Right to reply: A cat’s tale

Miaow!! Grrrr. Harumph.

It has come to my attention that a certain someone (she of the hair the kind of red that could only come out of a box) has been bad-mouthing me, my kind and feline fabulousness in general. All in the supposed interests of entertaining a bunch of people not even in the same room as her.

Time to set the record straight, methinks.

First of all, let me introduce myself (Tails up! Sniff the air. Come on, turn round).

Joker’s the name. All round fluffy gorgeousness is the game. That, and being an international cat of action - so long as you count being squawked at by the humans in two different languages qualifies as ‘international’.

As you may have learned yesterday, it’s been a few months ago since I joined Big Red, he of the dangly bits and their equally large and dangly offspring, Noisy Kid, who insists on scratching his collection of oddly-shaped contraptions with strings every single day. However, what Big Red failed to mention when tapping away at the black box thing with a window on it was that like so many unrecognised saviours before me, I came with a mission.

(‘And what is that mission, o great Joker,’ I hear you cry. Don’t I?)

Simple. I came to make their lives richer, to give them purpose, even unconditional love (sometimes expressed in ways they just don’t get). If you like, I give them a reason to get up in the morning (something they occasionally need to be reminded of with a gentle nip of the nose sticking up from beneath their bed covers).

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying it’s a chore. There are definitely perks for me. I mean, I do LIKE humans. They’re endlessly entertaining, always good for a laugh.

But really, that not terribly bright, are they? Half the time, I don’t think they even know how funny they are being with their odd little rituals and constant surprise at being leapt upon. Didn’t one of their more enlightened specimens once say that the definition of madness is doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting a different result? Well, by that definition, they’re all (and please pardon my French here) BARKING mad!

Really people, even you lot have some odd expression about cats and curiosity. So why all the raised eyebrows when I want to check out what lives in all those caves in the house, or what exactly it is you do in the special room with the water?

I’ve been conducting extensive research for some time now but I’ve yet to get to the bottom (pun unintended) of it. From what I can make out, it seems to have a dual purpose – combining a daily ritual rain dance with their everyday needs to (ahem) relieve themselves. And yet, there’s not a dirt-tray in sight.

I must say, however, that they seem to be happy to provide the materials for a bit of creativity with rolls of paper just waiting to be rearranged in new and meaningful ways, and cables just asking for a Dadaistic touch (for obvious reasons, I’m no fan of BowHaus). But they never seem to appreciate the results when the muse takes me.

What can I say? I’m surrounded by Philistines - they just don’t know art when they see it.  They say that all great artists are misunderstood in their own time, so I suppose if nothing else, I am part of a noble tradition. Or perhaps, their taste is for the more visceral? If so, I’m hoping I’ll be able to win them around in the summer when we make that promised trip to the country, by broadening my horizons with installation art involving assorted bugs, birds and furry things.

They just don’t understand my sensitive artistic nature – especially Dangly Man, who insists on bring out the box of screaming monsters that want to suck out my soul every time I decide to spread some of the sand joy on the kitchen floor. Lucky for me I can run about a zillion times faster than him – and I know all the best hiding places.

Goodness me, all this ‘xplaining is tiring work – specially when tapped out with paws whilst keeping watch for huffy humans who still haven’t got the message that I CAN and WILL go wherever I darned well like.

Hang on, I need a stretch (remind me some time to tell you about the benefits of cat yoga), and a yawn (open, hold and… snap!).

That’s better.

Right, where was I? Oh yes, telling you how tiring it is being me. Speaking of which, Dangly seems to be meditating in the armchair. But really folks, let’s face it, he’s not the most spiritual of creatures. Think I’m gonna have to go and give him a hand.

Right, nose-to-nose in case he’s forgotten to breathe. Check. In fact, he appears to….  rumbling. Curiouser and curiouser. Odd things they do when they close their eyes. Oh well, better stay with him to make sure all’s well.

Just. Let. Me. Get comfortable.

Now on duty, curled up to attention so I monitor Dangly’s heartbeat. I’ll have to get back to you lot later. Duty calls, you understand.

Prrrrrrrrrrr.  ZZzzzzzzzzzzz.