Tag: Buddy

Seven Thousand And One!

The streak continues!

Buddy's House
“I make the rules, human!”

Buddy had to wait an extra day for my return from the Outer Banks due to the snowstorm, which made a mess of the roads, led to canceled flights and would have been miserable — and impossible — to drive through. My SiL’s brother tried to drive through it and gave up after 13 hours, getting as far as just north of Washington, D.C., before booking a hotel room and driving the rest of the way to New York the next day.

As expected, little dude tried to play it cool at first. He couldn’t stop himself from getting up and going to the door, but he played it off like “Hey, you’re home. That’s cool, I guess.” Then he nonchalantly padded away.

The indifferent act lasted for about 15 minutes, as usual, before Bud forgot he was supposed to be mad at me. He hopped up to the couch and started nuzzling and scent-rubbing on me, happily purring.

However, it took him longer than usual to act like his normal self, and he’s been particularly clingy since then. At one point I put on my coat and shoes to get a bag I’d left in the car, and Bud started nervously pacing, loudly vocalizing and sat down in front of the door as if to say “No! Big Buddy stays here!”

I think he does okay if someone’s here with him, but having a cat sitter stop by once a day probably doesn’t cut it anymore. Partly that’s Bud’s fault for attacking her last time, because she won’t play with him anymore, but I’ll have to think about alternatives next time I’m away for more than two days or so.

I took some photos of OBX and will post them this week after I’ve had time to sort them. We were very fortunate, with 65-degree days for the entire stretch, and even in winter there’s lots of interesting history to see on the islands where two Americans first achieved powered flight, colonies disappeared and notorious pirates stashed their treasure.

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Bud Celebrates 7,000th Frantic Meowing At Bathroom Door

NEW YORK — Buddy the Cat celebrated a historic milestone on Wednesday, marking the 7,000th time he’s meowed frantically outside the bathroom door as his human, Big Buddy, used the facilities.

“Over the years I’ve really perfected my routine, yowling like a mad cat and scratching at the bathroom door with such urgency that you’d think there was a murderous psychopath walking menacingly toward me and sharpening his blades,” Buddy told reporters. “I’ve been blessed and honored to carry on this fine tradition since kittenhood, and to make sure my Big Buddy has not a moment of peace inside the human litterbox unless I’m in there too  In which case he doesn’t get peace anyway because, well, it’s fun to annoy him.”

The silver tabby explained that meowing outside a bathroom “is more of an art form than a science,” and claimed that not just any cat could meow as pitifully and frantically as he’s able to do.

“It takes a lot more practice and skill than you’d think,” he said. “You can’t just yowl and expect results. Sometimes you have to reach under the door frame so your human sees your little paws searching for reassurance as you cry. Sometimes you have to start your meows soft and build to a yowling crescendo. It’s powerful emotional manipulation and should be part of every cat’s repertoire.”

According to the Bureau of Buddy Statistics, the silver tabby spends approximately 48 seconds inside the bathroom, on average, before meowing to be let out again. In 37 percent of cases, he’s meowed his way into and out of the bathroom at least twice during a single session.

After a frustrating stretch of almost six days in which his human was away, Buddy was able to reach his milestone on Wednesday with the return of Big Buddy.

“I’d like to thank my human,” Buddy said. “Without him, none of this would be possible. Yeeeeeooooowwww!”

Oh Big Buddy, Why Have You Abandoned Me?

Day Four: Here I exist in solitary confinement, without anyone to meow to or sleep on.

If a Buddy meows for snacks and no one is around to hear him, do his meows exist?

These are the questions I ponder as hour after silent hour ticks by, my stomach rumbling. (Nice lady stops by only once a day to feed me, oh woe is me!)

Oh how I miss the halcyon days when delicious snacks were an insistent meow away, when I’d lounge on Big Buddy’s legs and in his lap for hours as we watched Squid Game!

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Oh how I miss slapping his face with my paw, then sitting directly on his face and meowing into his ear for breakfast, knowing I’d successfully woken him when he yelled “I’m going to sell you to Shezhuan Garden II, you annoying little jerk!”

I am on the verge of a scientific breakthrough, ready to present my contribution to quantum mechanics in which I posit that a new, heretofore unknown fundamental particle, the Turkon, exists at the subatomic level.

