The Power of the Nuzzle

My two-legger is almost always taking her nap during the dark-sky time. When she finally gets down to her nap it is a pretty long one, but that’s fine by me, as I like getting a few extra zzz’s next to her (she does make for a warm sleeping companion, which I appurrciate).  More beauty sleep means I am more beautiful in the morning – if indeed I could be any lovelier still. Even so, I never take chances and so never say no to more nap time. Good thing for my two-legger I am so accommodating of her odd napping style.

However, sometimes, during these dark but cozy hours, I am awoken by a deep kitty wisdom – a wisdom I know is as old as the world and as true – when the sky is still dark and the stairs are cold to the paw. Don’t ask me to explain it. As sophisticated as my cognitive powers are, I cannot be expected to articulate complex messages from the Beyond. It’s rather special that my little body can pick up supernatural currents like a purr-operated radio, even if the only message it communicates to me is a growly belly and a springy energy that tells me it is time to leave my boudoir (and for my two-legger to follow). I never argue with wisdom from the Beyond, especially if it thinks an early breakfast is of utmost importance.

A good sleeping companion makes all the difference (Photo by Jackie Fritsche)

Unfortunately my two-legger is rather skeptical of the Beyond and my interpretation of it. I would be offended by her reluctance to obey the power behind my growling belly if I didn’t know she was a dullard as far as the dark-sky currents of kitty wisdom are concerned. She just doesn’t know any better. And so I must patiently persuade her to emerge at a darker hour than she is wont, though she may grumble and groan sleepily. My persuasion strategy involves announcing my wakefulness repeatedly in a pitch she cannot ignore, and when all else fails, I nuzzle her. My nuzzles have a curious power over my two-legger, and they are very useful at times like these. After a few well-administered nuzzles we are invariably padding down the stairs towards my favourite cupboard.

As I enjoy my breakfast, I hear the clink of cups and things in the kitchen, which means my two-legger is joining me in my ritual! I pat myself on the back. I am training her well. Soon she will bound down the stairs with me for this divinely ordained ceremony. I am happy. I will nuzzle my two-legger for this.

An Official Warning to Canine-Smelling Intruder

It has been an odious morning. An incident occurred, one which I hope will be the last of its kind considering its depravity. I am loath to speak of of such perversion! But in case such behaviour is considered “normal” amongst two-leggers (and let’s face it, their breed has authored stranger things), I feel it my feline duty to speak out against such . . . such . . . treatment, for lack of a better word. I suppose I should explain . . .

I was enjoying my day’s first siesta on a warm sofa spot with my two-legger. She was employed in some unimportant task and nestled by my side, when the doorbell rang. I stirred in protest as my two-legger rose to attend to the intrusion. I thought I had trained her well enough to know that strangers are not welcome – rather they are FORBIDDEN – during nap time. But instead of my two-legger turning the hopeful at the door away in hushed tones as she should have, she issued an enormous whoop and welcome for the uninvited visitor (as if the doorbell hadn’t disturbed me enough).

Not Amused (Photo by Clint Gardner)

Before I had a moment to process that my very own two-legger had betrayed me by allowing a stranger into my sleepy boudoir, I was unceremoniously jerked into an unknown lap. All this without so much as a “by-your-leave”. But that was not the end of it – soon after I was betrayed and woken, I proceeded to suffer the indignities of rough and inexperienced petting, the details of which I cannot bear to describe. The miscreant guest smelled like canine and mauled like the worst possible two-legger a cat might cross paths with at the best of times – and this, as you may have gathered, was not the best of times.

I did what any such assaulted feline would do: I inserted the claws as far as possible into the offender’s lap, allowing myself to escape during his yelping. As I seethed in my secret hiding place (upstairs) I thought about all the things I should have, could have said to him in the heat of the moment to properly repay him for his behaviour. As I’m sure you have experienced, I found myself full of appropriately livid responses after the opportunity had passed.

