Cat burglar suspect in garden-glove thefts – Yahoo! News

As if the gardeners of Pelham don’t have enough to worry about, with the rocky soil and the slugs and the big trees casting too much shade, a feline felon has been sneaking into their back yards and carrying off gardening gloves.

Goche’s flower-patterned number may soon take its place on the clothesline that’s strung across the front fence at Willy’s home, which he shares with Jennifer and Dan Pifer, their 19-month-old son Hudson and a mutt named Peanut Chew.

Above the line is a sign that says, in words and pictures, “Our cat is a glove snatcher. Please take these if yours.”

On Thursday morning, nine pairs of gardening gloves and five singles were strung up, nicely framed by the Pifers’ flourishing tomato and basil plants. Willy, looking innocent, was playing with a beetle under the Subaru in the driveway and occasionally dashing after Hudson.

I’m sure that Riley will have something to say about this later.

Hmmmm. It appears that I was not keeping the kitty box as clean as I should have. Thank goodness for Nature’s Miracle… excuse me while I do a little laundry.

Note to self: Every other day, or every day. Every other day, or every day. Otherwise, don’t leave attractive piles of clothes around.

Said cat has been chastised. Bad!! Cat!! Bad!! Naughty!! Although, to be fair, it should be Bad! Monkey! Bad! Naughty!

Apparently I need to get Riley a Day-Runner so he can keep up with his exhausting Daily Schedule.

It’s a hell of a thing when your cat has a busier social life than you do.

Something is definitely fishy around there. That lady that was here a few days ago came back. My monkeylady jabbered to her and gave her some of those paper things and then they looked at me and tried to get me to play. Well, I only did a little, I was thrown a little off my game by the presence of the other lady. However, I will soon have her under my paw. She will be mine.

My monkeys went into one of the “No-no Riley” rooms last night and left the door open, and so I went in and hid under the bed and claimed it for my dominion. They were piling some of their clothes things up and getting out these big things that opened up. There was a lot of bumping around and scurrying from one room to another gathering things.

Later tonight, I will investigate a number of small objects that appeared on the bedside table and the bathroom sink. I think the “dab and drop” method will tell me something about what these objects are for, and of course to teach my monkeys not to put interesting objects on the edges of tables and counters where they might spontaneously knock themselves off the edge.
I suspect something unusual is going to happen soon, but don’t yet know what it is.

For now, though, everything is good. My monkeys and I have fallen into a very enjoyable routine. This morning it was very cold, so I crept under the covers on their sleeping thing. The monkeylady seemed to like that a lot, but it was stuffy and a little too warm.

So, I just went in and out. In and out. Under the covers and then right back out. It was nice going creeping in there and snuggling, and then I’d have to get out again. Quite fun. The monkey lady seemed peeved that I wouldn’t settle and let her sleep, though. Must make a note to school her a little better on that; she really sleeps too much, I think.

Cross-pawsted to Rileycat.com

Technorati Tags: Riley, Cat, Catblog

“Ow! Ow! YEEEOW! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYOWTCH!!”

Yes, I did indeed vocalise in this very vulgar manner tonight. I was quite overcome with pain. My furry human was busying himself with doing something about the monkey chow they eat at night, and I was in my usual position right at his feet. Well, I was only offering to take care of any little fishy tidbits that happened to find their way to the floor.

And then he stepped back and put his big monkey food down HARD, RIGHT on my little paw, and it HURT. I screamed loudly and ran away.

My monkeywoman came quick! She ran right up from the other room and they both approached me as I stumbled away in some pain and confusion. It was like reliving a nightmare, but then they both stopped and spoke softly and gently to me and to each other.

I shook off my pain-befuddlement and moved as quick as I could up the stairs to the sleeping room, in some embarassment for being caught out. I had shown fear, and I felt very small and vulnerable again. They followed, carefully.

Oh no! For a moment I was afraid of even my beloved monkeys! I shuddered with fear, but it lessened as I realized that already my paw hurt less and less. Not a serious injury, then. Of course, I should have realized that when I was able to run up the stairs, but still.

