Feline Overlords – Page 9 – Pain In The Bud

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

Festivus 2023: Little Buddy Has Grievances, People!

Today is a Festivus for the rest of us! Get out tbe Festivus pole and prepare for the Feats of Strength and the Airing of Grievances!

Happy Festivus!

December 23 marks the famously anti-consumerist holiday, and this year is the 27th Festivus since it became a national holiday thanks to the Seinfeld episode “The Strike,” which aired on Dec. 18, 1997.

Before that, it was the invention and personal holiday of Daniel O’Keefe, a Reader’s Digest editor. His son Dan, a writer for Seinfeld, introduced Festivus to the rest of us by making it a focal point of the episode.

Festivus is enthusiastically celebrated at la casa de Buddy, providing Little Buddy the opportunity to engage in the Airing of Grievances and, as is tradition, tell everyone how they’ve disappointed him over the past year.

Buddy the Cat with George, Elaine, Jerry and Kramer in the season five episode “The Litter Box.” In the episode, Buddy, Kramer and Kramer’s friend Bob Saccamano scheme to charge felines entry to the beach, billing it as a “luxury litter box.”

With that, we’ll turn it over to Little Buddy’s list of Grievances. No one is spared.

Big Buddy: For being insufficiently devastated when I got sick a few months ago. I expected more tears. Do better next time.

PITB readers: It has recently come to my attention that some of you are laughing at me, not with me. This disturbing news has caused me to question whether you’re being honest when you send correspondence praising my ripped physique or insisting I should be president of the Americats again.

The Internet: For not making me as famous as I should be.

Big Buddy: For being a vegetarian and not having extra turkey in the house!

Big Buddy and PITB readers (again) for tolerating stories about non-cat species and cats who aren’t Buddy! Who cares about owls in Central Park and chonky cats in Poland? This is littlebuddythecat.com NOT fatpolishcats.com!

Trimming Cat Claws Still Sucks

The promise of a revolutionary new method of claw trimming is all hype, sadly.

I was hyped when I saw the headline.

“Cat Owners Rejoice,” the Newsweek headline blares. “Science Can Make Trimming Claws Less Stressful.”

Well if cat owners are rejoicing, it’s gotta be amazing, yeah?

I imagined cat affionados feting the creator of some miraculous new device that keeps cats comfortably restrained and relaxed, or maybe celebrating the discovery of some previously-unknown sound frequency that lulls felines into such a state of carefree bliss that they purr contentedly while we carefully clip their claws.

What I didn’t expect was a “protocol” that amounts to: Touch your cat’s leg. If he doesn’t try to murder you, touch your cat’s paw. If he still doesn’t murder you, trim a single claw. Repeat steps the next time your cat is in an agreeable mood.

That’s it. That’s the revolutionary new method that “science” made for us, according to Newsweek. “Science” must be proud of itself!

With this wonderful new method I should be able to trim one of Bud’s paws by 2067.

Obviously this is not science. It’s a method, not research. It’s well-intentioned and designed to keep cats comfortable, and those are noble goals, but calling it “science” is misleading, just like every other dumb headline that asserts “science says” or something is true “according to science,” as if science is an omniscient entity lounging on pillows, being fed candied figs by worshipful attendants and occasionally dispensing little nuggets of wisdom for our tiny little brains to absorb.

“The designated hitter rule shall henceforth be abolished,” Science says betwixt pulls from a hookah. “Fifty years of conclusive OPS plus FIP and OAVG data dictate it must be so.”

Come to think of it, that probably is what most Americans think science is. The other half think it’s Anthony “I Am Soyence” Fauci.

Where were we? Ah yes, cat claws!

The truth is I’ve give up on trimming Bud’s claws. If I notice a really long one I’ll try to trim it, but otherwise I leave the job to him and his 4-foot scratching post.

Maybe that makes me a bad caretaker, but I challenge anyone who’d stick me with that label to try trimming Buddy’s claws.

The little dude goes from chill and relaxed to demonic in a millisecond. He yowls, he thrashes, he flails with claws out and tries to bite any flesh he can reach, no matter how careful I am to try at the “right” time, how gentle I handle him, how careful I am to avoid the quick.

Bribe him with treats? Hah! He will stop yowling and thrashing about with murderous intent just long enough to gobble down the yums, then return to being a whirlwind of claws and teeth without skipping a beat.

And you should hear him. It sounds like I’m torturing Elmo, for crying out loud.

Thankfully he doesn’t hold a grudge and if I give up on trimming, he’ll be ready to plop down into my lap within minutes.

