Monday, 23 November 2015

My Funny Family

Image, Fanta in the base of the cat tree.
I made sure it was in just the
right place.
Hello Everyone,

I know I'm only a young dog and I'm not supposed to know everything yet, but there are some things about my family that I really wonder about.

I'll tell you about my catty brothers first.

When my new brother Percy arrived, he wanted to use the cat things that were already here, but Bumpy said "No."

He said he wouldn't share anything with Percy, not his litter tray, not his dishes, not his cat tree, not his brush, not anything.

Mum and Mr D had to get all new things, because Bumpy got angry every time Percy used any of the cat things.

Because I'm  a very good, helpful, girl, I helped assemble Percy's cat tree, and made sure it was in just the right place beside Bumpy's tree.  They could both look out the same window and get exactly the same view of the street.

I thought that would solve the problem!

Do you know what happened?

Bumpy decided to use Percy's stuff as well as his own!

At least Bumpy didn't get mad at Percy using Percy's stuff.

Still, it seems wrong, if only Bumpy can use Bumpy's things, but they both get to use Percy's things.

Percy says he doesn't mind, as long as he can eat and use a litter tray and just generally live in the house without being attacked all the time.

That makes some sense, I think.  Although Bumpy still launches the occasional sneak attack on, well, everyone.

I mentioned litter trays when I was talking about my catty brothers, didn't I?  That brings me to the thing that makes me wonder about my humans.

My humans have a strange obsession with, well, um, poop. (Am I allowed to say "poop" on the internet?  Please excuse my manners, but I don't know a more polite way to say it.)

They forever seem to be collecting it and saving it in bags or round plastic boxes.

They collect it from the cats' litter trays and put it in big plastic bags, then Mr D takes the bags out of the house to some special secret place I've never seen.

When I go out to the back yard to, you know,  Mum uses a big scoop thing to collect up the poop and puts it in a big round plastic container she keeps in the back yard.  After a while Mr D takes that away to empty it in that special secret place as well.

Even Joey's poops get saved.  The big humans collect that in a thing they wrap around her bottom.  Then they put that thing in a bag or a round plastic container - and then the bag or the stuff from the container goes out to that special secret place.

Somewhere outside our house, and it's not far because Mr D comes back very quickly after he takes out the cat litter, there's a mountain of poop.  What the humans are collecting it for, I just can't imagine.

Every day, somewhere in our house or yard, some human collects poop to put into a bag or a container to go to the special secret place I've never seen. I've tried to explain to Mum when she's been doing "Poo Patrol"  that it really isn't something you want to collect, but she does anyway.

So those are the things I wonder about my catty brothers and about my humans.

If you know why they act the way they do, could you please explain it to me?

Lots of licks and tail wags,
Miss Fantasia Dog,
(Call me Fanta.)

Tuesday, 17 November 2015

Political Paw-er

Hello out there in the Bloggosphere,

You might have thought I gave up my political ambitions when I dropped out of the Federal Election a while back.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

I've just gone back to controlling things behind the scenes.

Yes, humans reading this, if you share a cat's home, take a good look at the cat.  Do you really think he or she works for you?  No, your local Feline Overlord reports to me, the Supreme Feline Overlord. We're far more organised than you understand.

If you doubt that,  watch as three of my minions take the stage of the G20, before any of the human "World Leaders" get their turn.

That's right, Catbama, Mewtin, and Purrnbull had the stage before any of the humans did.

And don't think we'll stop at the G20.  Keep looking out for cats at the United Nations.

Until next time we meet in the Bloggosphere,
I remain,

Mr Bumpy,
Supreme Feline Overlord.

Best Friends

Hello Everyone,

Well, you know I have two catty brothers, but do you know who my absolute best friend in the whole wide world is?

She's another little girl just like me and lives upstairs.  Her name's Joey.

Sometimes she visits me and we hang out on the couch or do art.  (I'm not very good at art, but she shows me what she's doing, and tells me all about it.)

Fanta and Joey on the couch.

Sometimes I visit her and we play tea parties and dress ups.

Joey puts a ring of flowers on Fanta's head

Joey puts a headband with a big pink bow on Fanta.

I love having  a very best friend who loves doing the same things as I love.  (Those catty brothers of mine really don't understand little girl games.)

Sometimes we play outside in the back yard.  She rides on the swings, but I seem to be the wrong shape to do that.  We still have lots of fun.

