Category: cats

I love Tardar Sauce

I think I’ve found someone who can make me smile even when I’m in my darkest moments. Tardar Sauce. You have to know her by now, especially if you’re an internet junkie like me. Tardar is a cat. A rather peculiar-looking cat. She is dubbed the ‘grumpy cat’, and there’s a couple of YouTube videos of her interacting with her humans.
I’m eternally grateful to her owners who decided to post her on the web, because if I hadn’t stumbled across this cat’s disapproving visage, I’d be a great deal more depressed. The moment I saw that furry face, I laughed. I was wondering, ‘what did someone do to make this cat so grumpy?’ The expression was nigh upon human, in my view. Some people thought the cat had been deliberately photoshopped, but Tard is the real deal. She’s been in heavy rotation on Tumblr, which is where I first saw her pop up.
Some people think she’s ugly, but I don’t think so. I think she’s cute and adorable. She’s unique. Her face (and big blue eyes) are very endearing. I read that one of the reasons (humorously phrased) that Tard was so grumpy was that she was the center of attention to a little girl, who was overly affectionate. Cats are known for wanting their space at times.
This really got me out of a serious slump, I have to tell you. The reason why I haven’t written in a while is that I’ve just been having a very hard time emotionally as of late. I’ve been finding it very hard to keep my spirits up, so this was really divine intervention for me.
So, wherever you are, thank you Tardar Sauce and your humans. You made my day.


Cats love to explore new objects

Image via Wikipedia

Considering my life, it’s more than likely I will end up an old spinster, unable to find a husband. To fill that void, I would probably turn to filling it with cats. So, faithful people who read my blog, I am giving you a heads up. I love cats. I can talk about cats all day without getting tired. I know I could drive just about anyone up the wall with endless stories about felines. I have NO social life, and since I can’t seem to be able to find people who can bear to be around me for extended perionds of time, I might as well lavish that attention on cats. I treat the kitties well, they give me love in return. Seems a pretty fair deal to me. Why bother trying to impress self-centered, shallow humans who only care about their egos and desires when you can spoil a cat rotten and be loved back for it?

I talk to cats, have one-sided conversations with them, because it amuses me, or I will meow back if they’re a particularly vocal creature. I play with them, get right down on the floor and roll around, not caring if I look like a complete moron to other people. I try to find things they’re interested in, or just simply hang out with them.

Cats are not as cold-hearted as some people think. A mean cat is an abused cat, one not shown love, respect, kindness or sympathy. Treat a cat (or ANY animal, for that matter), with a good heart and you have formed a bond that transcends everything. I had a cat for 13 years, and he was one of the most gentle, good-natured cats I’ve ever known. He wasn’t some fancy pedigree feline, just your average tabby cat. What made Dart the way he was, was HOW he was treated. I spoiled him, and my dad did too. I never showed any kind of violence toward him, never hurt him out of spite, never mistreated him. I talked to him as if he were a person, because I felt in some fashion he did understand me. I showed him love through brushing him, which he adored, gave him treats, played with him when he was frisky. He kept me company at night, and knew, just knew, when I was having trouble sleeping. Dart would begin purring like a motor and the sound would automatically soothe me back to sleep. He’d hang out in my room, even when I wasn’t there at times because I think he felt my room was a safe place for him. He wouldn’t mind when I’d curl up on the bed with him and hold him close.

I say hello to stray cats, or neighbor’s cats if I’m out. I make friends with them, even some whose owners say they’re a one-person cat. I have been adopted by cats when visiting people who own them, giving their special feline treatment to someone outside of their human family. My family  thinks I have a certain talent for this sort of thing, being able to befriend animals. I don’t know what it is; it just exists. Maybe they just know I’m someone they can trust. I wish human beings could do that with me. Most of society will just ignore me or treat me like crap. Not everyone, but I’d say most would.

