Vet check

Well, I'm just back from the vet and got an excellent bill of health. The vet said my weight is great and that I'm well muscled and very fit, which he said was a rarity among cats these days, but comes from my hardly ever being inside. So, Chenna dear, I guess you're not alone in the being-starved-for-my-health cat files. You have my commiserations. Meanwhile, I should get outside and back on that roof. Don't know why I came down in the first place -- ah, yes, the promise of milk, and instead I got poked and prodded and jabbed. Life is so unfair.

What Chenna's really doing while E is away

Yes, yes, so this was taken at the island, but now we know, cats, that our friend Chenna is collaborating. Oh, all right, she's only collaborating with E!

Here's what we do know: the devilcat writes -- this blog is proof of that -- and here's the photographic evidence. She's working on a novel, I hear. What does everyone think it's about? The stupidity of man? Of dogs? The soft, fat bellies of mice and how good their gizzards taste? Or is she perhaps in the planning stages -- and writing the story of a very naughty cat who's owner has gone away, and all of the naughty things she's going to get up to. If I were E, I'd be scared. Very, very scared.

When the human's away ...

... the cat will play! Doesn't E know this? Ooh, with such a naughty cat in the house I hate to think what she might come home to. So, all your readers are wondering, Devilcat, what you have in store for her.

Will you shred the curtains? Sharpen your claws on her lounge suite? Leave fleas in her bed? What about a deposit on the floor somewhere? (You might have to leave this till she's almost back or the neighbours might clean it up, and that would defeat the whole purpose.) Oh, what has come over me? I think I must be channelling you!

Oh, my life is so ho-hum in comparison. It's turning colder, and I want those no good dogs out of the house!

And do you like my new blue writing? I've decided that as guest blogger I need my own colour -- what do you think, oh naughty one?

Dead

And for all we laughed, there was a dead possum in our yard, and I swear I was not behind it. A friend of ours found a dead possum under its favourite branch of her tree. She said with the heat there are dead possums and bats all over Melbourne. Sad.

Where are you, Chenna? E hasn't starved you to death yet has she?

Not dead either

Well, I just want to say that I was so inspired by your post that at dinnertime tonight, I didn't show up. And after the 45 degree heat, my family feared the worst. It was naughty, I know, but I couldn't help it. Just once, I wanted to have a Chenna moment, and I can't really come at all that bitey scratchy stuff. I shouldn't have done it, especially since I got to go for a walk this morning before 7 am, and the stupid dogs got left home. Ha ha, I think that's very funny. Here's proof -- me having a lovely roll in the swamp. Yes, evidence of fighting, but that's just to prove I'm tough in my own way, Chenna baby!

Living without dogs

This last week my humans were away, so like Chenna I was out and about, living it up, and -- even better -- chilling out in my own backyard. Why is that such a big deal, I hear you ask, and the answer, of course, is dogs. You see, while the dogs are there, I am not.

The Blonde Bimbo's okay. She's a big klutzy bumbling thing -- she even wags her bum, not just her tail, when she sees me. But Little Red Rat Face (also known in cat circles as the Red Terror) wants to eat me. I know it. She knows it. The humans know it. The only one who doesn't seem to know it is the Blonde Bimbo, but she's dumb. As in dog dumb. Oh, yes, she *is* a dog. I forget. (I am so witty!)

So the humans went away, and the dogs went away. I don't know if they all went away together -- I suspect not because the dogs went first. But if they did all go together I would be entirely put out, because obviously a cat is so much better company than a dog. But anyway the important thing is I had the backyard to myself -- the backyard and the aviary. I could sit all day watching for mice. Bliss! I could wander at will. I could laze around the deck and not have to get to the swamp via my tightrope act on the fence. Bliss.

But, of course, all good things must come to an end (see, I'm wise, too), and they came back: the dogs, the humans, though not in that order. And then the backyard was again somewhere I have to be selective about visiting. Only yesterday I forgot. I was ambling down the yard when I spied a human hanging up wet things on the strange leafless tree, and the two great lunks lying at her feet.

I did what all self-respecting cats did: I froze. Took in the situation. Assessed the danger. Wondered where my brain was and how I'd got myself into that situation. Then I miaowed. It was meant to be a quiet miaow for the human's ears only (better to let sleeping dogs lie and all of that), only it came out louder than I meant. The Blonde Bimbo got up, wagging her bum, and walked towards me. I backed away, not so much worried about her but that she might attract the attention of Little Red Rat Face. Fortunately, though, it didn't happen -- that idiot was still lying safely in snoozeland. All the same, I made for the fence. No use taking unnecessary risks, eh?

Four mice in under twenty-four hours

Yes, how great am I, oh Chenna-devil cat? But you know what? I can't take all the credit. There's some new and exciting developer out there who deserves at least some of the credit for designing the humane mousetrap. Because, you see, the thing is that this trap -- kind of like a little tunnel with a trapdoor -- doesn't kill the mice, doesn't even hurt them. All very well for those silly, squeamish humans, but then what are they going to do with this mouse that they've caught? Let it go? I don't think so.

