A Cat Lover's Christmas

On the first day of Christmas, my kitten ruined for me.......A batch of my special hand-print cookies. I had turned my back to grab the cookie sheet sitting on the stove. In that micro-second, Sara climbed onto the table, poked her paw into the delightfully kneady mixture and, suddenly off-balance, fell into the cookie dough. Net loss? Six cups of flour, four cups of sugar, three sticks of butter.... Of course, it would have been cheaper to remove the feline ingredient, pick out the hairs, and just rename the recipe Paw Print Cookies.

On the second day of Christmas, my kitten accompanied me....On a trip to the vet clinic. Who knew that skinny curling ribbon has feline taste appeal? I didn't. Damages: $28 for the office visit, $36 for anaesthesia so the veterinarian could take $55 X-rays in case Sara had taste-tested any other Christmas decorations, and a heck of a lot of embarrassment when the vet removed the 3' curly tail in slightly less than two seconds by tugging at it with a pair of tweezers.

On the third day of Christmas, my kitten wrecked for me...13 ornaments on my Christmas tree. My mistake was forgetting to chain the decorations to the branches. My other error was leaving the room to go to the bathroom while Sara feigned sleeping under the tree. How was I to know the was actually measuring its climbing potential? Value of broken bulbs? 7.50 plus tax.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my kitten broke for me...A statue in my Lenox Nativity. Would you believe two Wise men plus a head? Lenox nativity figurines: $55.99

On the fifth day of Christmas, my kitten scratched for me...The kid across the street who collects for charity. It was an accident. She merely wanted to reach out and touch someone. Unfortunately, she used a unsheathed claw to do so. I settled out-of-court for the cost of a jacket to replace the boy's blood stained one and a hefty donation to the charity of their choice. Although the amount must remain secret according to our settlement, let me put it this way. You haven't seen many soldiers for the Salvation Army this year, have you? Think: Major Windfall!

On the sixth day of Christmas, my kitten opened for me...The presents beneath my Christmas tree. It was only two, really. While doing some early shopping at a discount store, I purchased a catnip mouse for Sara's stocking. Apparently, anything in the same bag as catnip takes on its potent aroma for a very long time. Replacement costs: $3.99 for another roll of Christmas wrapping paper, $4.50 for two empty boxes, $1 each for the kind of bows Sara can't unravel.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my kitten lost for me...The earrings I bought for my sister Mary. Actually, it was one earring but since Mary doesn't have a hole in her nose or navel, a pair of matching earrings does make a more appealing gift. Sale price: $29.95 plus tax.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my kitten helped me...Replace my E and G guitar strings. Would you believe a kitten could fit into the itty-bitty hole in the middle of my Yamaha guitar? Neither could I, but Sara thought so. And she succeeded once she got those rascally strings out of the way. Unfortunately, her little rear end couldn't get out the way I came in. After paying through the whiskers for her previous escapades, I would have been willing to leave her in the guitar for the duration of the holiday season, except that she chose to get stuck two hours before I was due at the nursing home for our annual Christmas carol sing-a-long. Set of steel guitar strings: $12.95; jar of petroleum jelly: 79 cents.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my kitten destroyed for me...My Christmas card list when she walked across my computer's delete key. Cost for call to Computer Country's 900/help line: $17.50. And I still don't know what happened to the listings of B through H.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my kitten hid from me.....The remote control from my 13-inch TV. This wouldn't be such a disaster if she hadn't previously stolen the power knob. I missed a week's worth of Christmas specials, including my all-time favourite, "It's a Wonderful Life." Rental of "It's a Wonderful Life": $2; purchase of book, "Good owners, great cats": $24.95. Unfortunately, it never mentions the psychological profile of kittens with kleptomania.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my kitten ate for me.....The drumsticks off my 19-pound turkey. OK,OK, So this one time it was my fault. I knew I never should have uttered those now infamous words: "Your first turkey, Sara. Want to try just a little piece?" Cost: Christmas Dinner.

On the 12th day of Christmas........Sara rested. And so, thank goodness, did my VISA card.

Application for a Cat

Your Name:

Name of Spouse:

Address of home I will be assuming:

Square footage of home:

Total Sq. Ft. of human sleeping quarters (referred hereinafter as 'Servants Quarters')(Not to exceed 5% of home sq. footage):

My sleeping quarters will be (circle one):
- On a cat bed.
- On your bed. (referred hereinafter as 'my' bed).
- On the floor.
- On the furniture.
- On the stairs.
- In the garage.
- Anywhere I want.