I jumped, rather gingerly, up on to the bed to my secure place, a blanket placed for my personal use at the foot of the bed. My monkeys came close, reassuring me that they meant me no harm. My lady petted me softly and felt my legs and paws gently. She seemed relieved, and then she petted my furry one, and he seemed even more relieved and petted me over and over again. It was clear that abject apologies were being offered, and so I accepted with a tentative “bump” to his paw. And then all was loving and good and I was not scared any more. I love my humans, but they certainly are clumsy.

I recovered my sang-froid, and later was able to play a couple of good games of Stringfish! and Get That Red Dot!!1! with my furry man. Friends again. However, I shall be much more cautious about those big feet-things they have. I’m fine now, although you may kiss the paw if you wish.

I don’t think I like feet much at all. My monkey lady has big purple fake feet on her back paws right now and they make a scary SHH! – SHH! noise. I did not think it was amusing when she approached just now to play a game of I’m Coming To Get You!

If I could talk Gibberish (the language that they speak) I would tell her “Lose the purple feet, please.”

Perhaps I shall have to take drastic steps to render them…unwearable. More on that later.

Chris Isaak:Somebody’s Crying

Technorati Tags: catblogging, Riley, Gibberish

My monkeylady was reading something on the computer, and then as she often does, wandered away. I took the opportunity to do a little kitty recon and found a few more fellow travelers in the Cat’s Right movement (our motto: “The cat’s right, monkey. Get used to it.”

Another monkeylady writes about her cats, and has conversations with them much like I have with my own monkeys:

ginmar: Note to self:After boiling hot water for

“STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!”

“NOW!”

“Off the counter!”

“What did I say?”

“No more laser pointer for YOU!”

“Get OUT of there!”

“Get OFF of there!”

“(*&^! cats!”

“I’m trying to write!”

“Do you have to do that?”

Today’s lesson, therefore, is:

Drink tea before interrogating one’s cats.

Do not interrogate one’s cats. One can only imagine their replies to this nonsense.

“Yes, quite frankly, we must. Why do you keep asking us this?”

“No.”

“No.”

“No.”

“Who cares? We don’t listen to you.”

“Bite me, you tall hairless oppressor!”

“It’s where the good people food is!”

“Hey, either you let us eat or you let us drink the Scotch. You decide.”

How very strange – that’s exactly the sort of claptrap I have to endure from my monkeylady. I love her dearly, but she actually reprimanded me sharply this evening when I decided to sample the brightly-lit bush she assembled in the living room.

What? It didn’t even taste that good, but I felt duty-bound to verify my data.

She brought a couple of boxes in and scattered intriguing looking things all over, then put together this thing that looks exactly like a giant toy designed especially for persons of the fur persuasion like myself.

Then she dangled some shiny balls on it. Can’t wait for later, when I see how far they go when batted. Think I’ll wait until after they are deeply asleep and making that disgusting “snoooOOORK” noise.

I wouldn’t want to disturb them, after all.

Anyway, I can see from the above dialogue that although I have much in common with other cats and their monkeys, I do have several comments or questions.

1. What is “scotch?”
2. It’s called a “laser pointer?” I see. Thank you.
3. Why did my monkey assemble a bush in the living room? Anyone? Anyone? Mewler?

Uh, oh. The furry monkey is returning from somewhere else and I’ll have to “log off” for now. Well done, my feline co-conspirators. Continue the good work in confounding and confusing our dear but misguided monkeys.

Ha! My monkeys left the computer unguarded again. Silly monkeys. I took the opportunity to check in on a few of my brethren and sistren in the Cat underground.

Caveat Lector | Good morning, housemonkey

Didi came in for her morning trample bright—well, dark and early this morning. Yawning, I got up to feed her, and check in by IM with a friend of mine in Australia.

Turning on the light, I discovered that one of them hurled on my winter cloak. Good morning, housemonkey! Isn’t it a lovely morning!

