Buddy the Cat argues that a consistent bedtime is key to feeling good and healthy, while Buddy the Cat counters that stupid humans don’t tell him when to sleep, HE decides. Who’s right, Buddy or Buddy?
A Consistent Bedtime Is Important
What are you doing, human? It’s bedtime! Mow mow! You’re supposed to be in this bed and laying down so I can use your face as a pillow, drape myself across you, or burrow comfortably against your side to soak up body heat.
What am I supposed to do without a human sleeping substrate? How can any cat be expected to sleep like this? I know you claim there are so called “stray cats” who don’t have humans, but that is preposterous and I don’t believe it.
Let’s go! I read an article saying it’s very important to have a regular sleep schedule. Well, actually, I just saw the headline, but I got the gist of it, which is that you have to go to bed right meow!
You Don’t Tell Me When To Sleep, Human!
Sleep? Now? That’s ridiculous.
No, I have shadows to chase, toys to kick around and I really wanted to get into redecorating things around here, because they’re looking a little too orderly for my tastes.
Go ahead, go to bed. In a few minutes I’ll cry outside the bedroom door until you get out of bed and open it, then I’ll decide I don’t want to go in after all. I’ll do that two, maybe three more times just because I can.
Oh, you thought I was settling in? Nah. I have a bowl of water to splash all over the place, then I’ll cry until you get up again and refill it, and when you get back into bed for the fifth or sixth time, I’ll cry incessantly again because my dry food bowl is empty, meaning there’s plenty of food but it’s all pushed up to the sides.
Do not forget our pre-slumber ritual! You have to scratch my chin while I purr and you tell me what a good boy I am. Then you have to scratch the top of my head while I purr and you tell me what a good boy I am.
Buddy claims he’s a tiguar, not a domestic cat, and says allowing him outside is tantamount to Queen Daenerys allowing her dragons to roam the countryside in Game of Thrones.
Dear Buddy,
Dude. Everyone’s getting so uptight lately about making sure we stay inside. We’re predators! We should be running our neighborhoods, but no, our humans want to “protect” us.
As a famously fierce and ripped feline, what’s your take?
Frustrated in Fallbsurg
Dear Frustrated,
I empathize with you, I really do, but the way it was explained to me is that I’m a terrifying cat with huge meowscles, and by keeping me indoors, my human is protecting dogs, humans and other lower life forms from my potential wrath.
“Do they let tigers and jaguars run around New York?” Big Buddy asked me.
“Uh, no, I guess they don’t,” I said.
“Of course not. And that’s exactly why we can’t have you roaming the neighborhood. Think of the quandary Daenerys Targaryen had in Game of Thrones when her dragons were feasting on livestock from the farms of her subjects!”
And he’s right. A Buddy on the loose would cause all sorts of panic and other problems. I don’t want to be responsible for what happens when a bunch of humans freak out and go recklessly running in every direction, terrified I’m going to catch them.
If it takes sacrifice on my part to keep people comfortable, then I’m willing to endure the hardship of living indoors with a servant who heeds my every beck and call. It’s just the honorable thing to do.
Your friend, Buddy
Buddy the Tiguar
Dear Buddy,
Hey, pal! How have you been?
Friendly in Florida
Hey Friendly,
I’ve been handsome, how have you been?
Buddy
Dear Buddy,
You’re not a tiger! Or a jaguar! You’re a chubby, sedentary, spoiled house cat with an enabler of a human who encourages your delusions of being a powerful big cat!
Just stop already, it’s embarrassing!
Cringing In Connecticut
Dear Cringing,
First of all, I am a tiger/jaguar, or a tiguar if you will. I just haven’t hit my growth spurt yet. My human assures me it’s gonna happen.
I also asked my human if it’s true that he’s “an enabler” who encourages my supposed delusions. His response: “That’s absurd. Who’s a big, bad cat? You are, aren’t you? Yes, you are!”
So obviously you’re a hater and soon you’ll see me prowling the jungle with David Attenborough talking about how dangerous I am! Just wait!