Number of human children in my home:

Number of children who might pull my tail:

Previous cat experience (circle all that apply):
- I have recently owned one or more cats.
- I was recently owned by one or more cats.
- Fed a cat.
- Been slept on by a cat.
- Cleaned a litter box.
- Bathed a cat.
- Been scratched by a cat.
- Picked cat fur off my clothes.
- Picked cat fur out of my eyes.
- Accidentally ran over a cat.
- Allergic to cats.
- Chased cats out of yard.
- Cleaned up cat puke.
- Stepped in a hairball.

Any Canines in residence? (circle one):
- No
- No

Have you ever had a cat run away from this address in the last three years?
If yes, please explain yourself:

Your Expected salary (circle one):
- $200 weekly
- $100 weekly
- Nothing, just the satisfaction of knowing you took me in.
- You pay me for living with you.

Location of litter box (circle one):
Laundry Room
Living Room
Garage
Bathroom
Dining Room
Pantry
Nook
Kitchen
None (outside)

Cat will have outside privileges? (circle one):
- Yes
- Yes

Cat will be de-clawed? (circle one):
- No
- No

Servant names (List all dwellers of home, including yours):

Breakfast will be served not later than (circle one):
6am
6am
6am
6am
6am
6am

Dinner will be served (circle one--careful, there is only one right answer):
- 5pm
- 6pm
- 7pm
- Upon demand.
- Eat what's left over from breakfast.

Menu (circle all that apply):
- Friskies
- Whiskas
- 9-Lives
- Meat Loaf
- BBQ Chicken
- Filet Mignon
- Tournados with Bearnaise
- Roti De Porc Poele
- Filet of Fish Poached in Wine Sauce
- Shoulder of Lamb
- Veal Prince Orloff
- Sauteed Scallops
- Salmon Pate

Desserts (circle all that apply):
- Pounce
- Twinkies
- Donuts
- Ice Cream
- Spongecake
- Strawberries in Bavarian Cream
- Caramel Almond Custard
- Chocolate Mousse
- Vanilla Sauce Souffle
- Upside Down Apple Tart
- Crepes with Orange Butter
- Three Butter Cream cake

List three references that I might contact (No dogs, please):

Cat Resolutions--Just in Time for New Year's!

I will not run through the house with a condom wrapper in my mouth, especially when my human's grandmother is over.

My human will never let me eat her pet rat, and I am at peace with that.

I will not use my psychic powers to project myself into my human's dreams when I am hungry, causing her to dream that I am a talking cat, and I can say "Where's my supper."

I will not flush the toilet while my human is in the shower.

I will not hide behind the commode so that I can pat the human on the backside when he sits down just to make him levitate.

I will not jump up on the bed the morning after a hot summer night, and gleefully lick the bedsheets where my human was sweating all night.

I will not leap into my human's chair which she has temporarily vacated, and then bite my human on the tush when she sits back down.

I will not puff my entire body to twice its size for no reason after my humans's finished a horror movie.

I will not sit on the end of the bed staring at my human while he and my human are making whoopee. I will not become upset if my human then throws a duvet over me in order to get some privacy. (My human shouldn't get the giggles every time, either! She is sensitive.)

I will not sniff at my male human's feet after he takes his shoes off, freeze my mouth open in disgust and then sniff my private parts to compare odors. My female human might find it amusing, but my male human does not appreciate it, especially in front of company.

I will not slurp fish food from the surface of the aquarium.

When my young humans are playing with modeling clay, it would be preferred if I did NOT remove solid waste from my litter tray, and roll it onto the kitchen floor. This makes my human very worried as she thinks it is clay, which would make me ill. Young humans are not very happy if they are told to pick up modeling clay and find out that it is old poop. This wastes soap.

I must not help myself to Q-tips, and I must certainly not proceed to stuff them down the sink's drain.

I will not bite my human on the rear while she is sitting on the Big White Drinking Bowl.

I will not fling my furry little kitten-body at the shower curtain, hook my claws into its plastic surface, and slide down the curtain, tearing it in half like a miniature Errol Flynn, and do it again as soon as I hit the ground, turning my human's $40 designer shower curtain into vertical blinds. I will not do the exact same thing with the next three shower curtains, forcing my human to decorate in Early Poverty with curtains from the dollar store.

I will not eat large numbers of assorted bugs, then come home and barf them up so the humans can see that I'm getting plenty of roughage.

I will not invite my friends in to drink out of the toilet. (This is a new trend in my house ... of course my cat is too much the princess to do anything so lowly as drinking out of the toilet. However, all the new cats she invites into our house aren't allowed near HER water, so she shows them the toilet. Nice manners.)

