In Which: There is a New Cat on the Blog

Hello. Elliot here. I am the new cat. Not much of a computer guy. But it's part of my job description to do the blog thing. Sigh. I'd rather be having an adventure - nothing huge, just a cat-sized adventure.

Anyway, here I am:

As you can see, I am an ordinary cat, at least from the outside. I have a fascinating internal life about which I am reticent. At the moment, I am chasing squirrels.

Well, I'm really sitting at the bottom of a giant silver maple looking at squirrels. The little buggers never get quite close enough....

In Which: Plans are Made

Ho-hum. It's merely that the Librarian plans to go hiking in the Beartooth Mountains tomorrow. Just a baby hike, since she hasn't done anything but walk up in Swords Park for ages.


Hmmm, well she did hike up to Avalanche Lake.


I suppose that counts.

However, tomorrow she will be going somewhere completely new. How trepidatious of her. Trepidatious. I am not sure that is a word. If it is a word, it seems likely to have been made up by Anne of Green Gables. I would look it up in the dictionary but I am busy licking a paw.

Well. So I tell her, she had better be careful of those bears. I think she will be all right if she follows my plan: bring tuna sandwiches for lunch. If a bear appears, throw a tuna sandwich at it. Any bear would prefer that to a human smelly with bug repellent. I know I would.

In Which: the Librarian is Older. A Lot Older.

The last time the Librarian saw Bob Dylan in concert, it was 1976.


I looked up the date of the Rolling Thunder Revue, because she thought it was in 1975. That would have made it 35 years ago. Due to my attention to details, she has staved off one year. Thirty-four years ago, she was almost someone else. She didn't even know about Me.

Bob Dylan looked a lot better different then too.

Don't be misled by the date on that poster. The Revue lasted into May 1976, when the Librarian saw a lackluster concert that was drowned by rain (but no thunder - just a downpour) in Fort Collins, CO.

This time, the concert is a mere 1/2 block away. If she gets bored, disgusted or rained on, she can just walk home. I shudder to think how many cans of Fancy Feast she could have bought instead of the ticket, but she says it's the Last Time she'll ever get to see Bob Dylan, not to mention John Mellencamp whose Little Pink Houses album used to reside in her yellow Sony Walkman (remember those?) when she walked up to the "M" on Mount Sentinel in Missoula. I was around for that. I looked like this (since everyone else is getting a "younger" picture):

Ahhh, Me and Luigi. I am the Fatty Kitty, he is the stripey one. I believe I'm starting to understand the nostalgia the Librarian has been experiencing.

However, I must briskly shake that off. Trucks have been arriving,

roadies set up a big tent in the parking lot,


a stage in the outfield (center - right),

and a regiment of blue porta-potties stands alertly at strategic points.

I hope the Librarian enjoys herself. She will if she remembers her earplugs. Loud music gives her a headache.

In Which: Fatty Kitty consorts with dogs.

I am surprised at myself. I am actually participating in a chatty dog blog called Chet the Dog.


Of course, this is the Librarian's fault as per usual. She would read those mysteries and laugh out loud and mutter to herself, i.e.: "Oh no! Don't do that!" or "Get'em Chet! Atta boy!" Harumph. About a dog. She never did that when she read those Cat mysteries...she did not appear to be entertained. After all, I must admit:

Cats do not run all over the desert;

Cats cannot leap at the perpetrators' throats (and threaten to tear them out, even. Egad.)

Cats can't smell as much - oops, I mean as well - as dogs.

Alas.

But if I can be allowed to make a case for Cats:

A Cat could distract the perpetrator, by running between his/her legs, scratching, or a loud yowl at the right time:

A Cat could pee on something, rendering it unusable (or at least thoroughly disgusting). This would be helpful in disarming weaponry, for instance:

A Cat can eat grass and puke next to a pertinent clue....

Oh Holy (Furry) Balls. I cannot believe I am even discussing this.

The odd part is...I don't mind the dogs (except they talk too much). I might even grow fond of a dog who thinks he is Henry the VIII and thus wears a ruff.

When I think about being a Cat detective, I believe I would be more of the Sam Spade type: moody, given to terse statements, a real loner. Hmmmm. I shall direct the Librarian to find a Kitty Fedora and practice meowing out of the corner of my mouth.

Mrrrrrrrrrrritttsh!

Er, no. Mweowww. Better.

Mwwwwwwow. Mwwwwow. Well, this is exhausting. But there - it's time for my nap anyway.

