One Fat Cat With a Blog

Okay--why do most human morons buy a dog? Dogs are personal protectors, right? Hmmpf. I guess the people that use dogs for property protection have never met OUR dog. See Max, the Face of Stupid, is a useless pound hound who's afraid of his own shadow....and the garbage truck...and the garage door...and black hooded sweatshirts...and, oh, yeah, Gina--the five pound cat. OOOOOH! It's a scary world here in Frito Land. I only bring this up because the humans had four perfectly happy cats--then they adopted a dog, for which we can only assume was for protection, and NOW they are talking about needing a security system...

WHAT? Our cat food budget does not allow for an expensive security system!

Could someone explain to me why we need this flea carrying, slobber wielding, vaccuum powered snout of a hound dog if the humans think they need an alarm system? He's stupid, he smells, he needs a sitter, he can't go outside by himself, and he sleeps at least 23 hours a day.

Oh, I get it now...we only really need a security system for the twenty three hours that the face of stupid sleeps. Oh, God...I just realized something--rather than bemoaning the cost of a security system--I should embrace it. The alternative is 23 other worthless pound hounds working one hour security shifts in the House of Frito.

Okay--time to get some security company recommendations. What do you know about security monitoring companies that are sensitive to lean cat food budgets?

Pondering the theory of restless tail syndrome for the morning....

For a long time now, I have discussed the many imperfections in the resident pound hound that the humans so felt necessary to “rescue”to adopt (and pay good cat food fund money for) from the shelter. These flaws include those floppy ears that get in his food and water, the big vacuum cleaner power suction device attached to the end of a ridiculous hound dog snout, and silly spots that look like dirt--which even a much needed weekly bath fails to remove—and a tail that just does not stop wagging.

For a long time, I just assumed the dog was stupid. I thought he was simply in a doofus, la-la land of perpetual happiness. An idiot. Now, though, I wonder if there is not some medical reason or malady causing this constant, unusual (and downright irritating) wagging of the tail. After all, NOBODY can be that darned happy. Then it hit me. He must have restless tail syndrome.

You cats have heard of restless leg syndrome in humans, right? It’s a real thing, you know? My Swat-A-Granny has it and she is miserable without her medication—especially if she’s not moving about (and that make her the perfect Swat-A-Granny contestant I might add). So—I’m thinking (and you know that Frito T. Cat is ALWAYS thinking)—maybe the dog isn’t a clueless buffoon. Maybe he just looks stupid and has Restless Tail Syndrome—making him appear to be unwittingly happy all the time!

I just did some online research and it seems that the vet world is entirely missing this highly plausible, overly irritating phenomenon! I’m going to email this to the human lady immediately—she needs to call the vet. Maybe he needs sedated! Maybe it’s incurable and the only humane thing to do would be to put him down and out of my…er…HIS misery. Did I mention that he even wiggle-waggles that silly tail in his sleep? (The human says he’s dreaming—I say he’s possessed by the moron ghost of hound dogs past—but, of course, nobody ever listens to the fat cat!)

I may have just discovered the cause of irritating wag-worthy happiness in dogs everywhere. Do you think they’ll give me credit? Do you think this discovery is worth any money? (Either the cat food fund is low these days or those humans are enforcing the evil vet diet plan in preparation for my upcoming vet visit—this visit I like to call “The Fat Cat Weight Check and Ridicule Session”.)

I think it’s answered. The stupid dog, while he may be inherently less intelligent than we felines, is suffering from a real medical illness. He needs help—he needs drugged…um..he needs medicated! He may even need to be put down for humanity sake. I’m a strong advocate for humane treatment—we cannot wait on this—we need to act quickly, human!

If a cat fails to accept the given logic that cats are the polar opposite of dogs, it is up to the owner to find his or her cat's anti-cat...a.k.a. the dog absolutely most un-like the cat and set up a meeting to set a dog loving cat on track.

