sandy_n
09-03-2008, 01:37 PM
I might be raising a vampire cat.
I don’t understand cats.
I just don’t. I never really have. I’ve lost count of the number of times
I’ve watched our cats doing something and wondered what in the hell they’re
thinking. They think a piece of paper makes a perfect platform for a
six-hour nap. They refuse to eat the last few pieces of kibble in their
dish, and yet they are all too happy to drink out of the toilet. You get
the point.
What surprises me the most is that they seem to keep coming up with new
ways to be weird. I’ve only been around cats for the last four years or so,
but you’d think four years would be more than enough time to figure out a
species that can be amused for days by a pipe cleaner. Nope.
We have two cats in our house, Frisco and Charlie. Frisco is 14, large
enough to exhibit his own gravitational pull, and generally disgruntled.
Charlie is less than a year old, apparently made of balsa wood and rubber
bands, and a complete idiot. They are Fatboy and the Freakshow. The
immovable object and the unstoppable force.
Big fat Frisco sleeps 23.99 hours a day. When he’s not sleeping, he’s
eating or seeking out a new place to sleep. His hobbies include sleeping
and gaining weight. Charlie barely sleeps at all and is about as bright as
a slab of poorly cooked liver. He finds everything to be either fascinating
or terrifying. There is no middle ground. One second he can be sprinting
through the house like he’s being chased by Satan on a scooter, and the
next he’ll be lying in your arms waiting for you to rub his belly.
When we first introduced Charlie to Frisco last winter, Frisco spent the
better part of a month hiding in the basement. We weren’t sure if he was
afraid of Charlie or just really hacked off at us. Eventually they found a
way to peacefully coexist. They weren’t buddies by any means, but they made
it work.
A few months ago, that all changed. Charlie decided, I guess, that he was
tired of avoiding Frisco. Instead, he began assaulting him.
At first, Charlie would simply run up to Frisco and start whacking him in
the head or wrestling with him. It seemed like the kind of things kittens
do when they want to play. Frisco, being the cranky old man that he is,
would want none of it. He’d fight back but would give it a minimum effort.
His goal was not to play, but to inflict just enough pain to get Charlie to
go away. Unfortunately, despite weighing more than several third-world
nations, Frisco is a mediocre fighter. He gets in a good shot once in a
while, but for the most part all he does is get Charlie in the mood for
more shenanigans.
None of this really seemed all that weird or surprising. Kittens,
especially male kittens, enjoy a good whack in the head once in a while.
When I was a kid, a crack upside the noggin was a good time.
A couple weeks ago, however, Charlie changed his tactics, and this is the
part that has me confused. Charlie, you see, has begun licking Frisco. Now
don’t start going all, “A[Only Registered Users Can See Links.] isn’t that adorable,” because you haven’t
heard the entire thing. I actually thought it was adorable the first time I
saw it, too. I should have known better.
The first time I saw it, Charlie walked up to Frisco as if he were in the
mood for a ruckus, but instead of whacking Fat Boy upside the head, he put
him in this kitty-headlock sort of grip and began licking Frisco’s head and
ears. “Aww,” I said. “Isn’t that…” But before I could finish, Charlie’s
mouth opened, exposing his little kitty fangs, and he bit Frisco right in
the neck.
This did not go over well with Frisco. Not one bit. He cracked open a
six-pack of pain and went after Charlie like he was made out of delicious
turkey. If there had been a crowbar nearby, Frisco would have, through
sheer force of will, grown opposable thumbs and wielded it like a baseball
bat.
Charlie’s fast, and Frisco tires after about two seconds of activity, so
the little one was able to get away unscathed. I figured I’d never see
anything that stupid again.
Again, I should have known better. The very next day, Frisco was sleeping
on the floor and Charlie climbed on top of him, licked his head and ears,
and chomped him in the neck. Once again, Frisco raged against the machine.
This time, though, Charlie didn’t instantly flee. He stuck around for what
he probably thought was a rollicking good time.
Oddly enough, Frisco didn’t really seem all that homicidal. He fought back,
but not like before. Instead, he rolled around with Charlie a bit, whacked
him on the head a couple dozen times, and chased him away. I didn’t get it.
As the days went by, I saw the same thing over and over. Lick, bite, scrap.
Lick, bite, scrap. Frisco had to know that whenever Charlie licked him, a
bite in the neck was coming. Right? Frisco’s stupid, but he can’t be that
stupid. You’d think that he’d kick Charlie in the chin any time he stuck
out his tongue.
And why is Charlie even bothering to lick Frisco in the first place? Does
he think Frisco’s going to be fooled by the bizarre display of faux
affection? Or does he do it because he finds Frisco tasty? Why bite him in
the neck in the first place? Was the usual form of wrestling not
entertaining enough?
You see, this is all stuff I don’t understand. Dozens of questions, not one
single answer. I’m left to simply wonder. It makes me crazy. I’d give
anything to have the cats speak English for even a few minutes, just so I
could ask them these things.
Although, you know, even if I could ask them, they’d probably just shrug
and say they had no idea why they do what they do. They’d probably ask me
why I spend so much time sitting in front of the computer or eating things
that don’t taste like dead birds.
Maybe it’s better that I don’t know. I suppose as long as Charlie doesn’t
start biting me in the neck, I shouldn’t worry about it.
Of course, there’s always the possibility that Charlie’s a vampire, and
that it’s just a matter of time before all of us, Frisco included, become
his mindless slaves.
