Catum Mechanics (catfinition) – fundamental theory about cats that explains their behavior, such as their ability to time-travel, eat more than their weight in food without gaining weight while remaining hungry, and glide across floors without making a sound to suddenly appear beside (or on) people’s feet, and other unusual locations.
Floonch
Floonch (catfinition) – a cat’s quick, nervous response to being unexpectedly touched.
Floofbrarian
Floofbrarian (catfinition) – a cat who likes to visit or live in libraries.
Flootch
Flootch (catfinition) – a feline game that involves a human throwing something. The cat then runs after it. Grabbing it, the cat will either bat it around or kick it. Then, stopping, the cat will wait for the human to do something. When the humans does something, the cat scores a point.
The humans never score. It’s all a cat’s game.
The Sausage
We’ve always had cats. We claim them as ours. That’s because we paid the rent or the mortgage, bought the food, and paid the other bills. We thought we were in charge because we control the money. Yeah, we control the money, but they control us. Cats have us. Out of the most recent who lived with us (Sammy, Scheckter, Pogo, Smudge, Lady, Quinn, Tucker, Boo, and Papi), all came to us. They picked out our house, walked up, and meowed, “Hello. Feed me.” The exception is Lady. We took her in because the elderly man who took care of her and six other cats was moving into a home, and couldn’t care for her any longer.
The thing about cats is we love to entertain them, because it entertains us. We love watching them pretend to stalk and kill strings because they’re cute and funny. Plus, we need to entertain them. When they’re not sleeping or eating, they need entertained. Fortunately, they’re eating or sleeping twenty hours out of the day. But if you’re not entertaining them for the other four hours, you will become their entertainment. They’ll start playing head games, like the Door Game, or they’ll start walking around, meowing, the game they call Meow Polo. It’s like the Marco Polo game humans, but crueler, and sans water.
These circumstances drive us to hunt for cat toys. You’d think it’d be easy. Cats like chasing mice. Bugs. Spiders. Each other. Lights. Strings. Pieces of foil. M&Ms. Blueberries. Should be easy to find them a toy.
But no. One of the mind games cats like to play with people is to be indifferent to what we offer them. Food, snacks, treats, toys…cats like to look at them, sniff them, maybe give them a bat, and say, “No thanks,” and walk away. And we know this about cats, so we try to out-think them. But we can’t, because we’re using human logic, and they’re using cat logic, which is superior.
Yet, we still try.
That’s why we’ve been so happy with the sausage. Sixteen inches long, it looks like four sausage links. It’s stuffed with catnip. Every cat we’ve had will walk into the room, see the sausage, walk over to it, and go into some frenzied but gently violent feline foreplay with it. They’ll lick it, bite it, seize it with their front paws and kick it with their back paws, roll around on it, drool and dribble on it, and gently rub their faces against it. Then they’ll get up, step away like, “That’s enough,” wash, and generally pretend that what just happened, didn’t.
And we love it because we feel special for finding something that entertains the cats, so they can entertain us, and re-establish our balance about who is supposed to be in charge.
M.F.W.I.C. (Updated)
M.F.W.I.C., aka MFWIC: (Catfinition) – Mother floof what’s in charge, a reference to the household queen who organizes the other pets, and enforces order and structure in the floofhold.
In use: “She wasn’t big nor vocal, but she was the MFWIC, and touching any of her charges – the other household pets – meant you had to first pass her scrutiny, no exceptions.”
After the Eclipse
It started a few days before the eclipse, with cats.
Cats and I are positive and negative magnets meeting. My ex-wife claims felines have secretly marked our house as a place for a nap and a meal. They’re always coming around, and often stay. But, two days before the eclipse, the cat count increased from seven to ten. The next day, the congress of cats doubled. Another eleven arrived on the day of the eclipse.
All were healthy and none fought, spooky, given how my four boys typically war with interlopers. The situation fed my imagination that cats knew something was happening. Sure, something was happening; it’s called an eclipse. Humans had been talking and writing about it, but none of my floofheads seemed concerned about the impending event.
That would be weird enough, but it wasn’t the weird, scary aspect of the post-eclipse day. Afterward, actually, that night….
I was in my study, as is my habit, imbibing a glass of tawny port, and watching a television show. Noises outside caused me to mute the sound, and then pause the show to investigate. Grabbing the flashlight, I turned on the front porch light and slipped out. It’d been a hundred and five degree day. Though we were slipping past ten P.M., the temp still shouldered eighty. Yet, it felt refreshingly cool.
The cats were on the front porch and yard. Every foot seemed to hold a cat. None watched me, or moved, but a few made soft mewling noises. They all stared outward. I turned my light in that direction.
Something was in the street past the rock rose.
The something stared back with large amber eyes. They narrowed as they watched me.
Not a raccoon or deer, I decided. Wolf? The shape behind those eyes were uncertain. Sweat dripping down my face and body, I crept forward with the flashlight. The amber eyes rose higher. I realized they were in a head on a neck as thick as my torso.
I realized it was a fucking dragon.