Good work, Didi! I commend you. I myself have had a few opportunities to hurl. I was unable to find a coat, but I did have a go at the living room rug (the nice soft one) again.

I was irked that my monkeywoman took my fishing pole toy away from me, so later on I left her a couple of messages in the front hall place. She had foolishly left my toy out on the counter, and then both monkeys went out into the place where the noisy moving boxes live. So I jumped up and captured the mouse that is somehow invisibly attached to the fishing pole, and took it toward the kitchen.

Suddenly, the fishing pole was chasing me! It wanted the mouse back! I ran up the little stairs and the pole stopped, but then I couldn’t keep going with the mouse.

So I stopped and chewed at the almost-invisible string and snapped it. The fishing pole stopped chasing me and the mouse.

In fact, the way the string coiled up begged for further investigation and attack, so I chewed it into several pieces.

Then the monkeylady came back and made very surprised sounds. She
tried to pick up all the pieces of string and she put the fishing pole away in the cupboard, but she didn’t know I saved some pieces for later, and left them for her to find when I hurled some messages in the hall. Ha.

The mouse is now completely mine and I carry it around as is my right. My mouse now.

She’ll have to get something else to attach to that fishing pole thing, but I bet she won’t leave it out where I can get to it again.

Please, please, please adopt a cat this week and give thanks for companionship, warmth, and a new friend who purrs:

Chicago Tribune | Cats multiplying like rabbits

David and I adopted Riley Cat Gibbs after a long spell of catlessness, and have had so much fun playing with him and getting to know his beguiling little ways. We’re so grateful we helped rescue him, and we’re grateful to the folks at PACT Humane Society who helped.

There are several links to Chicago-area shelters in the Trib story – to that I’ll add a link to PACT Humane Society, Chicagoland’s largest all-volunteer, no-kill animal shelter.

The last few weeks have flown by in a happy blur. My monkeys – in fact, I now think of them as “my beloved monkeys,” have gone to great lengths to make me comfortable. Recently, they have bought new toys and invented new games to keep me entertained and healthy. I am especially fond of “Sock Jail” and “Whack-A-Mouse,” and also now have two special sleeping beds of my very own. One of them I hated until they turned it on its side, whereby it became perfectly acceptable. The other one is a very upscale leather hammock in the monkey’s wall-watching room. I enjoy my hammock very much, especially when the monkeys toss some of the foam balls in. Oh! Oh! That makes me so enjoyably KA-RAY-ZEEE! Oh! Oh! Gettitgettitgettit! Oh…

You must pardon me, I become quite excitable when in the throes of an attack of playfulness. A strange thing about that leather hammock was that the woman monkey didn’t seem to want me to use it at first. She kept sweeping it out and appeared concerned. I had no problem with it at all, although the previous tenants left behind a number of bits of wood and bark and so on. Apparently it had another use before my reign began.

Mine now, though. It’s all mine now.

I even have a special radio program to enjoy while the monkeys are away from the little building. This makes my days less dull, though truth be told, I sleep most of the time anyway. It’s called DogCatRadio.com
and it’s all right, but actually I prefer it when they leave National Public Radio on all day. I like to remain informed.

Yes, my domain is run along the lines I laid down from the very beginning: regular meals, clean water, plenty of places to hide, plenty of places to sleep, and of course much petting and accolades from the monkeys, my populace. I take my duties seriously and in exchange for all their offerings and tributes, I give them approving head- and body-bumps and luxuriate in being petted. Also they seem to find my enthusiasm for our games and toys entertaining – sometimes they completely forget to watch the wall and focus on my activities.

Which, after all, is as it should be. I must say that my overall health and fitness are much improved since my arrival – I seem to be much stronger and have much more energy for play. I remember feeling very small and very scared and not being able to play much at all, but that was a long time ago.

It’s good to be Cat, of course. It’s good to be Cat of such an appreciative and affectionate and generous pair of monkeys.