Nah. Vampires don’t drink out of the toilet.
I don’t understand cats.
I just don’t. I never really have. I’ve lost count of the number of times
I’ve watched our cats doing something and wondered what in the hell they’re
thinking. They think a piece of paper makes a perfect platform for a
six-hour nap. They refuse to eat the last few pieces of kibble in their
dish, and yet they are all too happy to drink out of the toilet. You get
the point.
What surprises me the most is that they seem to keep coming up with new
ways to be weird. I’ve only been around cats for the last four years or so,
but you’d think four years would be more than enough time to figure out a
species that can be amused for days by a pipe cleaner. Nope.
We have two cats in our house, Frisco and Charlie. Frisco is 14, large
enough to exhibit his own gravitational pull, and generally disgruntled.
Charlie is less than a year old, apparently made of balsa wood and rubber
bands, and a complete idiot. They are Fatboy and the Freakshow. The
immovable object and the unstoppable force.
Big fat Frisco sleeps 23.99 hours a day. When he’s not sleeping, he’s
eating or seeking out a new place to sleep. His hobbies include sleeping
and gaining weight. Charlie barely sleeps at all and is about as bright as
a slab of poorly cooked liver. He finds everything to be either fascinating
or terrifying. There is no middle ground. One second he can be sprinting
through the house like he’s being chased by Satan on a scooter, and the
next he’ll be lying in your arms waiting for you to rub his belly.
When we first introduced Charlie to Frisco last winter, Frisco spent the
better part of a month hiding in the basement. We weren’t sure if he was
afraid of Charlie or just really hacked off at us. Eventually they found a
way to peacefully coexist. They weren’t buddies by any means, but they made
it work.
A few months ago, that all changed. Charlie decided, I guess, that he was
tired of avoiding Frisco. Instead, he began assaulting him.
At first, Charlie would simply run up to Frisco and start whacking him in
the head or wrestling with him. It seemed like the kind of things kittens
do when they want to play. Frisco, being the cranky old man that he is,
would want none of it. He’d fight back but would give it a minimum effort.
His goal was not to play, but to inflict just enough pain to get Charlie to
go away. Unfortunately, despite weighing more than several third-world
nations, Frisco is a mediocre fighter. He gets in a good shot once in a
while, but for the most part all he does is get Charlie in the mood for
more shenanigans.
None of this really seemed all that weird or surprising. Kittens,
especially male kittens, enjoy a good whack in the head once in a while.
When I was a kid, a crack upside the noggin was a good time.
A couple weeks ago, however, Charlie changed his tactics, and this is the
part that has me confused. Charlie, you see, has begun licking Frisco. Now
don’t start going all, “A[Only Registered Users Can See Links.] isn’t that adorable,” because you haven’t
heard the entire thing. I actually thought it was adorable the first time I
saw it, too. I should have known better.
The first time I saw it, Charlie walked up to Frisco as if he were in the
mood for a ruckus, but instead of whacking Fat Boy upside the head, he put
him in this kitty-headlock sort of grip and began licking Frisco’s head and
ears. “Aww,” I said. “Isn’t that…” But before I could finish, Charlie’s
mouth opened, exposing his little kitty fangs, and he bit Frisco right in
the neck.
This did not go over well with Frisco. Not one bit. He cracked open a
six-pack of pain and went after Charlie like he was made out of delicious
turkey. If there had been a crowbar nearby, Frisco would have, through
sheer force of will, grown opposable thumbs and wielded it like a baseball
bat.
Charlie’s fast, and Frisco tires after about two seconds of activity, so
the little one was able to get away unscathed. I figured I’d never see
anything that stupid again.
Again, I should have known better. The very next day, Frisco was sleeping
on the floor and Charlie climbed on top of him, licked his head and ears,
and chomped him in the neck. Once again, Frisco raged against the machine.
This time, though, Charlie didn’t instantly flee. He stuck around for what
he probably thought was a rollicking good time.
Oddly enough, Frisco didn’t really seem all that homicidal. He fought back,
but not like before. Instead, he rolled around with Charlie a bit, whacked
him on the head a couple dozen times, and chased him away. I didn’t get it.
As the days went by, I saw the same thing over and over. Lick, bite, scrap.
Lick, bite, scrap. Frisco had to know that whenever Charlie licked him, a
bite in the neck was coming. Right? Frisco’s stupid, but he can’t be that
stupid. You’d think that he’d kick Charlie in the chin any time he stuck
out his tongue.
And why is Charlie even bothering to lick Frisco in the first place? Does
he think Frisco’s going to be fooled by the bizarre display of faux
affection? Or does he do it because he finds Frisco tasty? Why bite him in
the neck in the first place? Was the usual form of wrestling not
entertaining enough?
You see, this is all stuff I don’t understand. Dozens of questions, not one
single answer. I’m left to simply wonder. It makes me crazy. I’d give
anything to have the cats speak English for even a few minutes, just so I
could ask them these things.
Although, you know, even if I could ask them, they’d probably just shrug
and say they had no idea why they do what they do. They’d probably ask me
why I spend so much time sitting in front of the computer or eating things
that don’t taste like dead birds.
Maybe it’s better that I don’t know. I suppose as long as Charlie doesn’t
start biting me in the neck, I shouldn’t worry about it.
Of course, there’s always the possibility that Charlie’s a vampire, and
that it’s just a matter of time before all of us, Frisco included, become
his mindless slaves.
Nah. Vampires don’t drink out of the toilet.