I will not lean way over to drink out of the tub, fall in, and then pelt right for the box of clumping cat litter. (It took FOREVER to get the stuff out of her fur.)

I will not stand on the bathroom counter, stare down the hall, and growl at NOTHING after my human has finished watching The X-Files.

If I sit in the sink while my human is brushing her teeth, I will expect her to spit toothpaste on me. I will not get angry when she does.

My human is a big girl and owns many towels. I do not have to lick her dry when she gets out of the shower.

When my human is taking a bubble bath, the two pinkish-brown things sticking up out of the bubbles in her chest region are NOT to be played with!

I will not fish out my human's partial plate from the glass so that the dog can "wear" it and pretend to be my human. (It is somewhat unnerving to wake up, roll over in bed, and see the dog grinning at you with your own teeth.)

I will not insist on making my human's 20 year old dollhouse my own. I look like I belong in a monster movie when I stomp through the rooms.

I will not use the bathtub to store live mice for late-night snacks.

I will not walk around the building with a small magnetic screwdriver attached to the ident tag on my collar.

I will not attempt to stop the human's snoring by sticking any combination of paws in his mouth, as this only results in a) wet and possibly human-bitten paws, and b) a very angry human with a mouthful of cat fur.

I will not drag dirty socks up from the basement in the middle of the night, deposit them on the bed and yell at the top of my lungs (Burmese LOUD yowling) so that my human can admire my "kill."

I will not knead my male human's groin at 2 a.m. with claws extended. It seems to cause him some discomfort and he wakes up all grumpy.

I will not perch on my human's chest in the middle of the night and stare into her eyes until she wakes up.

I will not pick the hours between 1 and 4 a.m. to do 'thundering paws with auto-reverses' throughout a small apartment with hardwood floors. Furthermore, I and my buddy will not use the daybed with our human in it for the spot to do the 'turn and burn' on that end of the run. She does not appreciate 30 pounds of cat every few minutes.

My human is not dead if she is not awake at 7:00 a.m. It is not necessary for me to park my concerned 28 pound frame on her stomach and check for breathing.

My human really will wake up and feed me -- I don't have to pry her eyelids open with my paws.

We will not play Herd of Thundering Wildebeests Stampeding Across the Plains of the Serengeti over my humans' bed while they're trying to sleep.

When my human shuts me out of the bedroom at night, I will not reach my paw under the door at 4 a.m. and twang the door-stopper until she comes out and pays attention to me. This goes double when she has another human in there with her.

When sharing a bed, I do not need the three-quarters nearest the wall.

Screaming at the can of food will not make it open itself.

Fast as I am, I cannot run through closed doors.

I am a (neutered) cat, not a peacock, and prancing around with my tail fluffed up will not make my balls grow back.

I cannot leap through closed windows to catch birds outside. If I forget this and bonk my head on the window and fall behind the couch in my attempt, I will not get up and do the same thing again.

I do not have to "talk" to flies to coax them off the ceiling.

I do not have to constantly prove that I have fewer brain cells than most house plants.

I will never be able to walk on the ceiling. Staring up the wall and meowing at it will not bring it any closer.

I will not assume the patio door is open when I race outside to chase leaves.

I will not back up off the front porch and fall into the bushes just as my human is explaining to his girlfriend how graceful I am.

I will not complain that my butt is wet and that I am thirsty after sitting in my water bowl.

I will not intrude on my human's candle-lit bubblebath and singe my butt.

I will not jump up on my human's synthesizer when it is set on "cymbal crashes"; it will give both of us a coronary. (I've never SEEN a cat jump so high for so long; she couldn't figure out that getting off the keys would make those hideous noises stop.)

I will not stick my paw into any container to see if there is something in it. If I do, I will not hiss and scratch when my human has to shave me to get the rubber cement out of my fur.

If I bite the cactus, it will bite back.

Considering the fact that I am 20 lbs of pure muscle (ok, maybe a *little* flab) I acknowledge that my human's "family jewels" are *not* the ideal launching pad to reach the open bedroom window. Especially, 3 o'clock in the morning.

It is not a good idea to try to lap up the powdered creamer before it dissolves in boiling coffee.

Just because I hear voices in my head, I do not have to answer them.

Running into walls is not a constructive activity. All it will do is give me a headache and gets me nowhere.

The shortest point between me and my human is not along the window sill, behind the curtains, at the back of the computer, under the cables, over the modem, around the wine glass and across the keyboard.

