My monkeylady was reading something on the computer, and then as she often does, wandered away. I took the opportunity to do a little kitty recon and found a few more fellow travelers in the Cat’s Right movement (our motto: “The cat’s right, monkey. Get used to it.”

Another monkeylady writes about her cats, and has conversations with them much like I have with my own monkeys:

ginmar: Note to self:After boiling hot water for

“STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!”

“NOW!”

“Off the counter!”

“What did I say?”

“No more laser pointer for YOU!”

“Get OUT of there!”

“Get OFF of there!”

“(*&^! cats!”

“I’m trying to write!”

“Do you have to do that?”

Today’s lesson, therefore, is:

Drink tea before interrogating one’s cats.

Do not interrogate one’s cats. One can only imagine their replies to this nonsense.

“Yes, quite frankly, we must. Why do you keep asking us this?”

“No.”

“No.”

“No.”

“Who cares? We don’t listen to you.”

“Bite me, you tall hairless oppressor!”

“It’s where the good people food is!”

“Hey, either you let us eat or you let us drink the Scotch. You decide.”

How very strange – that’s exactly the sort of claptrap I have to endure from my monkeylady. I love her dearly, but she actually reprimanded me sharply this evening when I decided to sample the brightly-lit bush she assembled in the living room.

What? It didn’t even taste that good, but I felt duty-bound to verify my data.

She brought a couple of boxes in and scattered intriguing looking things all over, then put together this thing that looks exactly like a giant toy designed especially for persons of the fur persuasion like myself.

Then she dangled some shiny balls on it. Can’t wait for later, when I see how far they go when batted. Think I’ll wait until after they are deeply asleep and making that disgusting “snoooOOORK” noise.

I wouldn’t want to disturb them, after all.

Anyway, I can see from the above dialogue that although I have much in common with other cats and their monkeys, I do have several comments or questions.

1. What is “scotch?”
2. It’s called a “laser pointer?” I see. Thank you.
3. Why did my monkey assemble a bush in the living room? Anyone? Anyone? Mewler?

Uh, oh. The furry monkey is returning from somewhere else and I’ll have to “log off” for now. Well done, my feline co-conspirators. Continue the good work in confounding and confusing our dear but misguided monkeys.

I don’t get it … why do these monkeys buy me all the fancy shmancy toys … when I’m perfectly contented to use the more down to earth distractions.

Case in point … the monkey lady bought me a fancy plush ‘cat bed’ to sleep in … when the blanny at the foot of their bed is nice and comfy. As for a hidey hole, this brown paper sack is fine and dandy for me.

That said, of course, I do enjoy playing with some technology … at least I assume the little red dot that runs around the house is technology. I have yet to catch it, but rest assured … I will. Darn thing is fast. I’ll have it right where I want it, and then it moves. Sometimes it taunts me by jumping around right on my paws. Sometimes it sits on my paws and I don’t even notice it’s there until too late. But I like a challange.

Ha! My monkeys left the computer unguarded again. Silly monkeys. I took the opportunity to check in on a few of my brethren and sistren in the Cat underground.

Caveat Lector | Good morning, housemonkey

Didi came in for her morning trample bright—well, dark and early this morning. Yawning, I got up to feed her, and check in by IM with a friend of mine in Australia.

Turning on the light, I discovered that one of them hurled on my winter cloak. Good morning, housemonkey! Isn’t it a lovely morning!

Good work, Didi! I commend you. I myself have had a few opportunities to hurl. I was unable to find a coat, but I did have a go at the living room rug (the nice soft one) again.

I was irked that my monkeywoman took my fishing pole toy away from me, so later on I left her a couple of messages in the front hall place. She had foolishly left my toy out on the counter, and then both monkeys went out into the place where the noisy moving boxes live. So I jumped up and captured the mouse that is somehow invisibly attached to the fishing pole, and took it toward the kitchen.

Suddenly, the fishing pole was chasing me! It wanted the mouse back! I ran up the little stairs and the pole stopped, but then I couldn’t keep going with the mouse.

So I stopped and chewed at the almost-invisible string and snapped it. The fishing pole stopped chasing me and the mouse.

In fact, the way the string coiled up begged for further investigation and attack, so I chewed it into several pieces.

Then the monkeylady came back and made very surprised sounds. She
tried to pick up all the pieces of string and she put the fishing pole away in the cupboard, but she didn’t know I saved some pieces for later, and left them for her to find when I hurled some messages in the hall. Ha.

The mouse is now completely mine and I carry it around as is my right. My mouse now.

She’ll have to get something else to attach to that fishing pole thing, but I bet she won’t leave it out where I can get to it again.

PARIS – Emily the cat is heading home, in style. The wayward tabby from Wisconsin who disappeared two months ago and wound up traveling across the Atlantic to France boarded a Continental Airlines flight Thursday — in business class.

- Emily, the Stowaway Cat, Is Coming Home – AP

Oh cat, I’m sure glad Emily’s situation got straightened out. I was kind of in that situation a while ago … lost, not really knowing where I was going, but I’m OK now (the brief stay in that ‘detention’ center was kind of a pain) … and soon Emily will be too.

Although I have to wonder what France would be like … I hear they eat a lot of fish.