In Which: the librarian approaches the Big L

I have been watching over the librarian.  She has 16 days left until she becomes the Librarian.  It's been a Long hauL, as she wouLd put it.  And in ceLebration, I have fLoated down (figurativeLy, not LiteraLLy) to post in her honor.

I'm sure it's been difficuLt for her to continue without me.  I was the bane and joy of her existence, and I am quick to add that joy overcame bane by a Large margin.  Oh, certainLy, some wouLd mention the cessation of hairbaLLs, but that is a minor inconvenience compared to the Loss of my effervescent companionship.  It couLd not be otherwise, for I am Fatty Kitty.  I am aLmost tempted to grin, figurativeLy of course, since I no Longer have a body.

I suppose you want to know what I am, and in your feebLe human mind, I am a ghost or an angeL (I am tempted to grin again).  Oh no, I am so much more than that now.  I wiLL forego expLaining, since it is impossibLe for any human to understand.  Why eLse the chiLdish cLinging to superstition and ego?

But, as usuaL, I digress.  It's just that I enjoy being superior so much that I tend to dweLL on it.  Again, the grin.  So now, from my exaLted position (no, not in the sky, fooLs, in the hierarchy of being, of course), I bestow congratuLations on the soon-to-be Librarian, and Leave her with these words of wisdom: 

Stop noodLing about and do your homework! 

If you do, I promise I won't mess about with these capital Ls any Longer.  They are annoying, aren't they?  Ho ho!  Now I know why that Cheshire Cat was so toothy...grinning as the worLd trudges by is a worthy occupation.  Now, since there are stiLL naps where I am (and why shouLd there not be?), I wiLL partake ...........shnoooorrrngh.

signed, the Fatty Kitty

In Which: a New Creature arrives at Fatty Kitty's

Hello, it is I, Library Kitty.  I've been sojourning at Fatty Kitty's for awhile now.  I went a few places with the librarian, for instance, to a great big lake.  It was windy and I almost blew in, but the librarian saved me:

Then we went down a country road.  I navigated from the dashboard:

And there I met someone who must have been my relative, because his name is Kitty Kitty.  He showed me how to roll on the dirt and scratch my back. 

 I remember Fatty Kitty enjoying this also, but a Woolly Kitty such as myself prefers not to get dirty, although I did enjoy hiding under the pepper plants.  I was as still and quiet as a squash.

But that was all a long time ago, and since then we haven't gone anywhere, and I am ready to be back in the office with Marilyn, who is my True Companion.  Soon, says the librarian, but first, I was part of the Holiday decorations.

and then...I met the New Creature.  He happened after they put the turkey in and before everyone came over to eat.  The librarian said he was a Woolly Mousekin.

He is very light, because there is nothing inside of him except catnip from Fatty Kitty's Memorial Garden.  Fatty Kitty was very partial to it, but since I am also Woolly, I decided not to bite the Mousekin.  Today the librarian brought him over to Molly's house and she didn't bring  him back.  I hope he is all right.  Since Fatty Kitty is not here, I feel responsible.  However, I have a funny feeling that Fatty Kitty would feel rather vampirish towards the Woolly Mousekin.  Or maybe that's just because I've been reading the Twilight series.  However, there is something about that Mousekin that makes me think Fatty Kitty would want to roll all over him, and you know how fat large Fatty Kitty was.  Is.  I meant IS.  Even though I haven't seen him, Fatty Kitty is still here.  The librarian knows it too.  I feel certain we'll be hearing from him sometime soon.

I am Molly

Bonjour, mes amis.  I am Molly.  You are meeting me because I have sent my companion away to France, with her Mother.  She needed a rest, poor thing.  What with the hiking, and camping, and a few desperate weeks of work, she was simply worn out.  Fatigued.  Which I would say in French but this foul Blogger has not the accent symbole.

En tout cas, I am here, at the home of le Fatty Kitty.  Fatty Kitty is, of course, dead.  Nevertheless, this is still his home, his domaine, no more so than when I repose in the garden which bears his name.

 

You see me on a small rock, which sometimes holds water, surrounded by the burgeoning catnip. and many squash which will never bear fruit.  I fear this librarian is no gardener.  However, the catnip is exceptional and that is all that really matters.

I spend my time in the usual manner: in repose upon my fur-lined bed

 

(I have a lovely view of the woodcutter who lives next door - so restful to watch others sweating and hauling and perhaps, swearing);

I also go for les aventures in the back yard.  There are trees, birds, squirrels, and a rival cat to amuse me.

I surprise my concierge by walking along the ground one moment, and the next instant I am...

 

vous voyez?

Eh bien, je dois partir maintenant.