When I am chasing my tail and catch my back leg instead, I will not bite down on my foot. This hurts, and my scream scares my human.

When it rains, it will be raining on all sides of the house. It is not necessary to check every door.

While crossing the street, I will not stop in the middle and wait for on-coming cars to get out of MY way. This can be a self-limiting activity.

Birds do not come from the bird feeder. I will not knock it down and try to open it up to get the birds out.

I will not stuff my rather large self into the rather small bird feeder (with my tail hanging out one side) and expect the birds to just fly in. (My eldest cat has done this for *years*...)

I will not teach the parrot to meow in a loud and raucous manner.

We are cats, thus we can hunt. We will not stand at the back door begging for Deli Cat when there are 40 crows doing the can-can across the yard.

My brother needs his whiskers. I will not chew them off.

I will not beat the dog up anymore because he's stupid, (being stupid is punishment enough).

I will not hide behind the planter while my identical twin goes next door to rile up the dumb poodle and get him to come over here where we can BOTH attack him. (My human's huge Persians, Clem and Clyde, used to trade off the hiding and baiting jobs. The poor poodle never did figure out that there were TWO cats.)

The dog can see me coming when I stalk her. She can see me and will move out of the way when I pounce, letting me smash into floors and walls. That does not mean I should take it as a personal insult when my humans sit there and laugh.

The dog sniffing outside the cat run is the same dog I was curled up with in the house, so I will not have a hissy fit.

Yes, there are still two very large dogs in the backyard. There have been for several years. I don't have to act as if I've just discovered the Demon Horror of the Universe each time one of them appears in my window.

I will not play "dead cat on the stairs" while people are trying to bring in groceries or laundry, or else one of these days, it will really come true.

When the humans play darts, I will not leap into the air and attempt to catch them.

I do not need to finish the note to the human's teacher so that it reads: Dear Mrs. Smith, I would like to thank fgke fgbyhgiq hefeugfwfgfla

I will allow my human to have more than one quarter of the bed, even if she doesn't deserve it.

I will cease my obsession with the box my humans keep their condoms in. This box is not for me. I will not knock it on the ground, I will not sit on it, I will not try to scratch it open. Especially when my humans are using the condoms.

I will not swat my human's head repeatedly when she's on the family room floor trying to do sit ups.

When my human is typing at the computer, her forearms are *not* a hammock.

Computer and TV screens do not exist to backlight my lovely tail.

I am a cat and cats aren't meant to send faxes. (Our cat stands on the fax and sends cover pages to anyone who happens to be in our preprogrammed list.)

I am a walking static generator. My human doesn't need my help installing a new board in her computer.

I will not bring the city police to the front door by stepping on the speaker phone button and then the automatic 911 dial button.

I will not knock something down (that I shouldn't have been fooling with anyway), scare myself and then jump onto my human's keyboard while he is entering a search on the Internet. He wasn't looking for a Web site called "www.asdfpjm.hjk" (My son said amazingly the search engine came back with a hit ... a cheese factory in Wisconsin.)

I will not jump onto my human's computer while he's working on it and short out a 25 amp fuse with my rabies tag.

I will not sit on the answering machine and replace the outgoing message with one of my own choosing ("Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, meow, BEEP!").

I will not speed dial the overseas numbers.

I will not step on the 'alt', 'cntl', and 'delete' keys simultaneously.

I will not teach myself to turn on my human's Macintosh when she is at class. I will not play with the mouse and the keyboard to make it beep, either, even if I am feeling lonely. Renaming her files, folders, and hard disk will not help her graduate faster so we could move out of the dorm room. (Yes, this actually happened; Macs are *way* too user friendly and I had to unplug it when not in use! Luckily I graduated before she learned how to plug it in...)

I will not walk on the keyboard when my human is writing important emio gnaioerp ga3qi4 taija3tgv aa35 a.

Any critter that lives in the house (hamsters) stay in the house and any wild critters (frogs and earthworms) stay outside. I am not allowed to set the hamster free in exchange for finding a frog to put in the fish tank.

I will not keep live mice in the bathtub with the shower curtain closed, just so I can play with them whenever I want. It makes my human scream.

I will not round up my neighbour's sheep. (Hard to believe, but earlier this year I found N.D.F., one of our big black and white males, had rounded up one neighbour's flock of fifty sheep into a corner of their paddock. He didn't seem to know what to do with them next, so I left him to it...)

I will not stalk the deer in the apple orchard next door. They have sharp hooves and could hurt me if they weren't laughing so hard.

