Tag Archives: cat

Two’s Company and Three’s a Crowd, or There’s Only So Much a Pug Can Take

Believe it or not, dear reader, I am not a pug who asks much of life.  I also consider myself to be fairly tolerant and accommodating. I alluded to there being too much excitement in my apartment lately and that is the topic to which I turn today.

I know Grandma is coming tomorrow, but not to see Lizzie and me. You are probably asking, “Why not?” and the answer is diabolically simple. She and my mom are traveling to Pennsylvania to “just look at” a French bulldog puppy. I, for one, am feeling a huge range of emotions…shock, confusion, betrayal, and outrage. The puppy is not for us, but for Grandma. I cannot understand why she would want to tamper with what is a fine and somewhat equitable arrangement. I mean, really, what is to be gained by such foolhardy and wanton behavior? Look at how I’ve struggled with the inclusion of one simple-minded, weak-willed, nincompoop of a pug (read “Lizzie”) into our family. And at Grandma’s I’ve had to endure the crack-addict antics of an adolescent female cat (read, Zoe) and her arrogant, dismissive consort (read, Oliver). I’ve dealt with all of these inequities with grace, dignity, and patience…but this is a low blow to yours truly. Forgive me, dear reader, but the last thing Grandma and Grandpa need is a peeing, pooping, puking little puppy!

Mom says that Grandma and Grandpa love us so much that they are having a hard time dealing with the yearly separation…that they need a full-time dog of their own. That they will always love us first and that we will still be there for our summers, and that blah blah blah. Does any of this sound familiar, folks? I make no apologies for my resentment. It is just another nail in my proverbial coffin.

I will keep you updated, rest assured.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Here she is...I just don't get it...

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Cat On A Hot Tin Roof, or I’m Not Interested in What You’re Selling

Ah, dear reader, I did have misgivings about writing Monday’s blog but I am both moved and touched by all of your incredibly thoughtful words and good wishes. You must believe me that I had no intention of inspiring such an outpouring when I wrote it. I am as happy, fulfilled, and hungry as I could be, so no more concerns about me, please.

I must disagree with Sigmund Freud who said, “Time spent with cats is never wasted.”  Today, I am addressing an issue, which I introduced earlier, and have let drop for much too long, and that is the silver tabby named Zoë. I hoped by ignoring her she might disappear or even just fade into oblivion. But no, she is here to stay and is certainly an ever-visible presence.

She reminds me of certain people and dogs who cannot respect or recognize boundaries. I am sure you know to what I refer when I say that their concept of personal space differs vastly from yours or mine. Zoë, I even shudder using her name because I don’t wish to make her real, has no sense of propriety, nor does she understand that she should always defer to me. She has no sense of class or species separation. At any opportunity she will approach me, try to engage me in play or repartee, and today’s behavior was an affront to my dignity. While I was lying in Grandma’s office, with my harness and leash on, since we were leaving soon, she had the audacity to lie beside me and begin playing with my leash! She took it into her mouth and between her front paws, and then tugged at it wildly. Thinking she had enticed me, she then proceeded to roll into me. She laid on her back in wanton abandon while batting at me with her paws. The nerve of that cheeky minx! I was horrified, tried to avert my gaze, and still she persisted. When I got up to remove myself, she again seized my leash and started pulling me. She even grabbed hold of my front leg! Fortunately, Grandma had the good sense to look down and see this spectacle unfold; however, she laughed out loud saying, “Oh Zoë, you clever little puss…look at you and Mason” as if I were a willing participant.

I had a good mind to cuff her but decided instead to take the high road. Oliver, their other cat, would never cross that boundary. He and I are close in age and in temperament, so that we have an innate understanding of one another. He respects my space and I his. Zoë needs a good lesson taught her, but she is still young and undeniably cute, for a feline that is.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

I am sleeping peacefully while little Miss Thing is alert and plotting her next move.

I am sleeping peacefully while little Miss Thing is alert and plotting her next move.

I like this because it shows her cunning nature and brazen look.

I like this because it shows her cunning nature and brazen look. Also, check out those eyes. They are just wrong!

Here you can how close she has gotten. I know it looks like I've moved but it is she who is encroaching my space.

Here you can see how close she has gotten. I know it looks like I've moved but it is she who is encroaching into my space.