J'aime le traducteur Google.

Until next time, mes amis.  Au revoir....

The librarian expects a Visitor

A visitor is coming this evening, and her luggage will include: her bed, her food, her toys, her litter box, her blankie. Maybe some other stuff.
Her name is Molly, and she looks like this:


Her companion is going to France and Molly can't travel with her. Three and a half weeks is too long for Molly to stay home with visitors; she needs more companionship than that! So she is coming to stay for awhile. What a lucky librarian! And more than that...perhaps Molly blogs....

W.W.F.K.D?

What Would Fatty Kitty Do? With this blog, that is. His unique attitude on life has fled with his earthly existence, and leaves only a librarian (Fatty Kitty would not allow a capital "L" until my graduation, so I'm waiting until March 2010) who feels unequal to the task of following in his footsteps...or pawsteps...or more likely, his naphollows. I'm sure you can figure out what a naphollow is from the context, right?

Compounding my feelings of inadequacy is the fact that I have to go to work - something Fatty Kitty never had to do. Although I believe he defined any effort he made to do anything that wasn't pleasurable as work. But you know what I mean. So I'll go to work and ponder...W.W.F.K.D?

the librarian

In Which: we pay our last respects to Fatty Kitty

PJ, the Fatty Kitty died on April 13th.  We miss him so.  In memoriam, we have released pictures of Fatty Kitty in his younger days, before he became famous.  Some of the earlier pictures show him with his brother, Luigi, who died in 2005.

      Exploring the lilac with Luigi on the left, PJ on the right.

The brothers had similar markings, which became more pronounced as they grew older.  But Luigi had short fur, and PJ had long fur, thus he became known as the "Fatty Kitty."

 

Luigi is looking at the camera.  PJ is the one in the yoga pose, naturally.  It is the pose known as "Pork Chop."

In the photo above, PJ is above Luigi for once.  Luigi dominated the pair while he was alive, but PJ made up for it after Luigi died.

   

PJ felt he was a great help with schoolwork, as he liked to sit on my lap while I typed, starting in 1996, on my trusty Brother word processor...

and on to Missoula, where he perfected his snoozing technique while I finished up my Social Work degree:

 

to this winter when he helped me with the statistics in my research class.

I'll miss all the little hairballs we used to make after we brushed you, Fatty Kitty, and your purrs, and the way you smelled when I picked you up and squeezed you.  Thanks for not minding tooo much. We shared much more than I can tell in one blog post, of course.  I love you, Fatty Kitty!

Special thanks to the staff at Alpine Animal Hospital, who lost someone very dear to them in April as well. 

In Which: I Recommend a Training Video.

Fatty Kitty does not usually lend his name to commercial enterprises or the endeavors of others.  However, in the interest of continued superiority of the Cat, I recommend the strategies employed by Simon's Cat.  Watch and Remember!

In Which: I Return. And I have a New Bed.

Here I am.  Are you glad to see me?  Of course you are.  I've been busy doing statistics.  Let's see: I now know the difference between descriptive statistics and inferential statistics.  See, I'm reading my textbook.

However, I prefer qualitative analysis.  But enough about me, what do you think of my new bed?

 

Of course, my bright wool blanket with the Killer Whale on it distracts from the central theme, which is that of wood, and support, 

 

and lots of room underneath to lounge and cough up hairballs.  They're threatening storage but so far, so good.  

The sailor decorated it for me: a tree to run up with my claws and meow for a couple of hours until I realize they're not going to get me.  Then I come down.  

and a bear foot.  

 That has something to do with the sailor and his bare feet.  He rarely wears socks.  This somewhat distresses the librarian, as she likes to knit socks.  Oh well, knit a kitty bed for me, I say.  On the other hand, I like the bed the sailor made me well enough.  I leave my hairs on it to show him my appreciation.  I think he understands; he mentions it every time I leave some for him.

Well, ta-ta for now.  I'm off to get groomed.  Grooming is big these days, with spring coming, and I must keep up appearances, you know.  Rrrrreeeeooowww!

OWEO, oh OOOO oh. OWEO, oh OOOO oh.

No, it's not the Wicked Witch's guards from the Wizard of Oz. It's the Working Women of Whitefish dressed up as Fairy Godmothers. What a relief. Those guards always gave me the creeps. And that music:
Da da daaa, d-d-d d-d-d daaaaa. You know what I'm talking about, don't you? Ooo, I didn't know a Cat could get goosebumps.

Thank goodness that most of the time it's peaceful and quiet around here. I relax watching the squirrels come out to eat sunflower seeds.

