I am trying to take a bath here!

Most of you know that I am not overly fond of the dog that lives here. She was here when I arrived in October, 2002 and I have never warmed up to her. But can you blame me? She is ten times my size, and is not at all aware of the damage she could do to a small cat like me when she starts jumping around. Plus I was not raised around dogs, so I had no idea what she was when I first saw her. Surprisingly, in the years I have lived here, I have made it so that she is actually a little afraid of me because I hiss at her, and if she does not leave me alone, I’m not above taking a swipe at her.

All that said, I know some cats are just the opposite — they love dogs! Like my roommate Binga. She and the dog are best friends and they hang out together. Boodie is kind of scared of everything, but she would probably be indifferent to the dog if the dog didn’t chase her. (Part of it is Boodie’s fault for running — I hold my ground.)

So I decided to start a new poll: Are you a cat who likes dogs? Look to your right and scroll down a bit and you’ll find it. Vote. Let me know if you’re with me and are not a dog fan, or if you’re more of a dog lover, like Binga. Need I remind you — cats only! No humans and especially no dogs! That would be cheating.

Those of you kitties who, like me, have your own email addresses already know: spam is the scourge of the earth. Actually I have three different email accounts! Some of them get more spam than others. But this particular not-so-tasty delight arrived in one of my human’s personal email accounts! It was very strange, because that address is not usually associated with me at all.

Since it said “Proposal,” my human had to open it up. After all, I do get authentic business proposals sometimes. But this wasn’t one:

Hello Sparkle,
I am Mr. R G Barber, Company Secretary of HSBC, Hong Kong. I have a business proposal for you. A transfer of $24.5 million was deposited by one of our late customer who died without declaring any next of kin before his death in 2003. Against this backdrop, my suggestion to you is to stand as the next of kin to Alfred Cat, since you as you bear the same surname. So you will be able to receive this funds to your own nominated account we shall share in the ratio of 50% for me, 50% for you.
Regards,
R G Barber.

Yes, there are typos, and no, they are not mine. My command of the written English word is impeccable and I would not make such glaring mistakes. I also have way too much integrity to stand in as a relative to a cat I’ve never even heard of. Although I do admit that the thought of a cat worth $24.5 million is quite gratifying. If the fictional Alfred Cat can do it, then a living, breathing cat should be able to do even better!

And without any warning my human plunks this thing down next to me.

Apparently it was something her boyfriend brought back from his brief trip to New Mexico. He was gone for such a short time I didn’t even know he was away.

Okay, you can take it away now.

Yes, I am mad today! Mad at my human. She came home the other evening and she had Strange Cat Smell all over her! Even worse, she took photos with her Blackberry — not just one or two, but a bunch! You’d think she was shooting a celebrity or something, and this cat doesn’t even have a blog or a twitter account.

Her name is Aila. And she lives with two other Meezers, but you would never know it, because all the photos my human took were of her. She is one big ham.

And she is also one of those weird sink cats. Doesn’t she understand that that is where water comes from?

I think she finally got fed up with my human taking all those photos. Especially this one, because when Aila’s human saw it, she threatened to give her a bath! Which just goes to show: you don’t win over a kitty with a stupid camera.

But what you didn’t see then is where the picture finally wound up being hung. Here it is, right next to my cat tree. It also overlooks the dining room table, which is kind of ironic, since one or more of us is usually sitting there.

See?

Yes, she did destroy that chair seat, but that has nothing to do with rule breaking. That was human error for recovering these chairs with such a nice, nubby, scratch-able material. If you look closely, you may notice the original seat fabric, which was nowhere near as shred-worthy.

But enough about stupid human tricks. Binga is just mean-tempered and she takes it out on whoever is nearest to her. Check out this video — this is almost a daily occurrence here, come mealtime.

And she also does the old switcheroo, where she pretends to be nice, only to turn around and bite. Boodie is usually the victim. Who could ever forget this video?

So to Binga — and to all the other bad cats out there, I dedicate this song from heavy rockers Motörhead.* It’s called (logically) “I’m So Bad, Baby I Don’t Care.”

I make love to mountain lions,
Sleep on red-hot branding irons,
When I walk the roadway shakes,
Bed’s a mess of rattlesnakes,
Voodoo child, black cat bone,
Scratch your back, hear you moan,
Get me up, you go down, tall building, single bound,
War and peace, peace and love, say it if you dare,
Iron fist, velvet glove,
I’m so bad, baby I don’t care,
Black-hearted to the bone,
Older than The Rolling Stones,
Been to heaven, been to hell,
Bought the farm, and I won’t sell,
Give and take, rise and fall, rise up and take it all,
Secret love, I won’t tell, knock you up and ring your bell,
Kiss the whip, eat the gun,
Tell me it ain’t fair, midnight victim, hit and run,
I’m so bad, baby I don’t care,
I make the blind to see,
Shoot ‘em full of R and B,
I make the lame to walk,
Come ’round and pop your cork,
Wham, bam, thank you ma’am,
I thought I heard the back door slam,
Overkill, walk the line, kill the lights, it’s lampshade time,
On the road, on the lam, people running scared,
I’m everything they say I am, I’m so bad, baby I don’t care.

* My human co-wrote White Line Fever, the autobiography of the singer, Lemmy Kilmister. Not that that has anything to do with this post.

This rural shelter doesn’t even have cages for its cats — it has old, rusty carriers, stacked one on top of the other on metal sleeves. The two overworked employees rotate shifts and are on 24-hour call. The carriers are only cleaned every two to three days, and if there is an emergency… food and water for the cats will have to wait. Flies buzz constantly around the room and the cats don’t get names or even cage cards. Death is commonplace here, and the vet might come by to euthanize cats at any time — there is no set schedule. The first time Beth went there, she and her fellow rescuers saved 20 cats from these unspeakable conditions, only to discover that there were four left behind who would be euthanized the next day. Luckily, these kitties were rescued early in the morning just in time.

But it didn’t take long for those ancient carriers to start filling up again. The next time Beth showed up was when she heard that gut-wrenching sob. It came from a small ginger and white cat, who was huddled in one of the carriers with his black-furred companion. The two of them, eight years old, had just been dumped at the shelter — their human had to go to a nursing home, and her family didn’t want them and apparently didn’t care what happened to them. The pair was scared to death. It was like they knew they didn’t have a chance. Beth knew she had to save them.

When Beth’s friend Crystal fetched the two kitties, she placed them in the car in carriers that faced each other. Tommy and Jet put their paws out to touch on the way to the vet, and snuggled tightly together once they got there. They are that bonded to one another.

Now comes the dilemma: where will Tommy and Jet go? I am loathe to call them seniors because they are about the same age as me, and I don’t feel old. Besides, at eight, a cat still has a lot of quality life left! A couple of rescue organizations in the States have offered to take them, including one in Tennessee that has a “seniors for seniors” program. But is it really okay for these two sensitive souls to travel that far? One of the clinic’s techs has already told Beth that one of the pair seems depressed. Wouldn’t it be better if they could find a home in the Toronto area? It’s a large city, and there has to be someone out there, senior or not, who would love to have a pair of mature kitties who want nothing more than to keep each other company in a nice home.

To find out more about these seniors — and the great work that Beth is doing in rescue — visit her website, House of the Discarded. And please spread the word about this bonded pair of kitties — they really need a home now!