The mercurial tabby cat tried to convince Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth to bomb the Isle of Dogs, White House officials grudglingly acknowledged.
The controversy over leaked war plans expanded Monday after new reports revealed a journalist was not the only outsider added to a text group between senior members of the administration.
Buddy the Cat, a domestic tabby from New York, was also invited to the group and subsequently made privy to classified information, the White House acknowledged.
While Atlantic editor Jeffrey Goldberg observed the text conversation between senior members of the Trump administration without participating in the exchange, sources say Buddy the Cat tried to convince Pete Hegseth, the defense secretary, to bomb London’s Isle of Dogs.
In addition, White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt grudgingly acknowledged Buddy was able to convince Hegseth and Kristi Noem, the homeland security secretary, to send federal agents to the home of a cat named Smudge, describing him as “a gastronomic terrorist who hates America and will stop at nothing to claim all the snacks for himself.”
When administration officials denied knowing Buddy the Cat, social media users began unearthing dozens of photos of the feline associating with national leaders. No one knows how deep the conspiracy goes.
Initially White House officials denied the feline was given access to the text group, with Leavitt calling it “an egregious example of the fake news media inventing absurd stories,” but they were forced to acknowledge the veracity of the incident when confronted with copies of the exchange.
“Folks, we are cleared for go, CENTCOM has given us the green light for the fifth strike package,” Hegseth wrote. “F-18 launch imminent.”
“Are we just going to ignore the Isle of Dogs?” Buddy the Cat texted in response.
The text caused confusion, with several senior officials speculating on the sender’s identity.
“The contact says ‘BTC.’ Who the heck is this?” Director of National Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard asked.
“It’s [US Marine Corps] Gen. [Barrington T.] Caldwell,” replied Mike Waltz, the National Security Advisor. “Got to be.”
Noem also initially tried to distance herself from the scandal by claiming she didn’t know Buddy, but photographs soon emerged of the tabby cat lounging on the podium while she spoke at CPAC in 2003.
It’s not clear how senior White House officials were convinced by a cat that a London neighborhood was related to an Iran-backed Shia militia in Yemen, but an anonymous official credited Buddy the Cat for “being very convincing. We all thought he was the general.”
While the feline’s suggestion to bomb the London neighborhood was co-signed by Hegseth, it was ultimately rejected by CENTCOM, which noted the UK is an allied country and there was no indication “terrorist dogs” populated the London neighborhood.
More successful was Buddy the Cat’s suggestion to send a federal strike team to the home of Smudge, his archrival.
The chonky cat screeched his innocence after heavily armed and armored federal agents smashed the door down and found him mid-bowel movement in his litter box.
“1337et: Agents have located the CHONKY little jerk in his domicile, where they found fresh explosive materials in his litter box and a suspiciously well-stocked cupboard,” Buddy wrote to the Houthi PC Small Group.
“Congrats, general!” Waltz wrote, while Noem called the arrest “a major win for American freedom and security.”
Reporters, former military officers and intelligence officials criticized the leak, pointing out that if a cat could get access to highly sensitive war plans — and influence them in real time — America’s enemies could do the same. But White House officials pushed back on the criticism, saying it was overblown.
“So someone put a cat on a text chain,” Leavitt said, snapping at a reporter during a press briefing. “So what? You guys are, like, being so dramatic!”
“If you keel over and die, I’ll know not to eat the food,” Buddy told his human.
NEW YORK — Driven to paranoia by reports of spreading bird flu, Buddy the Cat has appointed his human as his food taster, sources confirmed.
The decision was made on Friday after the self-described “brave and fearless” tabby cat heard a news report about new cases of bird flu, including a cluster of the deadly virus in several cats in Hunterdon County, New Jersey, only 60 miles from Casa de Buddy.
Little Buddy made the act official, naming his human as “praegustator,” a title borne by imperial food tasters of ancient Rome.