I realized that was fucking impossible.
I realized I was completely motionless.
I realized the fucking dragon was moving toward me.
I realized that I had no fucking idea of what to do. Some part of me seized the situation by the balls. I said, “Well, aren’t you a pretty dragon?” My tone suggested seeing a dragon was as common as seeing a cat.
Crawling forward, the dragon issued a creaky growl in response. The creature was bigger than my circle of light. My testicles climbed up into my body for protection. I tried swallowing, but there wasn’t anything there.
The cats all began meowing. The dragon shuffled forward, parting the rock rose like it was grass. My light revealed wings, scales, claws, a snout, and teeth. Yes, those were the primary dragon parts. I didn’t think running would do much good. I figured a dragon could probably take me, and that if it wanted to, I’d already be gnawed on like a bucket of chicken wings at a bar.
Stopping, the dragon thrust its head toward me. Taller than me, it lowered its head until our eyes were at the same level. Then it looked me over like a John sizing up a hooker. I did nothing but sweat and breath. I’m not positive about that latter, but I felt the sweat dripping off my hair onto my neck.
The dragon snorted. I jumped. I think I pissed myself a little. Realizing it was moving, I stumbled backward. With the cats meowing more loudly and intensely in a way that I’d never known, the dragon crawled forward into their midst on my front yard. Stopping, it curled up, drawing its tail around its body, and folding its wings against its sides. The cats swarmed over it. Many sniffed and licked the dragon.
He or she allowed it.
Finding body control and reasoning, I went into my house, brought out my cell phone, and took a photo.
The photo showed nothing there but the yard. Not even the cats were visible in the photo.
The felines were all settled against or on the dragon. All, dragon and cats, were looking at me. A chorus of purrs thrummed the air. Uncertain of what the fuck else to do – call animal control? – I stole back in the house. I left the front light on, opened the blind, and spent the night hours alternating between watching the dragon, searching the net for news about dragons, and trying to get a photograph of it.
It was still there in the morning, as the first people began their daily routines of biking, walking, jogging, and driving to appointments. None made it past my house. All drew up to stare, as I did, and try to photograph the beast and the felines on my front lawn. Dogs seeing the dragon, though, turned and fled.
I think this might be the beginning of a new era on Earth. Or maybe it was the return of an old cycle. You know.
Round and round.
Chick-a-boom
I sing to my cats.
I don’t want to. I feel pressured. They follow me around like they expect something. I give them food. They sniff it and turn away, a definite, non-verbal, “No, that’s not what I want.”
They do like being petted. But if I’m petting one, the others become petty and jealous. They’re like, “Hey, why is he getting petted? Pet me.”
And I tire of petting the cats. It’s hard work stroking bellies and backs, and scratching chins and ears. The cats never want it to end, grabbing my hand if I try to pull away. It’s also hairy work. Or furry work, I guess. I suppose there is a difference between fur and hair.
So, I have a repertoire of songs I sing to them. My current favorite is “I Can’t Get Next to You,” by the Temptations. If you know the lyrics, then let me tell you, I change some verses to make it more relevant to the cats. Like, I sing, “I can change the litter box, just by waving my hands.” I also substitute “cat” for “girl.” So, I sing, “Cat, you’re blowing my mind. Cause I can’t get, next to you.”
One thing I always sing as I hear it in the song is “Chick-a-boom, chick-a-boom. Chick-a-boom, boom, boom.” And I dance to that part.
The cats are leery about it. They watch me with an expression that asks, “What’s wrong with this fool?” Sometimes, they raise a paw in warning. (I call that a pawarning.) They say, “Watch it. Stay back. I have claws, and I’m not afraid to use them.” I can tell you that this statements is true. They’re firm disciplinarians with their claws.
The singing amuses me. The cats don’t find this as amusing as me. Neither does my wife. She says, with dour expressions and deep sighs, “Not this, again.”
Now, since I can’t change the litter box just by waving my hands, I have go do it manually. Because, even though these felines are indoor and outdoor critters, they’re civilized. They only ‘do their business’ inside.
Chick-a-boom, chick-a-boom.
Looky-floof
Looky-floof (floofinition): a housepet who likes to follow people and spy on them.
In Use: “Papi is a classic looky-floof, following us around the house, close at hand to observe whatever we’re doing – washing, dressing, eating, reading, it doesn’t matter.”
The Odd Couple On the Front Porch
Pepper, on the left, terrifies the other cats, yowling and swatting at them without provocation or hesitation. Belonging to a neighbor, she enjoys our front porch. Tucker is an unrepentant fighter who terrorizes the other cats in the neighborhood. But these two cozy up on the front porch, stretching out and sleeping in peace, or sitting beside one another, a comfortable couple who the other cats carefully avoid.
I don’t know why WP insists on putting two photos in. During editing, there’s only one, but Preview or Publish, and two appear. The entire post was published and deleted. The original photo was deleted from the library and added back in. Yet, WP persists on putting two in there. I guess the God of Technology is messing with me.
Michael Seidel, writer 