The Secret Lives of Cats

Thought for the day:   In ancient times, cats were worshiped as gods; they have not forgotten this. [Terry Patchett]

Our cats as kittens: Dash on the left, and Dot on the right

It's been a while since I did a post about things I've learned from my pets, and I have a sneaky feeling our cats are trying to tell me they want me... expect me... to write about them today. Dot's lying on top of the printer beside me, looking at me accusingly through half-closed eyes, while Dash is alternating between parking her derriere on the keyboard and standing in front of the monitor, swishing her tail in my face like a preening peacock.

A catless writer is almost inconceivable. It's a perverse taste, really, since it would be easier to write with a herd of buffalo in the room than even one cat; they make nests in the notes and bite the end of the pen and walk on the typewriter keys. [Barbara Holland]

            They're both staring at me now. Yep, they definitely want me to write about them.

Cats are the ultimate narcissists. You can tell this because of all the time they spend on personal grooming. A dog's idea of personal grooming is to roll on a dead fish.  [James Gorman]

So, our girls are a lot bigger than they were when they first wormed their way into our hearts at the animal shelter almost ten years ago. And they've taught us quite a few things over the years. (Or as they'd probably put it... they've trained us well.)

                         Like... did you know cats aren't equipped with snooze buttons?

An early morning selfie of our daughter and her oh-so-helpful "time to get up" cat Mrs. Flynn. 

And no matter how big they are, they can wriggle into the smallest places imaginable...  A cat determined not to be found can fold itself up like a pocket handkerchief if it wants to.  [Louis J. Camuti]

[image courtesy of seniorark]

Dash, especially. She can curl up into the teeniest ball and scrunch into the smallest boxes and containers. Dot, on the other hand, prefers to sprawl and let it all hang out...

[image courtesy of seniorark]

Dogs come when they're called; cats take a message and get back to you.  [Mary Bly]

A cat isn't fussy... just so long as you remember he likes his milk in the shallow rose-patterned saucer and his fish on the blue plate. From which he will take it, and eat off the floor.  [Arthur Bridges]

Now, don't get me wrong. Sure, cats can occasionally be a tad stand-offish. And, yeah, it's entirely possible that they consider us their staff. Or their furniture, or personal scratching posts or jungle gyms. But they're cuddle bunnies, too. When they want to be. When it's convenient for them. Like when I'm trying to read the newspaper, or work at the computer, or sleep... I mean, who doesn't like to wake up with a cat licking her face?

I'm usually the nighttime jungle gym of choice for our girls, and the one who's swatted and reminded oh-so-sweetly that they're starving to death in the early morning. Ever since she was big enough to get onto our king-sized bed, that's where Dash has spent almost every night. Usually somewhere on top of me. On my stomach, on my chest, on my neck, on my face. Doesn't matter, because she doesn't usually stay in one place for very long. See, she likes to... hop around. Explore. Crawl under the covers, lie still for five minutes, and then ta-DA! pop back out. Lots of head-butting, purring and nose-kisses, too. My favorite is when she climbs up on the headboard and jumps down on my face...

And I... let her. Which is why she still does it. Dot, on the other hand, is usually much more polite about it. She's happy to lie beside me, glued to my body, and she generally stays put most of the night. If she wants to navigate past us, she politely walks around or jumps over. Not Dash. She's a damn-the-torpedos-full-speed-ahead kinda gal. She plows straight ahead and blithely stomps right across us to get wherever she's going. She may also pause in place, as if she's waiting for a bus. Nothing like having those four little paws digging into your posterior while she pauses to take a breather. Then, she launches, which is a whole 'nother adventure altogether.

But as anyone who has a cat well knows, what a cat always does or always likes is always changing. Their favorite place to nap is never constant, and the food they gobble one day is the same food they turn their noses up at the next. They follow a strict routine for a while, only to change it for a whole new routine. I suspect they're trying to keep us on our toes.

Our girls used to pretty much leave Smarticus alone during the night, but lately, Dash has been sharing some of her love with him, too. (He calls her the Stomper.) I'm used to her waking me up before the butt crack of dawn every day, but one morning a couple years ago, after she woke me up, she pranced over to Smarticus to say hello to him, too. She only went over to him a couple times before concentrating her efforts on me, but nonetheless, what popped into my sleepy head as she bounced back and forth between the two of us was, Hello, muddah! Hello, faddah! (Which is totally ridiculous, because our cats have always called us Mama and Papa...with the accents on the second syllables.)

Nonetheless, that darn Allan Sherman song niggled at me most of the day, so I did what any cat-crazy weirdo writer would do. I wrote a parody of that song. I shared it on my blog back then, but here is is again, in case you missed it the first time around:

Hello Muddah, hello Faddah.
Here I am now, right beside ya.
Time to open up your eyes now;
Get your butt out of that bed and fix me chow now.

 I tried bouncing on your belly;
You're so fat, it feels like jelly.
You were so still, thought you were dead;
So I did CPR by jumping on your head. 

Come on, Muddah, time is ticking,
And your face I now am licking.
I must meow loudly in your ear,
Because if you don't get up soon, I'll starve, I fear.

With my claws, your cheek I'm gripping,
And my nose on you is dripping.
Come on, let's play and have some fun;
In only three more hours, we'll see the rising sun. 

Please get up, oh muddah, faddah, please get up, don't be a bother.
Starting your day's such an endeavor; sometimes it takes me forever.
Please get up, I promise I will be your friend and love you 'til the bitter end,
So why this cruel wait to get food upon my plate? 

Hurry, hurry, dearest muddah,
One foot down, and then the other.
I will lead you to the kitchen;
It is almost five o'clock, so quit yer bitchin'.

Wait a sec! What's that you're pouring?
Same as yesterday? How boring!
Pardon my French; it smells like crap...
It's time for me to join dear Faddah for a nap.

(I wish I were clever enough to know how to record that song and post it on Youtube with some funny cat pictures...)

Anyhow, here's the thing. Dot and Dash are usually right there with us, day or night. (Whether we want them there or not.) But sometimes... sometimes, they... disappear. Occasionally, they retreat to the sunroom we fixed up. For US. (They DO let us use it from time to time...)

But there have also been times when they simply... disappear without a trace. I always thought they were in some secret hiding place around the house. You know, that special place they go to when they hear you spell v-e-t? When they wanted to hide, there was no way we were gonna find them, no matter how hard we looked. No matter how much we called them, or how hard we shook a bag of treats. If they wanted to hide, they weren't coming out until they were good and ready.

At least, that's what I thought.

 Now I've learned.

 Now I know the truth.

Our cats have been leading  (gasp!) secret lives! It's true! Dot drives the getaway car...

                                            And just LOOK what Dash has been up to...

[courtesy of seniorark]

                                                             Those little stinkers.

                       

                  So what do you suppose YOUR cats are doing when you can't find THEM...?

                          Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.