And yes, I have been known to wear cat-themed clothing. I don’t care what others think, because it makes ME happy. I’m always on the lookout for a new cat shirt, or article of fashion that features cats. Most of what I’ve found is pretty obnoxious, though. I’m very picky in that way. I’m a crazy cat lady with a high sense of fashion, so if I’m going to wear it, it has to be good. I have a fleece winter hat with cat ears I still wear, because I love it. I have cat t-shirts I wear on a fairly regular basis in the summertime. I wear cat earrings and rings, because I like them.

Have I driven you thoroughly nuts yet about felines? I mean, I did warn you I was going to ramble long and loud about cats, so don’t get upset that you decided to read this. Why do I love them so much? I think it’s because we humans have made the conscious choice to place a living creature under our care, to be completely responsible for their well-being, their life, their loves, their socialization. If you can show that level of devotion to an animal, it is entirely possible to extend it to people, and maybe those people will share it with you in return.

Trust animals over people

English: Sleeping Tabby Cat.

Image via Wikipedia

I think I have reached a point where I’d rather spend my time among pets than actual human beings. Pets do not stab you in the back, lie to your face, cheat on you, or gossip. The more I deal with people, the more they seem to be nothing but false advertising. They claim to be a friend, then dump you the moment you no longer interest them. Humans are so petty, small-minded, jealous, selfish, bigoted creatures. They love to hate anything and everyone that doesn’t fit into their worldview.

When my beloved tabby cat passed away, a part of my soul died with him, and I have never been able to recover from that loss, 6 years ago. He kept me sane, he was the one thing that kept me from falling completely apart, and when he was gone, I DID break down. I talked to him about everything in my life, how much it sucked, what a pathetic excuse of a human being I was. All he did was give a meow or a purr, gaze at me with those great big yellow eyes and the whole world felt more tolerable. He kept me company at night, when I’d spend half the night tossing around, unable to fall asleep. He’d start purring, and that sound would, without fail, ease me into sleep. I knew I could get through a lousy day of work, knowing he’d be at home waiting for me. After dealing with nasty, rude, unpleasnat people, I looked forward with joy to curling up on my bed with him, enjoying his presence. I could leave the ugliness of theo utside world and work behind, feeling completely safe with my cat.

Now he’s gone, and I am forced to make friends with people, because I HAVE to, not exactly because I want to. I have to make friends in order for me to stay where I am now, have a support network so I can function. No one wants to be friends with me and after reading this, maybe I don’t blame them. I’m not good enough for people, I don’t have piles of fancy degrees that would get me high-paying jobs, I’m not a technical or mathematical genius that would guarantee me a good job. People snub me because I’m weird, because I’m shy, because I don’t fit it anywhere. I’m not popular, I like being a non-conformist, I have (gasp) liberal and progressive views of society. I’m too ‘nice’ perhaps, as in I’m not cold-bloodedly analyzing everyone for their weaknesses in order to use them for my own gain. Sorry for the run-on sentence, but it was necessary.

There’s not enough kind people in the world, I think. Kindness and showing kindness has been looked down upon as a sign of weakness, a fatal flaw. Having a conscience is considered cowardly in this cut-throat society. Being an ‘animal-lover’ means you’re a gutless loser to many. It’s why I choose to avoid interacting with people, because they’re only going to screw you over when you no longer have any use for them. I don’t think ANYONE would bat an eyelash if I dropped dead in front of them. That’s how I feel. I have been used and abused by human beings that I no longer trust them to do anything. I don’t trust myself. I don’t see myself as a human being, because I was tormented so much as a kid that I was more of a freak than human. It’s a horrible way to think, and I know deep inside it’s not true, but it’s a hard concept to overcome.

I wish I could see my faith in people restored, that there  ARE good, wonderful, loving people in the world. I wish I could meet some of those people face to face. I want to be proven wrong, that all these terrible thoughts I have are something to be washed away. I want to believe there still is such a thing as love in humans for one another. An animal puts its life, its very being into your hands for its survival. Why can’t we do that for one another?

Neko (cat) love <3

Here's a picture of Aimee saying hi. She's so ...