I will not watch the guinea pig constantly as the guinea pig likes to sleep once in a while.

The goldfish likes living in water and should be allowed to remain in its bowl.

I will not put a live vole in my food bowl and expect it to stay there until I get hungry.

The hamster is not my friend, and will attack and bite my nose (or anything else I put near his cage). That is why his name is Killer.

I will not eat spider plants and hallucinate behind the toilet.

I will not drag the magnets (and the papers they are holding up) off of the refrigerator and then bat them underneath it so that they adhere to the underside.

I will learn to relax at the vet's office so they will start writing things in my records like "Good Kitty" and "Sweet Kitty" instead of the stuff that's there now like "MEAN!!", "BITER!!!", and "GET HELP!!!!!"

I promise I will meditate more closely upon the causal relationship between going dumpster diving on Sunday afternoon and projectile vomiting Monday, and being brought to the Evil Place Where They Stick Things Up My Butt on Tuesday evening. I realize that if I hadn't done the first, none of the other things would have happened.

I will not voluntarily give my vet a urine or stool sample unless he requests it.

I don't need to check my male human's aim in the bathroom.

I will not bat at my male human's family jewels while he is engaged in the act of mating with my female human, no matter how tempting the danglies are. My humans get mad and I might get free flying lessons.

I will not be miffed at my human all day and then kiss her on the nose at 2:00 a.m. to tell her that she is forgiven and can now pet me.

I will not hiss at my human when she makes fun of my funny colored butt. If I'm stupid enough to sit in her paints, I'm bold enough to endure her jeers.

I will not scratch the children of lawyers, no matter how much they chase me or how hard they pull my tail.

I will not sink my new, sharp teeth into my human's flesh as a sign of affection; the scabs don't match her new bikini.

If I MUST claw my human, I will not do it in such a fashion that the scars resemble a botched suicide attempt.

If I must give a present to my humans's overnight guests, my toy mouse is much more socially acceptable than a live cockroach, even if it isn't as tasty.

It is an inappropriate display of my personal opinion to bite my human's ex-wife. (So why was my human smiling when I got yelled at???)

I will not display my worm collection on the kitchen floor on a rainy night. My human does not like finding it at 11 p.m.

I will not soak my catnip toy in the water bowl to make tea. I will not get high and sit there drinking my tea and kneading the floor afterwards. I will not then get delusions of grandeur and make tea in the toilet bowl or the tub. And I will not try to make tea with used socks, dirty panties or hair scrunchies when my humans take the catnip toy away from me. (Neko not only learned how to make tea, he remembered it almost six months later when we finally gave him another catnip toy.)

Even though my foster-sister and I eat at the same time, we will not use the litterbox at the same time - facing each other, so that our little kitty butts hang out over the sides of the box and we both end up pooping outside the box.

After my (female) human has enjoyed the company of a larger, but equally gorgeous, hairy animal, I will not leap onto the bed, smell where he's been, and then jealously wee to eradicate his traces.

I will not tear up the curtains. If I do tear up the curtains, I will not look at the humans like they're crazy while they're yelling at me. When they're done, I will at least wait until their backs are turned before doing it again.

A warm pepperoni pizza is not a good place for a nap.

I diminish my reputation as a cat when I chew through the brand new cardboard and metal can of pet turtle food and eat all but one piece. Better to hide until the humans are gone than to be seen waddling at a fast pace out of the room.

I will not start eating my human's sandwich while she is working on the other end. (She thought that I wouldn't notice the little black ears and gold eyes peering at me from the opposite end of my sub sandwich.)

How To Tell If Your Cat Is From Outer Space

Have you ever suspected that your cat may be from another planet? Do you sometimes wake in the night to find your cat standing on top of you, peering into your face, as if poised to perform some diabolical extraterrestrial experiment? When you feed your cat, does he or she look up at you skeptically as if to say "My rations in the spacepod were much better than this."

If so, your cat may be from outer space.

Many people live with cats from outer space. They may not realize it for years. Then one day, they're reading the Weekly World News and they notice that the pictured space aliens bear remarkable similarity to the moony-eyed, potbellied feline enigma crunched on their lap.

Reading further, they begin to suspect that their own cat may be involved in the alien abductions. They consider bringing it up with the cat, but fear that they themselves may end up rocketing across the galaxy on a spaceship full of cats, an empty bag of kibble stuffed in their mouth.

If you suspect that your cat may be from another planet, ask yourself these questions:

Do you sometimes wake in the night to find your cat fighting with extraterrestrial beings from another dimension that no one but the cat can see?