“Your lunch, Your Meowjesty,” Buddy’s human, Big Buddy, said as he placed a bowl of chicken pate and fresh water before the feline.
Buddy looked at his human.
“What?” Big Buddy asked. “You want me to eat it for you, too?”
Big Buddy chuckled, but Little Buddy remained stone-faced.
“As a meowter of fact, I do,” the feline said. “Dig in.”
Big Buddy made a disgusted face.
“I’m not eating that, that’s your food, little dude,” he said. “What’s gotten into you?”
Buddy chuffed derisively.
“Bird flu, that’s what!” he said. “If you keel over and die, I’ll know there’s bird flu in the food!”
“Taste my food, human!”
The human rolled his eyes.
“If I die, who feeds you? Who gets your claws unstuck from the door screen, rubs your head and tells you what a brave little guy you are? Who serves as your human pillow? Who gives you scritches while you purr and tells you about your website, and how many people all over the world love you?”
Buddy’s satellite dish ears twitched.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted. “But I’m still not eating that until I know it’s safe!”
Big Buddy picked up the bowl.
“Fine,” he said. “I’m sure Smudge next door will be thrilled with another meal.”
Buddy’s eyes went wide.
“Do not give my food to that…that scoundrel!” he meowed indignantly.
Big Buddy sighed. “Then we’re back to square one.”
“Yes,” Little Buddy said. “Now eat the food, human!”
Top image: Food tasters at the Feast of Bartolomeo Colleoni in honor of Christian I of Denmark, 1467/ Wikimedia Commons
Buddy’s back at it, trying to befriend big cats. Emboldened by his success with the tolerant and wise jaguars, the reckless tabby has his sights set on the savanna and its temperamental predators, the leopards. Can Buddy win the admiration of these notoriously dangerous felids, or will he end up as a light snack for a spotted cat?
VIRUNGA NATIONAL PARK, Democratic Republic of Congo — “What the heck is that?”
A leopardess raised her head in response to her mate’s question, gazing down from the sturdy limb of an acacia tree where she’d taken refuge from the scorching midday sun.
Two hundred yards ahead, a tiny gray cat was padding toward them, picking his way carefully around rocks and occasionally disappearing in the high grass.
“There’s nothin’ that a hundred men on Mars could ever do,” the little feline sang as he walked. “I bless the rains down in Africa! I bless the rains down in…”
The diminutive feline stopped near the base of the tree and looked up at the leopards.
The adult leopards were momentarily stunned until one of the cubs awoke from her nap, spotted Buddy and exclaimed: “Look, mommy, lunch!”
The small cat flashed a wide smile.
“That’s a great idea! I’ve already eaten, but you know what they say: a lunch a day barely keeps the rumbles at bay! I’m a three-lunch cat, myself. So what are we having?”
Another cub piped up.
“That’s not lunch, that’s a snack!” he told his sister.
“And what a cute little snack he is!” the female cub said, gracefully dropping from her napping spot in the tree.
Buddy’s eyes bulged.
“You’re…you’re talking about me?”
The male cub did a squeaky impression of a roar.
“Do you see any other single-serve snacks around?”
Buddy licked his lips, his effort to hide his fear betrayed by his rising hackles and tail, which now resembled a quivering spiked club.
“I…I…I am a cat,” he said in his best impression of an authoritative meow. “I’m practically your cousin!”
The female was just paces away now and moving too fast for Buddy’s liking as he backpedaled.
“The question is,” she said, “are you tasty like cousin Serval or cousin cheetah?”
Credit: RudiHulshof/iStock
Buddy changed tactics.
“This is an outrage! Not even the tigers tried to eat me! This is…this is, uh, catibalism!”
The cubs were circling him now.
“Mommy, can we have a snack?” the male cub called, looking back at his mother on the tree.
“As long as it doesn’t spoil your dinner later,” came the reply.
“It won’t, mamma!”
Buddy gulped.
The cubs closed the distance, ready to strike, and Buddy was babbling while pleading for his life when the earth itself shook.