Image via Wikipedia

I want to visit Japan. I think Japan has to have the most devoted cat lovers in the world and I want to see them. There are several examples why. Biggest one has to be Basil Yuen Farrow, that marshmallowy cute Scottish Fold who belongs to La Carmina. I mean, how can you NOT love that cute, round owly face?

Next on my love list is Maru, who is also a big cuddly squishball I want to hug. Maru is famous for diving into and through carboard boxes and his exploits recorded to YouTube. Yes, I follow him on YouTube. He just makes me laugh with his antics and because he’s so darn cute! He has a HUGE following—he should get on Twitter so he can promote his cuteness even more. Just discovered something else–Maru has his own book! William Morrow publishes it. I want it now.

Oh. How could I also forget Shiro? Shiro is also a feline YouTube star who has me giggling madly because he is……just so Shiro. He’s so zen I want to know his trick for being so calm and mellow. It would do wonders for my stress levels. His human likes to put him and his friends in various settings, with various assorted objects balanced on his head or front paws. Like oranges. Sometimes I swear he’s sound asleep while it’s done. I was particularly amused when he was sporting the radishes on his head. I about fell off my chair laughing because he didn’t even move! I think they’re hilarious, but then again, I adore cats, so just about any cat makes me happy.

There are SOOOO many cat videos from Japan that you have to sort through, though. They really love their cats, and it makes me feel so warm inside, because I don’t think they’d care that much if the animals meant that much to them personally. You can see how much love goes into their individual stories, why they felt it was worth posting online, why they wanted to share their furry companion with the world. I feel as if I’ve made a hundred new furry friends through watching. Maybe I’m silly. Maybe I’m a crazy cat lady in training (which is entirely likely). And not a bad thing after all, when you think about it.

Sleeping tabby cat

Image via Wikipedia

I love cats. Saying that, I feel very strongly about how these furballs have affected me in helping me cope with my depression. I had a tabby cat named D’Artagnan (more affectionately known as Dart), that was my best friend for 13 years. When I had one of my bouts of profound sadness, I was known to track down Dart and bring him in my room to cuddle. He was very mellow-natured, which made his presence all the more comforting to me. I would babble about my problems and displeasures to him, even though I’m sure he had no clue what I was saying. I could literally find myself relaxing as I stroked his tummy, or brushed him (he LOVED to be brushed). His purr was literally the only thing that would get me to fall asleep at night; I would go crazy trying to sleep if he wasn’t somewhere on my bed.

It’s funny about the term I came up with; cat therapy. I thought I was the only one who used that term, but I ran across another WordPress blogger who used the SAME term. I cannot remember his name for the life of me, but his comment to me on that phrase made me feel a little less silly. Dart never charged for his sessions, except in tummy rubs and treats. I cried all over him at times, got him all wet with my tears, hugged him like a ragdoll. He put up with all of my drama with remarkable fortitude, but I like to think personally that he tolerated it because he loved me.

I have always been more comfortable around animals than people, because I feel that animals know how to judge a person and not betray them. People do that; they do it in a heartbeat because humans are very fickle souls. That’s just my take on it; others may disagree with that assessment. Animals won’t lie to your face, or insult you, or be outright malicious to you. They don’t spread gossip behind your back, break your heart, or steal from you. Maybe I’m just anthropomorphizing all of this, but deep inside, that’s how I feel, and it’s truth for me.

He cared about me, my Dart. When I was sick, he would keep me company on my bed. About five or six years ago, I had to have surgery for gallstones, of all things. My sister came up to care for me, because my parents were bringing my little sister to college. She witnessed this, of how Dart, for all his goofiness, kept a strict watch over my recovery. He sat next to me on the bed and would meow in an annoyed fashion if I tried to get out of bed. If his vocal warnings were not enough,Dart went further to plant his front paws on my ribcage, or drape himself across my legs to prevent me from getting up. When I had to use the bathroom, Dart would be come very agitated if he was not permitted to accompany me into the bathroom. he would sit outside the door and start howling piteously until I let him in. Upon returning to bed, he gave me a ‘cat scan’, which involved a thorough sniffing of me to make sure I was okay.