I write this in warning to that canine-smelling creature that dared disturb my slumber, and others like him, if such exist. I expect villains like him travel in packs and dwell in some shadowy hideout, far away from the long arm of the law. If ever he or his kind dare(s) to casually “drop by” as happened today, I will be ready to deliver justice, on behalf of all rudely-awakened felines. I assure you that next time, I will be prepared to punish the fellow mercilessly, as is his due. Until then, I wait and prowl.

~FFR

Launching Rescue Mission for My Two-Legger

As a goddess who treads this earth but is in no way limited to it, I am ruled by no earthly power – the very idea of such a circumstance is worthy of my most withering look. I especially disdain that meager contraption that elicits such fear and trepidation from my two-legger: what they call “the clock”. One glance at this piddling trifle sends my two-legger into a blogging frenzy, leaving me – ethereal goddess of immaculate perfection – short on my daily offerings of love and libations of exotic liqueurs. As you know, I am partial to the cool sweet milky stuff, but no sign of it for days! The priorities of bi-pedals go so easily awry.

A Withering Look From a Feline is a Force to be Reckoned With - Photo by Eva

I will not stand the denial my rightful shower of love by that unimpressive pseudo-deity they call “the clock”. At its unspoken command, my two-legger appears to be engaging in a face-off with the blogger machine. As her sole proprietor and role model, I believe the task to detach her inferior claws from the clickety-clack at the blogger falls upon my sleek and lustrous shoulders. She must be reminded, yet again, of her duties to me, and that there are now sunny spots aplenty to cuddle me in.

I will make this two-legger led astray an offer she cannot refuse. I will station myself in all my feline glory in front of her blogger screen and pontificate at length about the evils of not preening oneself many times a day. My divine apparition will demonstrate all she is missing by ignoring me. I would not invest in the education of most two-leggers. Between daily preens and sleeps there are only so many hours in a day for such philanthropy; I must admit, however, a minor chink in my goddessy armour: I do have a soft spot for this one.

FFR’s Wiley Weekly Word: Mom

Seemed to be a special day yesterday for the two-legged bringers of food, so despite this being their job, mine is rather exceptional, so I thought I’d actually start writing again for her.  After all, her vocabulary tutelage has rather dwindled these last few months and goodness know, she could use it.

This week’s word:  Mom

Mom: This is not a word that we felines use, except with the feline that conceived us, washed us and fed us, in those first few days of life.  My two-legger refers to herself as my Mom, which leads me to believe that Moms are the creatures that feed us and respond to our every whim.  I refer to my two-legger as my servant, so maybe Moms are that, only I get a feeling that there is something more. Really hate to admit it, for fear that it will get my two-legger to big for her bridges, but I do believe that something more is Love.

‘My two-legger is somewhat of an exceptional Mom, as she acts as a wonderful heating blanket every night (only someone should really tell her that to be a blanket, she shouldn’t move), she cuts me up the succulent green little tree-like things, and she’s always there for a hug when I need one.’

My 'Mom' in all of cuddliness. Someone just needs to tell the silly two-legger next to her to move on. Those are my hugs.

~FFR

FFR’s Wiley Weekly Word: Blogathon

They’re still at it those crazy two-leggers and will be for another 4 hours.  A few whiskers short if you ask me, but you do have to admire their perseverance.  Just could someone tell me why no one is blogging for a feline charity????

Cross-posted from hummingbird604

This week’s word:  Blogathon

Blogathon: A day that confirms the fact that two-leggers are far below the feline on the evolutionary ladder and really not all that bright.For some reason, these two-leggers spend an entire sunny summer Saturday blogging. One new post every half hour.

‘My two-legger often makes me meow in aspiration, but at least she was not as silly as Raul to join a blogathon and spend a sunny writing a new post every half hour. There is hope for her yet. Now a sleepathon with a cat nap in a new sunny spot every half hour I can totally understand. Also totally get a birdathon, where every half hour we swat a new bird out of the air, especially the little ones that humm incessantly.’

Enjoying myself today on a sleepathon, whilst the insane two-leggers run frazzled on their blogathon.

Enjoying myself today on a sleepathon, whilst the insane two-leggers run frazzled on their blogathon.

~FFR