Does your cat often simulate life in an anti-gravity environment by rolling on his back to look at you upside down, or stretch into peculiar ballet positions in your arms?

Does your cat pretzel into strange sleeping postures that suggest she has undergone extensive astronaut training?

Does your cat try to communicate with extraterrestrials by meowing at the TV, sitting on short-wave radios, lying on the computer monitor, or in any way attempting to serve as an antenna for a piece of consumer electronics?

Does your cat stare at walls for hours as if receiving radio messages from the mothership through the plasterboard?

Does your cat respond to the phrase "Beam me up!" Does your cat respond to anything in Klingon?

Does your cat meticulously push the sand around in her litterbox so that it looks crater-pocked like the lunar surface?

Does your cat's style of communicating with your computer seem more advanced than your own? For instance, does the cat sit on the monitor and look at it upside, or lay on the keyboard until the computer won't stop beeping?

Does your cat seem more intelligent than you are sometimes -- and superior to you as well?

If you've answered "yes" to any of the above, your cat may be a visitor on earth, sneakily gathering reconnaissance information to aid his race in their plan to conquer human civilization and blanket the earth with carpet-covered kitty condos. Whatever you do, don't give him directions to the carpet store.

What Cats from Outer-Space Look Like

Cats from outer-space look very much like ordinary cats. They have four feet, a tail, whiskers, ears that swivel side to side to pick up sounds from deep space, and eyes that look at you as if they can't believe how dumb you are. In addition, they are remarkably adept at getting you to do things that you wouldn't ordinarily do: like pulling yourself out of bed at 3 a.m. to freshen the bowl of liver bits, or opening the back door a dozen times in less than an hour to let the cat in and out.

What to Feed Cats from Outer Space

Nothing that you feed your cat from outer space will be as good as what they ate on their home planet--and they will remind you of this frequently. So don't even try to placate them.

Special Care Tips for Cats from Other Planets

Remember that sometimes your cat will slip into an alternate universe in which he will confuse you for a giant spaceship vending machine -- one that he needs merely to stand in front of meowing in order to elicit bowls of tuna and bits of cheese. Depending upon what corner of the galaxy your cat harkens from, he may confuse you for a robot instead -- one that he must repeatedly trip in order to procure treats and transport from.

How Cats from Outer Space Differ from Cats Who've Been Abducted by Aliens

Finally, you should not confuse cats from outer space with those who've been abducted by aliens. While the two kinds of cats are similar in many ways, cats who've been abducted by aliens like to run through the house crazily at night, jumping over furniture and scooting behind potted plants, re-enacting their escape from green men in saucer-shaped ships. Cats that have been abducted by aliens also like to remind you that they would have happily remained on the spaceship, for the aliens fed them fresher milk than you do (from those abducted cows), as well as lambchops (from those abducted sheep), except that they worried that you would be apt to make a fool out of yourself by running to the National Enquirer, claiming that your cat had been abducted by aliens.

A Cat's Guide to Humans

1. Introduction: Why Do We Need Humans?

So you've decided to get yourself a human being. In doing so, you've joined the millions of other cats who have acquired these strange and often frustrating creatures. There will be any number of times, during the course of your association with humans, when you will wonder why you have bothered to grace them with your presence. What's so great about humans, anyway? Why not just hang around with other cats? Our greatest philosophers have struggled with this question for centuries, but the answer is actually rather simple: They Have Opposable Thumbs. Which makes them the perfect tools for such tasks as opening doors, getting the lids off of cat food cans, changing television stations and other activities that we, despite our other obvious advantages, find difficult to do ourselves. True, chimps, orangutans and lemurs also have opposable thumbs, but they are nowhere as easy to train.

2. How And When to Get Your Human's Attention

Humans often erroneously assume that there are other, more important activities than taking care of your immediate needs, such as conducting business, spending time with their families or even sleeping. Though this is dreadfully inconvenient, you can make this work to your advantage by pestering your human at the moment it is the busiest. It is usually so flustered that it will do whatever you want it to do, just to get you out of its hair. Not coincidentally, human teenagers follow this same practice. Here are some tried and true methods of getting your human to do what you want: Sitting on paper: An oldie but a goodie. If a human has paper in front of it, chances are good it's something they assume is more important than you. They will often offer you a snack to lure you away. Establish your supremacy over this wood pulp product at every opportunity. This practice also works well with computer keyboards, remote controls, car keys and small children. Waking your human at odd hours: A cat's "golden time" is between 3:30 and 4:30 in the morning. If you paw at your human's sleeping face during this time, you have a better than even chance that it will get up and, in an incoherent haze, do exactly what you want. You may actually have to scratch deep sleepers to get their attention; remember to vary the scratch site to keep the human from getting suspicious.