That was love. Whether you believe it or not, he cared about me. He knew when I was in the dumps because he would invariably make his way to my room and curl up beside me. I truly believe he was one of the biggest reasons for me not taking my life. He was my furry guardian angel, my very own Clarence Oddbody in fur. Dart gave me the strength at times to drag myself up from the abyss of my grief and keep going. People have no idea how much it means to one person to have a pet in their lives, of how much it can improve their well-being. People live longer having a pet. Maybe some people don’t have the time or patience for a pet, but I do. I grew up with pets; I had a dog for sixteen and a half years before she had to be put down due to severe illness. This is the first time in my life since I have had no animals in my life and it’s painful. Six years now without pets. I monopolize people’s pets when I go visiting; I keep trying to make friends with a cousin’s neurotic fat cat, Angel. I shamelessly befriended my neighbor across the street’s cat, Jack Daniels (I kid you not, that’s his name). He was so fond of me that he brought me a dead mouse one time when I was out walking.

My present form of cat therapy has been via YouTube videos of cats. It was partly why I created my own channel there; so I could gather cute, funny, and touching videos of cats in order to cheer me up. I have to say, it’s been a pretty good coping mechanism so far. It’s not self-destructive and there are no deleterious side-effects from watching them.

So, in closing, that’s my take on cat therapy. Now seems like a good time for another session.


Full body photo of solid cream Scottish Fold c...


Image via Wikipedia


Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of him? The moment I laid eyes on this unbelievably cute fuzzball, I was in love. Basil is a cat. A cute, roly-poly, ginger/beige teddybear with these adorable little folded ears. He is of the Scottish Fold breed, one of the most sweetest breeds of cats I’ve ever seen. I wish I could afford one.

Anyhow. Basil has friends in high places, for his grandma is none other than the actress Mia Farrow (I have this fact directly from Basil’s mommy). Basil’s mommy is none other than the illustrious and multi-faceted personage known as La Carmina. If you don’t know who La Carmina is, you’re missing out on a lot. One of her specialties is the Gothic Lolita style ( clothing which I want really bad!), just really offbeat couture which I enjoy for its creativity. There’s more, but I can’t call it up at the moment.

Basil is quite web-savvy; he has a slew of YouTube videos, which was how I discovered him and his mommy. I just don’t know how anyone could not like him; he is just so charming, gentle, and photogenic. Yeah, so this is an all-out love-fest, but I can’t help it. He is so funny in photos, in videos, and he is very much loved. Basil has his own Facebook page, which has a monster following, of which I proudly count myself a part of. It’s so fun to see what people do for him; he has his very own ‘catio’–a patio for cats, built just for him so he can enjoy the outside without getting loose. He looks very happy roaming about in it.

I love his face. He would make a perfect model for sketching, and I’ve been promising myself to sit down one day and try doing a drawing of him. His eyes are very striking, very owlish and a vivid yellow-gold shade. He has a cute little brown nose. I’ve actually never seen a cat’s nose that particular color, but I think it just adds to his charm. He really reminds me of a live plush animal toy, because his fur is so thick and dense. I have to admit I am rather envious of La Carmina, because she has such a wonderful companion in her life. Not all cats are anti-social; my own dear cat was a big mooch when it came to food, and he loved to hang out with me.

That’s why I like Basil, because he’s so fun to observe, because he is so loved by his mommy and tons of fans. He makes people smile, and that’s what I think part of a pet’s job is, to bring happiness into people’s lives. He’s going to be a TV star as well, because tonight at I believe 8 PM, he’ll be featured on a program on the Discovery Channel. Or is it Animal Planet? I do apologize ahead of time if I get it wrong; I’m typing this off the top of my head right now. But do see if you can watch the program and show your support of this awesome kitty. I owe a big thanks to La Carmina for letting me write about Basil from a fan’s point of view. I hope you enjoy what I’ve written and I would LOVE to meet Basil and his mommy someday. Keep up the catitude, Bas!