I wish my family had kept the Face of Stupid, my anti-cat dog, for only an initial meeting--but, NOoooooooooo, they had to adopt it. The most important aspects of this step in a cat's Canine Affection treatment are twofold. (1) The dog must be the ultimate opposite of the cat for the maximum impact and (2)The dog should be a loaner dog--not a permanent resident.

*Ignoring aspect two can cause personality disorders, unmanageable anger, and other psychosomatic illnesses leading up to and including one Frito sized kitty meltdown! Because I understand that humans often lead by example--I am offering my own personal memories of my Step Two. My cat pals know that I am something of a "soul cat"--I am laid back. I enjoy calm, peaceful living. I like calm music, a clean litter box, and a quiet napping table. The humans decided it was time for me to meet my anti-cat. Then THIS happened.

(You may need to switch the view at the bottom of the video window from 360p to 480p in order for the YouTube music to play with the video--there's some AudioSwap bug that's causing a glitch at the present)

Okay, one minute I was asleep on my blanket (the one that the middle little kid think is hers) and the next minute, I wake up and all three little irritating human kids are GONE. They have absolutely disappeared. Vanished. G-O-N-E. The weird thing? The Mom and Dad humans seem not to notice.

Do you supposed they've lost their minds--or maybe they've come to their senses and gotten rid of the time sponging brats...Oh...could it be? Do you supposed they got rid of the dog too? #%^@ Nope, the Face of Stupid is still upstairs in bed with the Dad human.

They must have been KIDNAPPED! Okay..let's go back here. What do I remember before the kidnapping? Yesterday morning, Fluffy stole a turkey neck, the mom human was making banana pudding (Fluffy tried to get the milk and was thrown outside), Gina was reminded that not every human belonging was in "the wrong place" and that she needed to be tolerant, Lea moved into her "company's coming" hidey-hole under the littlest little kid's bed...now the kids are gone. What happened?

OH NO!!! I slept through Thanksgiving! I missed the black olives! I missed swatting my Swat-a-Granny! I missed biting the Aunt that thinks I'm cute and cuddly! I missed the first eight hour of peace once the brats...er..the little humans are off to Grandma's. I must be getting old! How does a cat like me sleep through the annual holiday feast and guests.

Did I lose a life? Should I get my hearing checked? HOW OLD AM I??? I blame the dog. He must have slipped something into that catnip! Yeah. That's it. The dog ruined my Thanksgiving. The girls and I need a sit down.

Okay—those who know me know that I once loved a dog. I am cat enough to admit it. I loved my dog Bear more than anything in the world. I even went so far as to start a support group for other cats who developed attractions for creatures of the canine variety. There were a lot of cats in need of support out there.

Then—it all changed. Bear moved on to Rainbow Bridge—and the stupid humans brought me Satan in a Hound Dog Suit. They call him Max. I affectionately call him Asshole. (When the general smell, the appearance and the behavior warrant it—I improvise—sometimes not so generously.) I hate this dog more than anything I’ve ever despised. Gina playing with my tail, the 3 brat kids dressing me up in doll clothes, the fat vet telling me I need a diet---all of these things were irritating. Max however crosses all boundaries. I, a once professed dog loving cat, absolutely hate him.

I mean look at him! Could you really take this seriously?

His ears are never where they are supposed to be--they are turned the wrong direction or in his water bowl...just silly. Throw on a straw hat and a bandana and you have a bad Hee Haw rerun from the 1970s. I’m a city cat. I don’t do Hee Haw. I do not pick…I do not grin—in case you haven’t noticed.

This pound hound is the face of stupid—and as they say such an affliction cannot be fixed.

Most people cannot even give one of these face-of-stupid creatures away free to a good home—and my humans PAID for it. Do you know how much cat food they could have purchased with that $150 adoption fee??? (Okay---maybe not much diet cat food—but, they could have kept Dum-Dum Fluffy D’Tail in canned, squished mouse ears for MONTHS.) Did they think of this at all? Hmmpf. Mom was an engineer….good with science and no sense…but….the Dad human supposedly studied economics…

Let’s see, Dad--
1 Face of Stupid $150
or
Sustenance for one mild mannered, well liked cat for 8 months $150

Someone in this house apparently doesn’t calculate comparisons well.

