluding that if Johnson still retained Larry’s favor, he must be an allright bloke.”

Buddy the Cat at Downing Street — Buddy the Cat visited No. 10 Downing St. in 2020 while he was president of the Americats, meeting his fellow head of state, Larry, for meows about the continuing alliance between the United Katdom and the Americats.

Starmer and his wife, Victoria, are said to be new to the world of cat servitude and will need to hit the ground running in order to avoid disappointing Larry. A team of aides will bring the couple up to speed on the basics before dining with Larry and his lady friend, Maisie.

“The First Larresian Supper, as it’s been dubbed by the British press, is seen as a key indicator of a new prime minister’s aptitude for the job,” said Spyglass magazine’s Luisa Rey. “One of the reasons [Liz] Truss’s premiership was so short was her inability to make a meaningful connection with Larry.”

When word reached the press that Larry and Maisie were displeased with their pate and after dinner digestif, it was seen as only a matter of time before Truss was gone. Not only did she last a mere 50 days, the shortest tenure of any prime minister in history, she was also ousted from her seat in parliament in the same elections that saw Starmer win the top job.

“The message was quite clear,” Rey said. “Getting on Larry’s bad side is tantamount to career suicide.”

Starmer, who hopes to avoid that fate, received congratulations from Biden on Friday.

“Congratulations, Kevin,” Biden told Starmer, according to an official transcript of the call. “When I was a young man in Scranton, Pennsylvania, the British there loved me. They made me their prime minister, and that’s how I became mayor of London. Folks, look. The idea that…and look, my economy was the number one armadillo in the world, and there’s not a pangolin that’ll dance about history who will tell you the malarkey as it flies. As the first Macedonian-American president, I invite you to come visit the Taj Mahal and have dinner with me and Joan Rivers.”

Happy Fourth of July!

Calling all patriotic Americats!

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:

Point/Counterpoint: ‘There Are So Many Wonderful Places To Lounge!’ vs ‘Dude, You’re In My Spot!’

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.

Buddy Terrorizes Block With Reluctant Jaguar Pal

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!”

Buster eyed Buddy derisively. “Or else what, pip squeak?”

Buddy pretended to file his claws nonchalantly.

“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.

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.