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Cats in General
Member Name: Plumptious
Cats in General
Date: 27/03/01, updated on 02/04/01 (157 review reads)
Advantages: Wonderful company.
Disadvantages: Dealing with cat litter for 20 years.
Plumptious Catticus is my youngest kitten. She was named after me, not the other way round. I figured that everyone needs an heir. The Catticus part of her name is purely her own.
Her favourite napping position is on my pillow. In fact, she's here now. I'm lying on my tummy, typing this and she's on the pillow that my elbows are resting on, with her back planted firmly against my left elbow. I'm loath to move as it will disturb her.
At night, she will curl up into a tight little ball and plonk herself firmly against my face. It's actually amazingly difficult to breathe through a wall of fur. I have no idea how those kittens cuddled up together in baskets do it.
It took a while, but I've persuaded her to stop suffocating me at night. I now go to sleep on my side, with soft silver fur jammed firmly against one eye socket. It's surprisingly comforting.
In the middle of my describing how she cuddles up to me, she got up, disturbed by all the thudding of the keys and headed for under the bed. So much for closeness.
To the rest of the world, she's simply an odd mix of ginger, grey and silver cat. But to me, her discerning attendant, she's wearing a grey pinafore with Nora Batty striped ginger stockings. As usual, I have a theory about that:
Picture the Great Assembly line in Heaven. Thousands of souls wandering about, slowly getting the essentials together before making their appearance on earth.
Plumpy is amongst them, perusing the cat suit rack. It's important to choose an outfit that you're happy with. The primitive resources on earth don't stretch to spare outfits.
She whittles down the likely contenders to two promising outfits. Time's running out. The next batch of souls is called for delivery to earth. There's nothing for it. She whips out her trusty Swiss Army knife, and severs the leggings from the ginger ca
tsuit. Turning to the grey catsuit, she cuts off the sleeves and discards them.
And there you have it. Striped ginger stockings and a grey pinafore. An outfit for the truly discerning.
Her father was a Norwegian Forest Cat. Not much is known about her mother's ancestry. There's Chinchilla somewhere, but she wasn't paying attention when her mum was talking about it.
In keeping with her Norwegian bloodlines, she's a very fastidious being. I always know if any of the other cats or dogs have had an "accident", because Plumpy is always beside the scene of the crime, trying to bury it.
I remember the time that the German Shepherd was the culprit. Plumpy was only two months old at the time and could fit more than happily in the palm of my hand. There she was, industriously digging away at the floor, trying to bury a pile of dog waste bigger than her.
This fastidiousness has a flipside, however. It also applies to her food. It's very disconcerting to put food down for your new kitten, only to have the tiny scrap try to bury it in disgust before walking away from the smell.
What got to me was that she wasn't so much disdainful of the food as concerned about it. It was not so much "This is terrible food. How dare you?", but more "Oh dear, let's clear this up, shall we?".
I am pleased to report that she's doing this less as she becomes older and more accustomed to a variety of foods.
It's wonderful having her about. I spend a lot of time glued to a book or monitor. Out of the blue, two soft furry little paws will appear on my arm. It will be Plumpy, fresh from her latest game or nap, visiting to rub noses. Greetings over, she might vanish again. At other times, she will settle next to me or on me while I continue to work.
If she does settle next to me, I have to stop myself from talking to her. Any noise I make, even a
sneeze, will have her politely getting to her feet, ready for another nosing session. Unfortunately, these nosing sessions can cause me to sneeze even more, and a vicious cycle begins.
Cats may not be the greatest conversationalists, but they do have a definite philosophy about life. They may not go around collaring unwilling audiences to preach it, but I know their philosophy because they live it.
With every movement and action, they obey their rules in life. Wash regularly, eat to sustain your body, stretch and run to keep it fit. Then stretch again because it's nice.
Like responsible landowners, they patrol their territory and investigate any changes to it. Underlings and other cats are kept in check.
They have gorgeous little tailored outfits that they wear with pride and wonderful ears that can swivel. How cool is that?
When I grow up, I want to be a cat.