3. Punishing Your Human Being

Sometimes, despite your best training efforts, your human will stubbornly resist bending to your whim. In these extreme circumstances, you may have to punish your human. Obvious punishments, such as scratching furniture or eating household plants, are likely to backfire; the unsophisticated humans are likely to misinterpret the activities and then try to discipline YOU. Instead, we offer these subtle but nonetheless effective alternatives: Use the cat box during an important formal dinner. Stare impassively at your human while it is attempting a romantic interlude. Stand over an important piece of electronic equipment and feign a hairball attack. After your human has watched a particularly disturbing horror film, stand by the hall closet and then slowly back away, hissing and yowling. While your human is sleeping, lie on its face.

4. Rewarding Your Human: Should Your Gift Still Be Alive?

The cat world is divided over the etiquette of presenting humans with the thoughtful gift of a recently disemboweled animal. Some believe that humans prefer these gifts already dead, while others maintain that humans enjoy a slowly expiring cricket or rodent just as much as we do, given their jumpy and playful movements in picking the creatures up after they've been presented. After much consideration of the human psyche, we recommend the following: cold blooded animals (large insects, frogs, lizards, garden snakes and the occasional earthworm) should be presented dead, while warm blooded animals (birds, rodents, your neighbor's Pomeranian) are better still living. When you see the expression on your human's face, you'll know it's worth it.

5. How Long Should You Keep Your Human?

You are only obligated to your human for one of your lives. The other eight are up to you. We recommend mixing and matching, though in the end, most humans (at least the ones that are worth living with) are pretty much the same. But what do you expect? They're humans, after all. Opposable thumbs will only take you so far.

Myers-Briggs Cat Types

by Annette Ellis

ESFP "The Hedonist": The social cat. Inside, outside, contact-oriented. Wallows in petting. Lies in the sun on the driveway. Promiscuously affectionate, even with cat-haters. Meows a lot.

ESTP "The Tomcat": Comes back after three days with scabs on his nose and ears. Fathered too many kittens to count. Will enjoy you while he's there, but not loyal. With other cats, doesn't know when to stop "playing".

ISFP "The Snuggler": Inside lap kitty. Has a favorite lap, a favorite windowsill, but spreads her favors around nonetheless. Warm and loving, but don't try to make her do anything. Purrs a lot.

ISTP "The Problem-Solver": This is the cat that will figure out how to get the giblets out of the bottom of the garbage can without knocking anything over. Appreciates his pleasures but not a glutton. Stand-offish, but will put up with an occasional petting session.

ESTJ "Bossycat": A cat with attitude. He'll hiss at a German shepherd, and the dog will back down. Knows his territory. Catches lots of birds to show he cares, since he won't be openly affectionate.

ESFJ "Mommycat": Even if kittenless or male, adopts everyone, including her "owners." Will groom you until you've got a rash; will groom other cats until they snap at her and run away.

ISTJ "Mr. Fastidious": Won't eat unless the kitchen floor is newly waxed. Will glare at you until you clean his litterbox. Likes to scratch -- and it's the same place over and over, so you'd better get a scratching post right away if you want to keep your furniture.

ISFJ "Spoiled Cat": Only the best will do. This is the cat in the "Sheba" ads. Will sink into a depression if you forget to trim her claws, or if her coat is marked. Strategic meowing -- not for conversation, but to get what she wants.

ENTP "The Great White Hunter": King of imaginary bug-chasing. He talks a lot -- maybe to you, maybe to something only he can see. Likes to be petted, but only for short periods of time; he's off as soon as the next synapse fires in his brain.

ENTJ "The Little General": Assumes control of the family and house. He'll kick you out of his chair and demand half the bed. Doesn't purr, but glares while being petted as if you're only doing your duty. Yowls rather than meows.

INTP "The Flake": Will play with toys, but bored quickly. If you give in, you'll quickly have a closet full of cat toys he won't touch any more. He'll sit, apparently doing nothing, and then be off on a tear. When walking across a room, will suddenly sit down and start grooming himself.

INTJ "The Limit-Setter": If you have to be around, fine, but he'd prefer that you just showed up once a week to drop off a case of canned food. If you stay home sick, he'll glare at you, since after all it's his scheduled day to have the house to himself.

