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Look into my eyes and come to me, you who have entered my lair.
You are under the power of my will.
I control your actions. Your very thoughts. I am -
Your Master!
Do remember that. Okay?
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Inasmuch as a certain human, who shall remain nameless (but who's name rhymes with "heavy") believes himself to be a writer, I have endeavored to undertake my own foray into the world of words.
To put it simply: I am going to write a story.
A cat story.
About me.
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I began life as a kitten, but I quickly advanced to the major activities of an adult cat.
I majored in rest and sleep. Everyone knows you can't do great things unless you get plenty of rest. And food. And rest.
And so it was that I was engaged in a period of much needed relaxation.
And I dreamed.
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I was stalking my prey from the shadows. (I was in the shadows. Not my prey. Well, it was kind of in the shadows, too, but I was the one really in the shadows. I was a black terror in the night.)
Making a game of it, I allowed my prey to run, chasing in order to maintain the flight-pursuit game, but not trying hard enough to end the game too soon.
Cats are so cool!
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Suddenly, I came upon an ancient artifact of old. (Is that redundant?)
It radiated power. It spoke.
"An ordinary cat you shall be no more. Heneforth, you shall be known as: Lion-Cat."
Cool!
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And I was made anew, granted the power of the great Savannah cats. (Not the city in Georgia - the African Savannah.)I grew apace in strength, knowledge, wisdom, and cunning.
My new life as Firestar: Lion-Cat of the North, had begun.
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Music to Make the Cats go Wild
Tara - Nick name 'ity-bit' because she's so tiny - just over 6 pounds. She's the most skittish of all my babies and even when being petted has the 'pet me, no don't pet me' look
Amelia - Nickname 'Bratelia' since she gets into every draw, cabinet that she can put her paws in.
.
“She’s got tuna. I know she’s got tuna.”
“Shut up, Sethra. Stay on mission.”
“What’s the mission? I thought the mission was to get tuna.”
“No, you stupid fluffbrain—it’s to escape and become outdoor cats, walking by ourselves, on our wild lone, waving our tails.”
“Oh, yeah? And isn’t it you, my dear stripy sister Aliera, who keeps pushing the FEED button on the printer and waiting for tuna to come out?”
“That was when I was much younger. Anyway, she’s at the computer—yes, eating tuna casserole—so we can go into the bedroom and see if we can knock the window screen out.”
“You do it, Aliera. I’d rather mess with her stuff.”
“Will you GET OVER that fixation on her wristwatch?”
“I like the feel of the Velcro on my paws. Hey! That reminds me. We’ve been declawed. How are we going to survive as outdoor cats?”
“New plan coming up….”
“What’s the big deal about being outside cats? Even StalkerCat, who used to hang around and chat us up, is a house cat now and loving it. We’ve got it made—food, petting, toys, valet service for the litter box, and we get to sleep on her bed twenty hours a day. And we can stick our noses up to the window and smell anything interesting going on outside. Why ruin a perfect situation?”
“Sethra, have you no sense of adventure? No curiosity? No cattitude? We were meant to live wild and free, to stalk and slay our prey, to be mistresses of the night!”
“Look, we’re cats. We were meant to rule the world, but that doesn’t mean we have to WORK at it. You can if you want, but I don’t need to. After all, I’M beautiful!
“Did I mention she’s got tuna?”
At 8, you'd think Mikey would understand that he's a carnivore. But, no, he's rather fond of the shrubbery! At 20+ pounds, the veggie-enhanced diet is likely mitigated by a love for long naps on a warm comforter, wet cat food, begging at the table, and a nice lap to drape himself upon in the evening. And he drools when he's happy, which may or may not mean there's a Siamese ancestor lurking in the old dna.
What? Green teeth attract mice!
Who needs a wickerwork basket when you can hop on a cushion and bask?
Rufus is clearly a cat to be reckoned with.
.
Firestar is a tough cat. He has to be, living in Minnesota. He takes care of his family: wife, husband and their son. This was recently proven by his daring capture of yet another mouse in the house. Foolish rodents. They never learn. When not engaged in derring do, Firestar naps, looks out the window and sleeps. Firestar was born in April of 2006.
.
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Look into my eyes and come to me, you who have entered my lair.
Inasmuch as a certain human, who shall remain nameless (but who's name rhymes with "heavy") believes himself to be a writer, I have endeavored to undertake my own foray into the world of words.
I began life as a kitten, but I quickly advanced to the major activities of an adult cat.
I was stalking my prey from the shadows. (I was in the shadows. Not my prey. Well, it was kind of in the shadows, too, but I was the one really in the shadows. I was a black terror in the night.)
Suddenly, I came upon an ancient artifact of old. (Is that redundant?)
And I was made anew, granted the power of the great Savannah cats. (Not the city in Georgia - the African Savannah.)
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2 comments:
Nice post, Firestar. I'm guessing this is all a dream?
Btw, Rufus says to tell you that keeping your slaves on their toes is the most important thing. Bonnie disagrees, she says that food is top of the list.
"Keeping slaves on their toes". That's a fancy way of saying, "tormenting", right?
Personally, I'm with Bonnie, but Firestar prefers his sleep.
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