Branches jolted and leaves dropped. A flock of birds nesting in a nearby tree took off, silhouettes etching ephemeral geometric patterns in the sky. In the distance, a baboon shrieked a warning to its troop.
The cubs went from aggressive to retreat in the span of an instant, and even their parents looked alarmed, taking off after their young.
Buddy watched them flee, wondering if he should bolt in another direction as something incomprehensibly gargantuan lumbered toward him, shaking the trees.
He’d emptied his bowels by the time a gigantic head poked through the foliage, followed by the rest of the colossal beast. It was gray-skinned, leathery and bizarre, unlike anything Buddy had ever seen.
“Giant space aliens!” he screamed, turning around and running right into a tree trunk.
“Ahhhhh! Don’t eat me!”
Buddy awoke in a sweat, his fur damp in the soupy, stifling heat.
An entire platoon of the peculiar beasts stood around him, their sizes ranging from 25 Buddies in mass to freakishly large individuals sporting pairs of prodigious teeth that looked like scimitars made of bone.
“Einstein’s awake,” one of them rumbled, and the rest turned from stuffing themselves with leaves to get a better look at the Liliputian animal before them.
“What is that thing?” one of them asked.
“It’s a fun-size cheetah!” one exclaimed confidently.
“No, it’s a baby Serval!” another said. “But the color’s all wrong.”
In the distance, a giraffe poked its head above the tree line, pausing to munch on the silky pink flowers of a mimosa tree.
Buddy was saved from hungry leopards by friendly giant space aliens!
Buddy cautiously pushed himself up on his paws. These aliens did not seem interested in eating him.
“Greetings,” he said. “I am a feline, a cat from planet Earth! What planet do you come from?”
There was a pause, then trumpeting, cacaphonic laughter.
“‘What planet are you from?'” one of the great beasts mimicked, sparking a second round of giggles that sounded like the trombone section of an orchestra, if someone had slipped the players psychedelics.
“We are elephants, and this is our home,” said the leader, a magnificent female. “And you, little one, are fortunate we happened by.”
Buddy puffed himself up.
“I think you mean the leopards were lucky,” he said, flexing his meowscles. “They didn’t want to tangle with these guns.”
The elephants chortled. “Can we keep him? He’s funny!”
The matriarch shook her massive head.
“He is far from home, and he should return before he runs into leopards again, or something worse,” she said.
Buddy looked unsure of himself.
“But I’m homies with the jaguars and the tigers! I thought…you know, I could be down with the leopards too. Us big cats gotta stick together, ya know? It’s hard out there for an apex predator. By the way, got any lunch?”
One of the elephants raised her trunk, pointing east toward a herd of intimidating horned beasts.
“Lunch,” she said. “Think you can take them?”
Buddy gulped.
“Go home, little one.”
Buddy’s version of events!
“So anyway,” Buddy said, addressing his human, “that’s how I impressed the leopards, and they made me their king. In fact, they bestowed the honorific ‘Paka mkubwa na mwenye misuli hodari,’ which means ‘great and mighty muscled cat’ in Swahili!”
“Sounds like you had quite an adventure! That’s impressive, Bud!” Big Buddy said.
“It is! It is!” Buddy said, nodding vigorously.
Big Buddy made a whistling sound.
“Was that before or after you peed yourself in terror?”
“What? I…no, I told you, they made me their king! Where did you hear this, this slander?”
Big Buddy reached for his iPad, pulling up images of a terrified Little Buddy running from leopard cubs on the savanna, Buddy running head-first into a tree, and Buddy cowering before a herd of elephants.
“A wildlife tour was nearby during your ‘coronation,’ but this is probably just a gray tabby who looks exactly like you and happened to be right where you were crowned,” he said. “Congratulations, Your Meowjesty!”
What are you doing, human? It’s bedtime! Mow mow! You’re supposed to be in this bed and laying down so I can use your face as a pillow, drape myself across you, or burrow comfortably against your side to soak up body heat.
Pain In The Bud 