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.