Anyway,  I'm off for my nap now.  I wonder if Joey can come and play after that?  I should ask Mum, so she can ask Joey's Mum.

Bye for now,
Licks and tail wags,
Miss Fantasia Dog
(You can call me Fanta).

Tuesday, 27 October 2015

The Name Game


If Bumpy were driving on a rough road, it would be a Bumpy ride.
If Bumpy went to a pub for a beer, he'd be in a Bumper bar.
If Bumpy were a fairy tale character, he'd be Bumplestiltskin.
If Bumpy were an apiarist, he would keep Bumplebees.
If Bumpy ran headfirst into the wall, his head would be Bumpy. (Actually, change "if" to "when" and "would be" to "was".)


If Fanta played fetch with a stick it would be Fantastick.
If Fanta went to the beach, that would be a Fantasea.
If Fanta had a pet bird, it would be a Fantail.
If Fanta were obsessive, she would be Fantanatical.
If blog readers wrote letters to Fanta, she would have Fantamail.


It took a long time to get Percy home, but Mum had to Percyvere.
If you know beforehand when Percy will come into the room you have extra-sensory Percyption.
If Percy were teased for the way he looked, he would be Percycuted.
If Percy ate fruit, he might like Percymmon.
If Percy knew a lot about a subject, he would have exPercyce.
Percy doesn't always understand what humans say to him,  he can't always Percyve their meaning.
If Percy were trying to convince you of something, he would use Percyuasion.

Add your own plays on the animals' names in the comments.

Monday, 26 October 2015

Better Than A Poke In The Eye With A Sharp Stick

Percy and Bumpy looking indignant in cat boxes, Fanta looking ridiculously happy.
At the vets.  What is wrong with that dog?
Why is she so happy?
Hello out there in the Bloggosphere,

When something happens that's bad, but not really, really bad, Mum says, "well, it's better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick."

Mum's going to think seriously about that after our check-up at the vet.

We all went in.  Fanta and I were supposed to both get our needles - but I haven't recovered enough from my injuries, so I have to go back.

Fanta, strangely, loved going to the vet. She loved the car ride, while Percy and I both complained.  She loved waiting for the vet, while Percy and I both just glared around us. She didn't like the thermometer, but allowed it while Mum gave her a hug.

I have to go back for my needle next week, but the vet still tried (and failed) to get that thermometer in my nether regions.

Then we came to Percy.  Percy already had his needle this year, but Mum wanted him to have a check-up.  He is on antibiotics the same as me, after coming home with an owie on his head.

But what Mum really wanted the vet to look at was Percy's eye.

Percy came to us with something that looked like a cataract in one eye.

It turns out it's not a cataract.  The vet said it was something much, much worse.

Percy has had a poke in the eye with a sharp something, at some time before we met him.  There's adhesions, sticking different parts of his eye together.    The vet's given him some eye ointment, and is going to have a look again to see if it's staying the same or getting better or worse.

What happens from there, we don't know. How Percy came to have something sharp stabbing his eye we don't know.  All we know is that Percy's part of our family now, so we have to do whatever we can to look after him. (So now doesn't everyone know it would have been better to have me as an only cat?)

Until next time we meet in the Bloggosphere,
I remain,

Mr Bumpy,
Supreme Feline Overlord.

Friday, 23 October 2015


Percy cat sitting beside a cat door that won't let him out.

Percy:  Food had been left outside for me every night after I moved out.  Then it got moved inside , with the garage door open a little bit for me.  That was all good.  Then this cat door appeared.  I thought that was great.  I know all about cat doors.

The door let me in, but there's something wrong with it, and it just won't let me out again.

Meowt! Let meowt!  Meeeeeeeooooowwwwwwttttttttt!

Mr Bumpy cat, with shaved bits and sores.

Mr Bumpy:  I'm still bumped and bruised.  I look strange with all the shaved-off bits.  I still have to take pills.  Now Mum says I have to go back to the vet again!

And to top it all off the new guy's back, and I'm not allowed to go outside.

Meowt!  Let meowt!  Meeeeeeooooowwwwwtttttt!

Fanta dog playing with squeaky pig toy.

Fanta:  Percy's back and Bumpy's almost better.  Mum and I can sleep at night without jumping up every time we hear a yowl or a cat bell.  Both my cats are home and safe, and well, or getting well. Now I can relax and play.

Piggy, piggy.  Who want to throw my squeaky piggy for me to chase?

Sunday, 18 October 2015

Owie Meowie

Hey Minions.