It’s generally understood that all that ghastly claw trimming nonsense is behind us, and we shall speak no more of it.

Speaking of ghastly business, the below video started auto-playing while I was on the throne and filling the idle time by searching for cat-related news:

@laurenkimripley
We love him #orangecat #catsoftiktok #orangecatbehavior #orangecatsoftiktok #orangekitten
♬ Hey Birdie.. Take care of you birdie – Manal

Bud, who had accompanied me to the human litter box chamber, looked alarmed and disturbed.

I laughed.

“See? You could have gotten stuck with someone who baby talked you, and then you wouldn’t need claw trimming as an excuse to kill humans.”

Now I know exactly what to do to herd him into the bedroom next time I need to vacuum.

“It’s okay, birdie! I’m gonna take care of you, birdie! Okay?!”

Ah, welcome to Casa de Buddy, home of two assholes!

Dear Buddy: Why Do Humans Watch Horror Movies?

Dear Buddy,

What’s with these horror movies? My human likes to curl up on the couch under a blanket, with me protectively in her lap of course, and watch these ghastly movies about serial killers, ghost infestations and lurking monsters.

Why would anyone want to scare themselves? You don’t see us creating an entire film genre dedicated to horrors like empty food bowls or late dinners, so why do humans make these movies?

Your fan,
Mildly Curious in Manhattan

Dear Mildly Curious,

This is a question I’ve pondered for some time, inasmuch as I care about anything human-related to ponder. My human also watches those movies and he also does so with me sitting protectively in his lap.

Then I realized something. None of the people in these horror movies have cats!

The family from The Conjuring? They have a dog. Stanley Tucci’s family in that crappy movie about flying monsters that kill everyone? Dog! The family in that other crappy movie about giant axolotl-type things that terrorize people living in a coastal community?

You guessed it! They have a dog too.

You see where I’m going with this, right? Humans who serve us cats literally have no fear because no monster or crazy cereal killer would ever risk attacking a home with a cat in it.

Suppose a hungry evil monster is let loose in my neighborhood and is making its way through the street at night, then sees me in all my meowscular, intimidating, tigeresque glory sitting at the window, keeping watch over the nocturnal world.

That monster is going to skip right over The Buddy Domicile and go in search of easier pickings because it sure as heck doesn’t want to tangle with me and my claws. I have that effect on monsters.

They may be monsters, but they’re not stupid. Breaking into a home with a cat is like breaking into a t-rex enclosure. You’re asking to get mauled by a huge, meowscular apex predator who will eviscerate you and look handsome and badass while doing it.

People who serve us cats know this. They know no monster or killer or robber would be stupid enough to go near a house with a cat. They can probably sense my meowscularity two miles away!

So sometimes our humans may want to know what it feels like to be vulnerable, what it would be like if they didn’t have tigers like us guaranteeing that no intruder approaches. THAT is why they watch horror movies. Take it to the bank!

Your genius friend,

Buddy the Cat

Adoption Ad Warns Cat Will ‘Own You, Your House, Everything You Hold Dear’

Quinn the cat has “the uncanny ability to make people feel unwelcome in her presence!”

Quinn the cat lives separate from feline genpop, she doesn’t suffer fools and she’s got a well-documented habit of smacking people, cats and dogs.

The infamously disagreeable feline is up for adoption and the shelter where she lives has been up front about her unique personality, saying she might do well with a misanthrope who would appreciate Quinn’s dislike of any visitors and intolerance for anyone who doesn’t directly serve her.

“Tired of visitors coming to your house? Adopt Quinn! She has an uncanny ability to make people feel unwelcome in her presence!” shelter staff wrote in Quinn’s adoption post.

She’ll tolerate her caretaker, but just barely, staff at the Washington County Humane Society in Maryland joked.

Yet they’re confident there’s a home for Quinn, insisting that “surely there’s someone out there who would appreciate her icy stare and her sudden smacks!”

Of course Quinn could blossom into a happy, sweet cat once she’s living in her forever home and she realizes she’s not going back to the shelter or the streets. Most cats do poorly in shelters where fear and stress overwrite their usual personalities. Even the most outgoing, sweet cat can appear depressed and antisocial when locked in a cage most of the time, without people to love them, play with them and make them feel safe.

Quinn’s direct adoption page (scroll down to adoptable cats) says she’s three years old and wasn’t claimed by her owner, so who knows what kind of traumas she may have endured in her short life?

Quinn currently lives in the shelter’s office where she “rules with an iron paw.” Anyone interested in adopting her should ask for her by name, the shelter said. Contact the shelter at the link above or by calling 301-733-2060.