We had quite a bit of snow, which has deteriorated into ice. Luckily, the librarian has kept the back deck clear. My Domain must be habitable for a Cat of delicate sensibilities and paws, y'know!

Lately, she's been taxing my brain with statistics. She's been staying up far too late, and I become quite disgusted with her for not going to bed on time. I can't be calculating p-values and what not. I need my beauty rest!


I post this picture in spite of her protests that everyone will look up her nostrils. I always have to look up her nostrils. Harumph!

In Which: I wonder what will happen next

Nothing is happening. There isn't even any new snow. All the snow is old and crusted with the sunflower shells left by messy squirrels. How they do make my whiskers twitch!  The large accumulation of powdery snow teamed up with the heavy, wet snow to break branches on the lilac in the back yard (My Domain!) The librarian will be doing some more pruning this spring.

Speaking of, she's been hard at it again, trying to change from a librarian to a Librarian. I used to mind that she hogged the computer, but now that I have claimed her schoolwork lap as my own, I am quite comfortable. She has everything she needs around her so that she doesn't have to get up - pencils, paper, articles, my brush, some catnip, and a pair of scissors that she thinks she's going to use on that mat on my hind leg when I become less vigilant.  However, I believe in constant vigilance, as espoused by Maggie Drew when playing cards.

I would illustrate my prose with pictures, but the librarian has lost the cable to my camera.  Hmmm, while she's out of the room I could always order a new one...her debit card is right here...miaowwww.  If nothing's happening, a Cat must make do.  Ciaow.

In Which: the librarian wastes a lot of time making silly movies.

The librarian challenges her siblings to recognize their inner John Travolta:

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

In Which: Fatty Kitty writes a Poem.

Ode to She Who Understands Cats
on the Occasion of Her 256th (in Cat years) Birthday,
with Apologies to Pablo Neruda.
 

The only child

the first miracle of six
who jumped
over barricades
like horses
and twirled,
dreaming,
amid grubby siblings,
of ballet shoes
no less grubby
with effort and
determination.

The faint light on her
upturned eyes
of stars
show through
branches
of a horse chestnut tree
with many faces
while Cats
circle
her ankles.

    

In Which: I become a Useful Item.

I am suddenly in demand. It appears that when the weather is cold enough, I am requested - no, I am begged - to come and sleep next to the librarian. Apparently it's not enough anymore to have a rice bag at the feet, and a hot water bottle in the Arctic regions (what she'd call her rear, but I Know Better. It's positively glacial.)


At any rate, the temperature hovers just below zero, this 1919 house is so charming and inefficient that it hovers ten degrees below the thermostat, and pretty little frost climbs up the charming wood-framed storm windows. And we wish the current Daily Inter-Lake editor's columns were included in the ground-up newspaper that is currently the sole insulation between the walls. Then there would be a lot more hot air in here.


The librarian took this picture to show how the snow slides off our roof faster than any other house on the block - because we have so much more heat escaping is the complaint.


Well, I'm doing my part. Of course, if I were fed more, I could become fatter and therefore a better source of heat. I think a little cream might even be called for. I think I'll pour on a little Fatty Kitty Charm. Excuse me. I must wander into the kitchen and state my case.

In Which: I meet a Formidable Cat

    AbbietheKitty asked about my recent trip across Minnesota, North Dakota, and Montana.  Thank you very much for your concern, AbbietheKitty.  The trip was fine.  I am not happy about travel, but one does what one must.  

    My librarian drove safely, if not quietly.  She sang along with the radio and CDs, played the harmonica occasionally, and cackled while listening to David Sedaris read "Naked."  I think I put up with it quite well.  She didn't need to stuff the motel pillows into the holes that led under that bed; I wasn't going to stay there.

     However, in Missoula, we stayed at the home of Ben and Amanda.  They look like this:

They appear to be normal, I suppose.  But their Cat, well...

 

He is Formidable.  

     For one, he is large, very large, larger than I, and nothing Fatty about him.  He is also very expressive.  You might even say articulate.  And what he was articulating sounded distinctly threatening. I think I'm glad I didn't meet him nose to nose, even if he does wear Soft claws.  

     But, what can one do when one's home is invaded by a Stranger?  I empathize with Hendrix.  We sniffed at each other with a door panel between us, but that's all we were allowed to do.  Who knows what great partnerships have been thwarted by over-protective companions, eh, AbbietheKitty?

In Which: I find a Role Model

My new favorite comic strip: Get Fuzzy

Here's the strip from Nov. 4, 2008:

 

  

  

 

You can find more of the Supreme Cat Here.