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.