Without a human here to dictate to, how will I submit my findings to a prestigious journal?

Meanwhile my human is probably frolicking on the beach, basking in the sunshine and warmth of a 70-degree Outer Banks January day.

It’s going to take A LOT of snacks, massages and “good boys” to make this right.

Do You Use ‘Baby Talk’ With Your Cat?

A few years ago when Bud was a bit more of a daredevil than he is now, I was sitting on my balcony on a warm summer night when the little dumbass squeezed through the railing bars and did a circuit of the balcony outside the rail — with only three or four inches of ledge between him and a potentially brutal fall onto the concrete below.

“Bud!” I said, feeling my own fear of heights bubble up as I watched him take his precarious stroll.

He ignored me.

“Bud!” I said again, loud enough to make sure he heard me but not so loud as to startle him and cause him to fall. “Bud! I’m talking to you! Get back over here right now!”

He paid me no mind. I stood up, put my hands on the railing and looked down at him.

“Buddy, get back here now! I’m not gonna say it again!”

At that point I realized there was a couple about my age, probably returning from the bars, drunk-walking toward the back door of the building and watching me have a furious one-sided discussion with my cat. They seemed to think it was hilarious, not only because I was speaking to my cat, but also because I was talking to the little stinker like he was a person.

I don’t baby talk with Buddy, and I’ve noticed my brother doesn’t baby talk his dog, Cosmo.

Sure I’ll speak to Bud warmly and encourage him when he’s clearly frightened of something. (Which is very rare, of course, because he’s such a fearless and brave tiger!) But it isn’t baby talk, and 95 percent of the time I speak to little man as if he’s, well, a little man.

It turns out I may be “doing it wrong,” at least according to some veterinarians and animal behaviorists who say baby talk is a good way to communicate with pets. Animal behaviorists call it “pet-directed speech,” and although the studies so far have been limited, they seem to suggest cats (and dogs) are more likely to respond to it than typical speech in normal registers and cadences. (A study published in the journal Animal Cognition earlier this year found horses respond well to “baby talk” too.)

Despite that, I just can’t bring myself to do it. There are certain standards we must uphold in this home, and besides, I’m pretty sure Bud would paw-smack me if one day I scratched his head and started saying “Who’s a good widdle boy? Is that you? Are you the good widdle boy? Yes you are! Yes you — OUCH! What the hell, dude? Why’d you do that?”

Do you “baby talk” to your pets?

person wearing apron holding orange tabby cat
“Who’s a cute widdle fluffy wuffy?” Credit: Tima Miroshnichenko/Pexels

I Smell Treason In The Air!

A special message from Buddy:

There is treason in the air, dear readers! I can smell it, just as surely as I can smell an open tin of catnip from three rooms away.

There has been increased laundry activity, hushed talk of a place called North Carolina, and the suspiciously early decommissioning of the Christmas tree.

My food has been inventoried and a portion of it set aside. I am not very good at math, but it appears to be at least four or fivedays’ worth of perfect portions wet food in addition to kibble.

The Great Cabinet of Yums

Most distressing of all, Big Buddy has changed into the same shirt three nights in a row: The very shirt he leaves on the bed when he goes away, believing his scent will comfort me. (Perhaps it does for less sophisticated creatures like dogs. Oh, to be so simple-minded!)

I know based on past experience that someone will enter my realm daily to feed me and give me fresh water. I also know it’s likely going to be the nice lady who used to play with me after feeding me…until I attacked her the last time she was my cat sitter.

It seemed like the right move at the time, but I regret it now. She will probably feed me and run out. 😦

What I’d like to know is: What did I do to deserve this betrayal? Shouldn’t I go with Big Buddy to this mysterious place called the Outer Banks? And what makes the Outer Banks so special, anyway? The low interest rates? The free checking accounts? A cool vault with one of those big, heavy doors you see in movies?

I guess it’s not all bad. I’ve only been sleeping 13 hours a night lately, so some down time will allow me to catch up on my beauty rest.

Also, the entire place could do with a thorough scent-marking, and not having a human around means there won’t be any complaining about it.

But who will I sleep on? Who will give me snacks when I meow for them? Who will tell me I’m a good boy and scratch my head?