The most humane thing, of course, is to give it to the cat. Then, the poor little rodent, they reason, at least has a chance of getting away. Let me say this, humans: we cats are rolling on the floor, laughing our arses off. A chance to get away. Yeah, right.

I'm feeling full now. Decidedly full. It's a nice feeling.

Psst -- do you hear what I hear?

Cats of the world: be alert. I've heard whispers. I've seen photos. Cat proofing. I know it's out there. They might tell us it's to keep our turf clear of other cats marauding, but that's not the real truth. The real truth is that they're trying to keep us in! Us -- I mean what possible harm could we cause? We go out. We rid the streets of pestilence-carrying rats. We sing beautiful songs at night. We sort through rubbish bins. We don't leave messy little piles like those stupid canines, so what possible objection can there be to our being out on the street? What's not to love about a cat? I ask you!

Cats of the world -- take an inventory now. Suss out all those little places humans don't expect we can fit through. Nut out leaping points in case normal access points are covered up with cladding. We are smart. We can find out way out! Dare to find the ways. Go, cats! Go. Remember: nothing and no-one can keep a good cat in!

Chenna, Chenna, where art thou?

Hmm, days have passed and still no Chenna! My cat conspiracy theories are going into overdrive! Cats of Melbourne unite! We must sleuth out what has happened to that black-and-white devilcat. After all, curiosity is our thing, isn't it?

So, here's what I think has happened...

Ellen has left food out and those pesky little mices have been eating it, only it wasn't just any food: it was genetically modified mouse food, and those mices have eaten it and eaten it, and there bellies have distended, and their little whiskers have twitched, and their eyes have glazed over, and their bones stretched and cracked and ... and ... and they have grown, and husked off their skins like seedpods from a tree. Anyone know Jones, the famous ginger tom? Starred in the movie Alien alongside a few lesser human actors. That cat could sure act! Oh, I have shivers just thinking about it -- his big face as the alien descended from the ceiling. But I digress. Where was I? Oh, yes, the mices have grown and grown until they are monster-mice, and the monster-mice have got Chenna cornered somewhere, and though Chenna calls and calls Ellen doesn't hear her because she's so engrossed in her writing. I mean how bizarre is that? People -- I just don't get them at all.

So poor Chenna is calling and the monster-mice are whittling away the space between them and her, and if we don't get in fast and rescue her they will devour her. They will! Mark my words. Anyway, maybe you've got a better theory. Why not post it as a comment? Thanks, cool cats.

The score

Mice: 1 (escape)
Beth: 3

Oi, Chenna, where are you? Down on the island or something? You're very quiet. And you know what they say happens when the cat's away... Maybe you'll be able to beat my tally for the fortnight?

Love those mices to pieces

Ha ha! I got another one! Cop this one, Chenna: it was on the kitchen bench, running along as if it owned the place. Now, normally, I'm not allowed up there -- as if cats should have such boundaries! I mean, come on! You want me to catch the mice -- you let me be where the mice are.

So, I see the mouse: dark brown, fat, furry. It's running. I'm running. Leap. I'm up. And it's gone. So is the expensive hot chocolate Christmas present powder -- all over the drawers and floor. But who cares about that? Disgusting stuff anyway. I mean, seriously, why can't they do hot choc with sardine overtones? Then I might be interested.

So, I get the mouse, and what do they do? Throw me outside. Are they happy? No, they are not. I'm not supposed to be on the bench. I've made a mess. Yeah, but I caught the mouse. I CAUGHT the mouse! Seriously, people.

Humans -- I just don't get them at all!

More photos

Yes, well, I think it's disgusting that all the photos are of you, oh-Chenna-princess-and-devilcat-evileye, so here are some of me! Me with the blonde bimbo, and me with little red ratface. Can you tell which one I prefer? And can you tell which one is straining at the lead, trying to eat me! The body language says it all really.

Paranoid cat? What paranoid cat?

The incriminating evidence!

Okay, so I'm home alone, nothing better to do, so I'm reading Chenna's blog, as you do as any good, self-respecting cat. And there's a post about Chenna being away at the island. All well and good. And then I think, hang on a minute -- T was away last weekend too. Now that in itself doesn't mean much, except that while I was walking across the keyboard, as you do as any good, self-respecting cat, I saw a photo of a cat on T's computer. Now, that's normally okay too -- when that cat happens to be me! But this isn't me, and this isn't just any cat. This is little-miss-black-and-white. Little-miss-I'm-not-a-matron-cat-and-I-get-to-go-on-holidays. All well and good if she's going away with E. But she was away with T too! That's just not fair!

I mean, why didn't I get to go away on holidays? I travel well. Okay, I admit, I'm a bit vocal in the car, but what good, self-respecting cat isn't? I ask you. I don't try to escape. I can lounge just as well on any deck as any little-miss! I mean, look at this. Here is the evidence:


Does that look like me on that deck? (All right, it's a bit hard to see, but you can see the little stinking bits of white on her.) Does it look like me? No, it does not. And I can assure you it is not.