Leads one city cat to wonder what one would pay for 2 Stupid Humans……What do you think I could sell them for? If there’s a market for Max, the Face of Stupid—surely someone would pay me for these two morons.

I had originally thought that the beast with which the humans are forcing my cohabitation was a piranha disguised as a hound. I mean the teeth are his only feature aside from those ridiculous ears. Those ears are in his water bowl, the doofus tries to eat them when he sucks up his food like a vacuum cleaner...they are just silly...why does a 10 pound Puppy need ears sized for a Great Dane? After a few days of detaching the pooch from my tail fluff, I thought that he couldn't possibly be a dog because he was trying to eat me! Obviously Beagle bred with Piranha...a Beagranha, I guess.
Then I realized it's true breeding! It's a Fitness Trainer! The worst species of the worst in the world of a Big Boned City Kitty! The humans have disguised a fitness trainer in a hound dog suit to run me around the house. (Bear in mind, I do the chasing--but, nonetheless, I spend a great deal of my napping time RUNNING!) It's like a built in Treadmill that I can't resist. I see Puppy, I chase Puppy. I hear Puppy, I have to run to find Puppy so that I can CHASE Puppy. It's a horrible fate! I may actually lose weight at this rate!

Things had just started to get back to normal around here. The kids were home for summer, the girls and I had gotten used to life without Stink Doggy Dog, I had the vet appointment under my belt and we had a new diet plan in place. Things were settling in. I felt pretty good about things.

The humans had to go to a graduation party-two day event out of town. I had even decided that this wasn't going to upset my delicate urinary system. I could handle the separation anxiety--even when they locked Fluff INSIDE the house with us for the weekend. I could do it. As a matter of fact, the weekend went well.
Until Sunday night...then THIS happend.

There is absolutely no way I'm letting this beast move into my house. The humans didn't even get a dog--they got a puppy. They call him Max. The girls and I call him a piranha disguised as a hound dog.

Oh, it's been a blast. He "trees" Gina on to the fireplace mantle, he makes Lea so stressed out, she won't eat...well...she won't eat much, Fluffy seems to like him which only furthers the conclusion that Fluffy has nothing between his ears...Me you ask? I don't like him. The only time I see any value in him is when he's sleeping...on a different floor of the house. I'm trying to get used to it. I won't let him go downstairs...he's not allowed in the Little Human's room...he's not allowed in my cat food bowl...and he's not going to take my whole chair.

You don't think he's staying do you? Even humans can't be this crazy...can they?????

Thank you, Gina! It seems that with a little inspiration from your pal Louie, that the humans and some of the other cats think I have some issues with being a cat. Well, I guess it is time to come clean. I am cat enough to admit that I love a dog. Yes. I said it. A dog. D-O-G. It's not just any old hound dog or anything. It's MY dog. He's a pomeranian. His name is Bear. Before the pictures pop up in all of my friend's profiles, I used to sleep on him when I was a kitten and I know there are some incriminating photos. Lucky for me that Gina doesn't have a scanner compatible with the new PC. Yet.
I had mentioned to a few cats that I was thinking of starting a support group for other cats living in this situation. Well, the parents have found the "purrfect" program for me. It seems that they think my emotional attention to the one I affectionately call Stink Doggy Dog is unhealthy. The program is with the local CAT institute. (Canine Affection Treatment Institute) I get to relearn to be a cat. They are currently interviewing for other exemplary cats to "train" us in hunting like a cat, sleeping like a cat, thinking like a cat, and they are actually encouraging intolerance to dogs. I'll go to the program since they have given me a choice between a steady stream of diet food or this two week course in nonsense. I am a cat. I just happen to be a cat that loves my dog. I think maybe they should have Bear tested to see if maybe, just maybe he isn't a cat in some kind of a sick disguise. My bags are packed for this trip to the Institute. I have some extra snacks packed and my milk rings, and there has even been some talk that there is something less than catlike about fetching too!
Let me know if Gina gets carried away with the blog while I'm gone.
Frito