ENFP "The Happy Slob": Playful cat that will leave food smeared all over the kitchen floor and track litter granules onto the carpet. Favorite game is peek-a-boo. Likes to be petted, but won't sit still for long.

ENFJ "The Ringleader": Will organize the other cats into games. When you get home to find the dining room chandelier swinging back and forth, and all the cats are sitting in the living room looking innocent, it was this cat's idea.

INFP: "The Little Angel": Will look at you sweetly two seconds after she's shredded the new curtains. Can't resist the kitchen counter. Likes some lap time, but only on her terms.

INFJ "Skitty Kitty": Wants to be affectionate, but never quite overcomes nervousness. "Intrepid" is NOT her middle name. Likes to watch the proceedings from a safe spot, such as the top of the staircase.

Gift-Wrapping With Cats

1. Clear large space on table for wrapping present.

2. Go to wardrobe and collect bag from wardrobe.

3. Open door and remove cat from wardrobe.

4. Go to cupboard and retrieve rolls of wrapping paper.

5. Go back and remove cat from cupboard.

6. Go to drawer and collect transparent sticky tape, ribbons, scissors, labels, etc.

7. Lay out presents and wrapping materials on table to enable wrapping strategy to be formed.

8. Go back to drawer to get string. Remove cat that has been in the drawer since last visit and collect string.

9. Reopen drawer and re-remove cat.

10. Remove present from bag.

11. Remove cat from bag.

12. Open box to check present, remove cat from box, replace present.

13. Lay out paper to enable cutting to size.

14. Try to smooth out paper, realize cat is underneath and remove cat.

15. Cut the paper to size, trying to keep the cutting line straight.

16. Throw away first sheet as cat tried to chase the scissors and tore paper.

17. Cut second sheet of paper to size by putting cat in the bag the present came out of.

18. Place present on cut to size paper.

19. Lift up edges of paper to seal in present, wonder why edges now don't reach and realize cat is between present and paper. Remove cat and retry.

20. Place object on paper to hold in place while cutting transparent sticky tape.

21. Spend next 20 minutes carefully trying to remove transparent sticky tape from cat with pair of nail scissors.

22. Seal paper down with transparent sticky tape, making corners as neat as possible.

23. Look for roll of ribbon, chase cat down hall in order to retrieve ribbon.

24. Try to wrap present with ribbon in a two directional turn.

25. Re-roll ribbon and remove paper that is now torn due to cat's enthusiasm to chase ribbon end.

26. Repeat steps 13 - 20 until down to last sheet of paper.

27. Decide to skip steps 13- 17 in order to save time and reduce risk of losing last sheet of paper by retrieving old cardboard box that you know is right size for sheet of paper.

28. Put present in box and tie down with string.

29. Remove string, open box and remove cat.

30. Put all packing materials in bag with present and head for lockable room.

31. Once inside room, lock door and start to re-lay out packing materials.

32. Remove cat from box, unlock door, put cat outside door, close door and re-lock.

33. Repeat previous step as often as necessary until you can hear the cries from the cat outside the door.

34. Lay out last sheet of paper. (I know this is difficult in the small area of the bathroom, but try your best.)

35. Realize that cat has already gotten to the paper. Unlock door, go out and hunt through various cupboards looking for sheets of last year's paper, until you remember that you haven't got any left due to cat's help with wrapping last year.

36. Retire back to room, lock door and sit on toilet while trying to work out how to make a torn sheet of paper look halfway presentable.

37. Seal box, wrap with paper and start repairs by very carefully sealing down tears with transparent sticky tape. Now tie up with ribbon and decorate with bows to hide worst affected areas.

38. Label, then sit back and admire your handiwork, congratulating yourself on making good of a bad job.

39. Unlock door and go to kitchen to make a drink and feed the cat.

40. Spend the next 15 minutes looking for cat before coming to obvious conclusion...

41. Unwrap present, untie box and remove cat.

42. Retrieve all thrown away sheets of wrapping paper, feed the cat and retire to room for last attempt, making certain you are alone and the door is locked.

43. Find least torn and wrinkled sheets of paper along with the ones that the pattern matches closest.

44. Vainly try and wrap present in patchwork paper. Tie with the now tattered ribbon and decorate with the now limp bows. Label and put present in bag for fear of anyone seeing this disaster.

45. At time of handing over present, smile sweetly at the receiver's face as they try to hide their contempt at being handed such a badly wrapped present.

46. Swear to yourself that next year you will get the store to wrap the darn thing for you!

Wishing you a purr-fect holiday season...