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Cat Tales, or A Pug Faces A Kitten With a Whip

Now some of you readers may remember an early blog of mine (January, “Old Pug’s Book of Practical Cats”), and if you don’t I would suggest you revisit it, where I wrote about Grandma’s new kitten, Zoe. As you may recall, I was concerned about her presence and worried that she would upset the natural order in the house. Meeting her on arrival, I wasn’t impressed. She is pretty enough, if you like a silver tabby with piercing green eyes, and a lithe, long body. I am not particularly drawn to felines but realize that I must endure them while living at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.

It was with some degree of trepidation and wariness that I observed this cat. She appeared innocuous and kept herself hidden initially, but the other day I took the full measure of this little minx. Like the famous Mehitibel of Don Marquis’ Archy and Mehitibel series, this upstart thinks she is Cleopatra!

Grandma was slicing up a chicken breast for her lunch, and Lizzie and I assumed the position, i.e. sitting side by side, at her feet, on the kitchen floor.I quickly assessed that with my cat-like skills I would be the likely victor of the scrap toss…until I realized that there was a third creature in the lineup! There was Miss Zoe, confident and composed, sitting beside Lizzie and me, waiting for her lion’s share of the chicken. This was outrageous and unbelievable! It threw off my focus and game. My entire raison d’etre was lost, destroyed, and kaput – all because of one rescued feral feline!

I have been forced to reevaluate my technique and look closely at my next plan of food acquisition. Clearly the game has changed and I must change too. She is a worthy opponent, unlike Lizzie, with youth and high energy on her side. I, however, have wisdom, cunning, and motivation. Today, I begin mapping new strategies, dear reader. I am still in this game to win.

 Respectfully submitted,

 Mason

 

Look at this cunning little creature. She is even more alert than I!

Look at this cunning little creature. She is even more alert than I!

 

Look at the vacant expression on Lizzie's face and look at how yours truly is deep in thought...planning my next move.

Look at the vacant expression on Lizzie's face and look at how yours truly is deep in thought...planning my next move.

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Old Pug’s Book of Practical Cats

Apologies to  T.S. Eliot for messing with his great title but, dear reader,  I needed to grab your attention. This musing isn’t so much a vent as it is an expression of a growing concern for yours truly. My grandparents on the Cape have had two cats since before I even joined this family, and over the years, we’ve co-existed rather well…either by avoiding or ignoring one another. I must admit, though, there have been a few incidents where the proverbial fur has flown, usually over a crumb of food or space encroachment. We always manage to walk away with our dignity intact and a newfound respect for one another. Oliver is their oldest cat and he is a formidable British Shorthair.  Just before Christmas, his younger brother, Pip, died. I know how much Grandma and Grandpa miss him and I also know that Oliver still howls for him every night at bedtime. So it is no surprise that they have been looking for a kitty to fill that void.

 Which brings me to my current concern. Yesterday, Grandma found a kitten and to hear her talk about this creature, she is the greatest thing since sliced bread. As you know I am not a mean-spirited or selfish pug, but this could present some serious problems for me.

There has existed a nice balance of power, a mutual respect, and a healthy fear (on my part) of the cat’s decided advantage. Now with the arrival of a new feline, all we’ve achieved could go away. What if she decides to compete for crumbs of food, or, even worse, what if she sees herself as the new sheriff in town who needs to clean up the “pesky varmints” (us)?  There is a definite potential for disaster here!

 The worst part is there is nothing I can do but wait and see what happens. I also worry that lame Lizzy may decide to befriend “Chloe” or “Zoe” or whatever they decide to name her. Maybe I can enlist Oliver’s aid; maybe we can join forces against the newcomer…

 

I will keep you posted on this latest roadblock.

 

 

Respectfully submitted,

 

Mason

 

See how fierce Oliver is and look at poor Lizzie in the background.

See how fierce Oliver is and look at poor Lizzie in the background.

 

This shows his scary eyes really well, even though he cuddled up in a blanket.

This shows his scary eyes really well, even though he is cuddled up in a blanket.

 

This is the new one. It's hard to tell what kind of cat she is but I am wary.

This is the new one. It's hard to tell what kind of cat she is but I am wary.

 

 

 

 

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