I’m sure most of the world by now has seen that video from England of the lady who dumped a sweet kitty in a garbage can and walked away without a qualm. I would’ve given that biddy a piece of my mind if I had caught her. I was just flabbergasted by the blatant callousness of the woman, and the whole idea of tossing a cat in a trash can as if it were garbage. Was this woman mentally ill? That’s the only thing I can come up with, because I don’t know of any sane, common-sense folks who’d dump a cat in the garbage just for the heck of it. My dad put an upside down laundry basket over our cat once, but he was just clowning around with the furball. Dart came out of that unscathed. A bit baffled, but unharmed.

Now we go to the lunacy that comes AFTER this video hits the media outlets. Some blithering idiot comes up with a Facebook group calling for the death of the offending woman. Thankfully, the Facebook crew had the good sense to shut it down. This is moronic. Yes, the lady did an incredibly stupid and cruel thing, but to then make death threats against her? Are you serious?!? It is STUPID.

I am a devoted ailurophile, and I get outraged when I see cats and other animals abused and killed by sadistic jerks and irresponsible owners. But to actually threaten someone with violence or death over things like this is insane. It is unbelievably ludicrous behavior, and people who go to that extreme are to be equally scorned for their stupidity. Oh, I’ll bet most who joined that Facebook group did it just to be smart-alecks, but all of them, those who did it for kicks and those who actually wanted to see harm done to this misguided woman are MORONS.

I hope the woman does face some sort of punishment, though. I think having her volunteer at an animal shelter for a set sentence would be certainly effective. I visited a cat shelter recently with a friend and it broke my heart to see so many beautiful animals not wanted anymore. I’d gladly bring some home myself, but I think my father would have objections over pets again. That’s another story.

I applaud the kitty’s owners for their forbearance over her disappearance, and the fact that they called for common sense to prevail over this craziness. Hurting someone over this, or if it were a situation involving children, will not fix anything. The victims will still be hurt or missing, and the accused will not have learned anything. Let’s use our heads for something other than butting them against one another in arguments. Save us all a lot of headaches.

Dart, or D’Artagnan, is my cat. I sadly do not have him anymore, as he passed away from illness, but I don’t want to dwell on the sadness. I want to share the crazy and hilarious things this silly cat did through the years.

I’ve told you of his penchant for sleeping in strange places, such as my bathroom sink and the mop wringer. He had rather unusual tastes in food as well. Such as the filling from Oreo cookies, yogurt, mayonnaise, most varieties of cheese (he hated swiss and blue cheese), loved Doritos (he swiped one right out of my sister’s hand), anchovies, butter, ate holes in two pound cakes my mom baked on separate occasions, and sliced turkey breast. I also discovered he loved the taste of vitamin E ointment in a rather uncomfortable manner. I had a skin graft taken from my forehead with one of my last surgeries, and I was required to keep it moist with vitamin E oil or ointment. So, after greasing up my forehead before bed, I settled in for the night. I was awoken later because I couldn’t figure out why I had so much trouble breathing, as if there was a weight on my chest. Well, there was. Dart was sitting squarely on my chest, one paw planted on my cheek and was industriously licking my forehead clean of the ointment.

My mom had also caught him and scolded him thoroughly, tossing him out of my room. The scar was for the most part healed, but it was still tender and cat tongues are not known for their gentleness, so it did hurt somewhat. Extremely annoyed, I got up, washed my forehead of cat slobber, and reapplied the vitamin E. Within 10 minutes that darn cat was back, in my face. He got chucked out again, and again. After what had to be the fifth time, I shut my door firmly and jammed the doorstop under the gap. You see, my cat, while not too bright, was clever enough to have figured out how to shove open my door if it wasn’t latched securely, or he’d slip a paw under the gap at the bottom and pull it open. After doing this, he was not getting in and Dart set up a piteous wailing outside my door that caused my dad to wake up and yell at the cat.