The vet gave me some stuff, so I'm not quite "with it".

I got an owie.  That's what Joey calls it "an owie."

Owwwwiiiieeeee  meeeeoooowwwwiiiieeee!!!!!!!

Oh hey, is that my paw there?

What was I?

Oh yeah, the owie.

I went out the other night.  Mum was putting out food for Percy and I got out while she was doing it.

I didn't come home until about 3am.

That was a great night.  I got in a bit of a fight, but, hey, it's all in a good night out.

This morning, Mr D looked at my face and said I looked like a Na'vi from Avatar.  My face was swollen up, and my nose didn't have a shape any more.

By the time Mum got home from church, my whole face was swollen, so it was off to the vet.

I complained in the cat box, of course. But the vet was OK, except for the thermometer, you-know-where.  I pulled my tail tightly around my rump, and both Mum and Mr D held on to me so the vet could lift my tail up.

It's undignified and uncomfortable.  Vets should not be able to put cold thermometers up cats'  ahhhh where was I?

Oh yeah.  Then the vet gave me a needle.

I don't know much more after that, except somehow I got this bucket thing on my head.  I've tried to back out of it, but no matter how much I back up, it's still all around my head.

The vet nurse told Mum I was a really good cat and I was purring while they were working on my face. Nothing at the vet is ever as bad as the thermometer.

Anyway, I am just soooooo tired, I can't keep my head up.

I think I'll just lie down here.  Thunk!

So until, you know.

I'm Bumps, the Supreme Feelfine Over-pawed err, I'm the Boss Cat.

I am cat, hear me snore.

Update:  We're having to take the cone off Mr Bumpy.  He may be the only cat in the world that could achieve this, but he's further injured himself trying to take the thing off.  - Mum.

Friday, 16 October 2015

Schrodinger's Percy

Percy - before his great escape.
Hello out there in the Bloggosphere,

After Percy ran away a while back,  he came home safely that same night.

But then he ran away again.

You see, he and I both charged at Mum while she was trying to sneak out the door to check something for the fencing contractor (the one who is helping to make our yard cat-proof.) We took her by surprise and got away.

Of course I came back for dinner.  Percy didn't.

In fact Percy hasn't come home and it's been over a week.

It's not that he's completely lost.  We know where he is.

Mr D delivered leaflets asking for information about Percy to every house for a kilometre radius.  So we've had information.

We know that Percy is spending his days in a stormwater drain, in front of number 14.

We know that Percy ate the goldfish out of next door's pond.  (Mum was very embarrassed when the man from next door told her about that,  apparently not eating the neighbours is now one of  those rules she expects us to obey.)

Mum and Mr D and Miss C have all seen Percy, and chased him, but he was far too fast and no human could possibly catch him. (I really didn't think the furball had it in him.  He's got more cat skills than I gave him credit for.)

But when I say Percy left, he didn't completely leave.

Mum's put out food to keep him from leaving the area.  So he eats out in front of our house each night.

She put food in a cat trap, and Percy showed he could take the food without springing the trap.

One night, Percy didn't find the food in exactly the same place and yowled like a banshee.  It was really something, but of course, when Mum went out to see what was wrong, he ran away.

So, we still feed Percy, but he's not really living here, even though he should do.

Mum and Mr D were talking about him today, and Mr D said he was like Schrodinger's cat.

In Schrodinger's experiment you had a cat in a box that could be either dead or alive, but you didn't know unless you opened the box, so until you opened the box, Shcrodinger said the cat was both dead and alive.

Mr D said we both have and don't have a Percy.

We have him because he's registered to Mum, and we feed him, and he comes back to eat.  We don't have him because he's not here, no-one can come near him, and mostly the only time anyone knows he is around is when they hear the bell from his collar during the night.

It's been a week and a half.

Mum and Fanta are both getting a bit tired and ragged.  You see they both jump out of bed at night whenever they hear Percy's bell.

I keep telling everyone that I'm all the cat anyone could need, but the humans still keep trying to find ways to get Percy to come home.

Now Mum's opening up the garage door (that leads to the studio, not  a garage at all, because that's what our house is like) and moving Percy's food further and further inside each night.  She hopes he's going to decide that inside a house is nicer than in a stormwater drain and just stay home after dinner.

Of course, that hasn't worked so far.  But Percy is still eating his food, and the humans still get to see his fluffy fat rump as he runs away across the road whenever they try to get him.