So why is Chenna taking my human away? Why was Chenna chosen *before* me? I think it's because she really is the devilcat. And she's turned on the evil eye. Want proof? Take a look at this:


I'm not paranoid at all. Am I? Am I?

In search of love and attention?

Oh, no, no, no, no, no, Chenna. We cats have to be independent. Rely on ourselves to keep us amused. Or the six possums (two big and four little) in the palm tree. Or avoiding the horrendous teeth of little red ratface. (See, she doesn't even deserve capitals!)

Trouble is when the family get friendly, they usually want something. The other day it was pussy-tossing-at-the-mouse day again. Zam. I got the furry little blighter, and then I ran under the coffee table with it and growled at everyone. They laughed. Can't imagine why. Humans! They have no sense of propriety.

Rats on toast

Chenna sounds like she's been doing a sterling job with the old mice. Two. Good job. Me, I've been dragged inside several times the last few weeks on the pretext of catching a mouse. A big mouse, they say, and then shove my head down at the tiniest hole underneath the dishwasher, as if that might conceal some tiny rodent. Well, I'm just a bit disdainful of all that. I'm a cat after all. Show me the mouse! Otherwise, leave me to my own devices. That's my game, my spin on life. If only those pesky humans would catch on...

Fun, fun, fun

Tonight I took the blonde bimbo and little red ratface out for a walk. Man, were those dogs ever restless, especially little red because she's had a sore paw, and the vet said she had to rest it! Ha ha, didn't I have fun teasing her through the window though, earlier! She was inside, and I was out. I kept coming up and then running off. Really agitates her. I LOVE it.

So, anyway, I teed up the humans to put the stupid canines on leads, and then I led them off. I love walking at night. Hardly any dogs out, and very few cats. Just the naughty ones like me who refuse to come in. Most of the time, I followed the dogs, trotting along happily behind, and when they split up, I went with the blonde bimbo, because really she's a nice dog and most of the time we like each other. Of course, some times I like to smack her in the face too. No reason. Just to remind her of who's boss. Ratface tries to eat me though. She chased me tonight -- just before the teasing incident. That's why I had no pity for her.

Anyway, I had the best walk. Even saw a big tabby cat, but when he saw the bimbo he wasn't game to say anything and just slunk away. Not sure why he was scared of her -- didn't he know I'm boss?

Found opportunity

While Chenna's boundaries seem to be contracting, mine are expanding. Hear that world? Today the neighbourhood, tomorrow the suburb! Love these megalomania moments! That's right: we're feeding another cat, and that gives me the right to go over every day (twice a day), sneak into the kitchen and eat her food. And her bits taste better than my bits. The grass is greener and all of that -- though why any animal would want to eat grass is beyond me. Where's the thrill of the hunt? Grass doesn't exactly run very fast!

Dinner out

So here's the thing: the other day the family got invited out to dinner. It wasn't far. Just over the road. The family goes and feeds their cat from time to time. This cat -- you should see this cat. It is the fattest cat that ever lived. And it gets kangaroo meat for dinner! Every night. Me, well, I prefer my tins -- as in, I *really* prefer my tins -- but we're all different I suppose.

So, I go over expecting to be welcomed, and what do they do? They laugh. Oh, ha ha ha ha. Very funny. Beth has come to visit. I mean a family invite's a family invite, right? So do they invite me in? No, they do not. Do they feed me? Alas, no. I mean, I know I was a few minutes late and all -- and admittedly one of the kids did slip me something when they were all outside, but still! Not only did I *not* get fed there, but then they all moved inside and left me outside. How rude is that? I kept calling, and I'm sure they could hear me but they ignored me. Me! The cat! They ignored the cat -- can you believe it! Perhaps I'd better read those devilcat tips more closely after all. And then the fattest cat of all time took it upon herself to come and yell at me and tell me to get off her turf. Did I listen? No, I did not. I took my time, yelled some more, and then waited for them to take me home. A good night was not had by all. Most certainly not.

Blog anniversary

As of yesterday, I am now a veteran blogger of one whole year! I never thought I would come to appreciate how therapeutic it can be to rant about my life and all its irritations. I mean, you can see why I'm a devilcat, can't you?

As this year draws to a close, I'd like to thank all my readers, especially Beth, my occasional guest blogger. Although she can be a pain in the backside, Beth's posts offer insightful observations on how to be a matron cat -- not that I'd advocate that exactly, but it takes all kinds to make up the feline world. And Beth certainly has the matron angle down pat. (he he)

So for 2008 you can expect more devilcat tips, more insights from Beth into the feline Psyche (although I'll make sure she doesn't give too much away), and more stories about ME!

Why cats hate wind

I've heard all kinds of reasons: that the wind spooks us, that we're flighty like horses, that the howl of the wind sounds like a wolf and frightens us. What nonsense! No self-respecting cat is spooked by a little bit of wind. True, we might like to chase around little bits of debris that are eddying, but spooked we are not. Oh, no no no. The true reason is -- are you listening closely? -- the true reason is that we're just like humans (only don't let them hear you say it or, if you do, don't say you heard it from me) in that we hate bad hair days! And that's what the wind does. Any self-respecting cat will tell you that!