For all that he thought he was a mighty hunter, he was more often a big scaredy cat. Dart once picked a fight with a praying mantis, who pinched his nose in retaliation and sent the cat crying back inside. He also had a palate for various insects, though the bumblebee was a big mistake. He liked to eat flies, which I secretly approved of, because they would drive me crazy when they’d get stuck in my room. I saw him leap at least 3 feet in the air after one and chomp it, on one occasion. He also ate spiders, which I encouraged, because I HATE the little abominations. Dart also was quite fond of moths, and I saw him eat quite a few, including some good sized ones.

I have more stories of Dart, but I’ll leave this installment here for now. I hope they made you laugh. They are great memories for me.

ROFLThing: Jason Scott sings the Sockington th...

Image by davefishernc via Flickr

This is going to be a completely frivolous blog, on a topic I love: cats. I blundered across Sockington I think via Twitter about over a year ago and this furball has made my life more interesting, more happier, and more entertaining. I look forward to when he tweets about his latest antics, or what he’s doing , who he’s pestering and such. I love how he calls his owner ‘Fatty’—took me a while to figure out who that was, actually. It has led me to look Socks up on YouTube, and any clips I find I put on my YouTube channel. It is simply amazing how a housecat can become an international sensation through online media. Though we all should’ve figured that out already; cats are eminently mouse-compatible.

I am a total sucker for this cat; Sockington is a very photogenic feline, those big yellow eyes, his crisp grey and white coloring. What I would do to meet him! I admit to being on his Facebook page; how could I not pass up the opportunity to see more of this cute little guy? How could anyone not like him? He so adorable? I mean, this cat has an ARMY. Well, that’s what his fans call themselves. The Socks Army. Maybe someone can make those wristbands that say ‘Socks Army’ on them, maybe color them gray and white? Can you imagine what a cool marketing tool that would be? (Are you reading this, Sockington?)

I was so peeved when he announced his line of t-shirts had sold out; I wanted one SO BADLY!!! I would wear it openly, without shame, because I love cats. I will buy funky t-shirts that have prints of cats on them and be unashamed to wear them. As an artist, I thought the graphic put together was utterly charming. It suited him so well, and because he has such clean markings, it made the design all the more simpler. It featured the magnificent Sockington in a portrait, sporting a cravat and looking quite suave and sophisticated. I think it had accents of mice too. My highest compliments to the designer of that shirt—may you continue to produce more lovely works of art!

Sockington, I hope your human, Jason Scott, gets wind of this and reads it. It would be so incredibly awesome if this blog gains significant attention, because I want this kitty to know how much he brightens my days and makes me laugh. I have no pets anymore, and while I love seeing pictures and video of animals, it’s never quite the same as having one snuggled in your lap, keeping you company. I love you, Sockington.

So I had this cat…


my cat

I grew up with a dog, an off-white toy poodle named Muffy. My dad was the one who got her, and she worshiped the ground he walked on, followed him everywhere. Muffy was not particularly fond of me, unless I had food. I honestly think she had a supermassive black hole for a stomach, because that dog could put away food like no tomorrow. She bore a striking resemblance, in my opinion, to a large, pale apricot dustbunny.


Muffy was about 12 years old, a geriatric dog, when my dad finally caved into my little sister’s persistent begging for a cat. We got the cat from the daughter of the woman who gave us Muffy, in fact. So my dad returns from the woman’s house with this little striped fuzzball. I remember carrying the little guy into the house and he stuck to the front of my shirt like Velcro. He was adorable; had enormous yellow eyes like headlights, giant ears and a very long tail. His coat was a mackerel pattern in black and light brown, with four white feet and stomach. He had a small brown patch on his chin, which I took to calling his ‘goatee’ and a tiny brown dot on the left side of his muzzle that reminded me of a facial mole. D’Artagnan was your average tabby cat, but he was so photogenic. My twin sister, who’s an artist, used a drawing of him for her business cards. He makes a fine Puss in Boots, by the way.