The other day when I escaped (again), and didn't come back until about 2am, Mum said she could hear Sesame Street's The Count in her head saying: "Two cats take away one cat is one cat.  One cat take away one cat is no cats. Ah ha ha ha!"

Mum says she has two goals in life now: to get Percy home, and get the cat proof fencing finished.  I don't really think she needs to do either. A much better goal would be to give Bumpy everything he wants whenever he wants it and just adore him constantly and forget about the furball.

Until we meet next time in the Bloggosphere,
I remain,

Mr Bumpy,
Supreme Feline Overlord.

Tuesday, 22 September 2015


Image: Percy cat, relaxing on the couch, in a patch of sunlight.
It's all Percy's fault!
Hello out there in the Bloggosphere,

I'm going to complain to the United Nations or the RSPCA or whoever it is you complain to when cats' rights are violated.

It's all Percy's fault.  I'm being punished unjustly because of him.

As you know, Percy was absent without leave for several hours yesterday.

Because of that, Mum has ordered cat-proofing to go on the fences for our yard, and has decreed that no cat can go outside until it's installed.

That means I had to stay in all day.

To make sure we did as we were told, she put the lock on our door.  And that lock works.  I know, I tried running head first into it full speed several times today. It wouldn't move.  But my head feels strange.  I think I can smell colours.

Mum took Fanta out to the yard lots of times, for bathroom breaks and just to play and relax in the sun, and roll around in the dirt.

I said, "Hey, Mum, innocent cat here who likes to play and relax in the sun and roll around in the dirt."

You know what she said?  She said: "You stay inside and get to know Percy."

Really. Who says I want to know Percy?

Most of the day, I've been napping on the spare bed.  Percy spent some of the morning on the couch, then moved to the nappy change table in the bathroom.  We've done quite a good job of avoiding each other.

A couple of times, Percy's tried to say hello to me, but I've told him in no uncertain terms that I don't want him here.

Fanta keeps wanting to make friends with the furball, but she's so big and clumsy Percy is afraid Fanta will hurt him.

Mum says everyone spending time inside together will be good for us, because we will have to learn to get on.  She says I learned to get on with Fanta, didn't I?

I say, open the door and let me go climb a tree.  I'm a cat, not a cuddly toy, I need to be out doing normal, natural, cat things.

So, for all of this cruel and unfeline punishment, I'm going to complain.

Until next time we meet in the Bloggosphere
I remain,

Mr Bumpy,
Supreme Feline Overlord,
and Political Prisoner.

Monday, 21 September 2015

Why Blame Me?

Hello out there in the Bloggosphere,

The humans are all worried tonight, and they seem to think it's my fault.  Even Mum's Facebook friends seem to think it's my fault.

Last night Percy settled in nicely.  He even got over his initial fear of Fanta to sleep on Mum's bed with both Mum and Fanta.

I slept on the couch. Alone.  Nobody came out to comfort me.

Well, Mum got up a couple of times through the night to check on me, but Fanta and Percy came with her each time, and I didn't want to be friends with Percy, and I told Fanta I didn't want to be friends with her if she was with Percy, either.

This morning, when Mum opened the pet door, Percy went out to the yard, but he came back after sunning himself for a while, and had brushies and watched TV for a while, before wandering out again.

Mum was pretty sure he knew to come back.

It's past dinnertime and he's not back yet.

Now the humans are worrying.

Of course, Percy doesn't know when dinner time is, or when lock-up time is, so he's just staying out as late as he feels like.

But the humans are afraid that he's lost or run away, or that I have chased him away.

One of Mum's Facebook friends asked if I'd been seen with a very small shovel, in case they should be looking for a shallow grave.

Mum's already posting his picture on lost animal pages of Facebook.

I think it's all a big over-reaction.  He can't really be gone.  I wouldn't be that lucky.

I'm sure he's going to saunter in, in his own good time, and steal my place on the bed, boss my doggy sister around, and get attention from my humans.

Of course, he's going to stay out really late first, just to make the humans think I might have done something to him, just so they act suspiciously towards me.  I can already tell he's that kind of a cat.

Until next time we meet in the Bloggosphere,
I remain,

Mr Bumpy,
Totally Innocent, but Not Believed,
Supreme Feline Overlord.

Half past midnight the prodigal cat returned.
Mum killed the fatted wet food sachet for him to have a feast.
His resentful big brother (Bumpy) grumbled and complained.
Mum told the big brother to "build a bridge and get over it."

Percy is now contentedly proving his name should be "Purrrcy".