Naming him took a bit, because there were us four girls who had to decide on a mutually acceptable name. My little sister, who was about 7 or so at the time, wanted to name him Chickenspock. Totally serious. My middle sister was pretty ambivalent and was fine with whatever me and my twin chose. Finally we settled on D’Artagnan, from the ‘Three Musketeers‘. My little sister liked it and insisted that his birthday would then be on July 14th (we got him around the beginning of July), because he had a French name. She’s a strange kid.

Dart, as he came to be called, was initally a very shy cat. Hopelessly curious, he got himself into predicaments one after another. He tolerated being dressed up in baby clothes by my little sister, who then put him in the doll stroller and rolled him around the basement.  She even went to the extent of putting baby booties on all four paws and a diaper on him. He did NOT appreciate that. I think he actually liked the stroller. Dart liked to sit in cardboard boxes, sometimes sleeping in them. He found other odd places to sleep too, such as my bathroom sink, the ironing board after my mom used it, and last, but not least, the mop wringer. You know those things that hook onto the side of a bucket, the ones janitors use? One of those. I was beyond words, because it was the most ridiculous sights I’d ever seen. He seemed to have made himself quite comfortable in it.

Dart got himself into other mishaps, such as bothering our elderly dog. At that point, she was getting arthritic, but she could move when he came by. I’d see Dart come tearing by like the Indy 500, with the dog right behind him, snarling and barking. It was hilarious, because both would go from carpeted floor to tile and start wiping out. Dart also made the mistake of sleeping in Muffy’s basket, in which he promptly got the stuffing beaten out of him. He was twice the dog’s size and petrified of her.

I hate to admit it, but Dart was not the brightest crayon in the box. When people say that cats are smart, they definitiely weren’t referring to him. He was one of the most accident-prone cats I’ve ever seen. One time, in his bid to drink water out of a watering can, Dart tipped the thing over on himself and got soaked. Another time, he was outside and tried to catch a bumblebee, which stung him in the paw. He came howling back into the house, wailing and crying. I managed to catch him so I could remove the stinger from his pads. His paw swelled up, but otherwise Dart seemed okay. For days he went limping around, crying and being pitiful. My dad would baby him and sneak him treats. Another time, he made to jump from my bed to my sister’s, and missed her bed entirely. There was also the time he fell asleep across the top of a small TV in our kitchen, and we watched him slowly slide off it during dinner, till he landed in a heap on the floor. He also was afraid of the strangest things, such as hats, sunglasses, and soap bubbles. Dart also hated this alpaca sweater belonging to my sister, and would attack it if she wore it. He also got into a wrestling match with it when it lay harmlessly on the bed. Weirdest darn thing. He scared easily as well, the most common thing to frighten him were my dad’s sneezes, which are like a cannon going off. One memorable occasion, Dart was sprawled across the top of the couch in one of his favorite sleeping places, when my dad let out this gargantuan sneeze. It startled the cat so badly he lost his balance and fell down behind the couch. A second later, he erupted from beneath the couch to go hide in my room. For my part, I couldn’t stop laughing. This was typical behavior for this furball, and I never forgot one bit of it. He was also afraid of the toilet, after I flushed it when I caught him trying to drink out of it. Dart never did that again.

Dart’s biggest pratfall involved our fishtank, which sat in front of a window. I would find this crazy cat balanced on the rim of the rectangular tank in order to get a better view out the window at the birds. I’d scolded him numerous times not to be there, but it was a wasted effort. Abruptly, a bird flew past the window, startling Dart and he lost his balance. The cat went right into the tank, up to his middle and he let out an earsplitting howl. I watched Dart, now thoroughly drenched, erupt out of the tank and streak off to the laundry room, where he liked to hide when in trouble. I could not stop laughing. My only regret was I didn’t have a camera to document it.

I don’t have any pictures of him on my computer; all are your standard, non digital images. If I get ambitious enough, I’ll try scanning them and uploading the images. There are plenty more stories about Dart, so keep an eye out in the future.

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