Saturday, November 5, 2022
Dear Diary and Friends,
This past month has had me sitting on the side lines when it comes to participation in the family blog.
While everyone's sweetheart, Princess Dori, hogged Mom's attention to find a stinky, squished scrap of foil known by the saccharine-sweet name of Dolly Meow, I was left twiddling my non-opposable thumbs waiting for my Momanager to take dictation for my blog column.
How am I supposed to record my inner thoughts and desires when I can't type, text, or use a pen, and Meow-to-Text has yet to be invented?
“What’s that mean?”
“Essentially, it implies that you become more interested in understanding others, and less in having other people understand you. If you want fulfilling communication that benefits you and others, understanding others must come first.”
To which I replied…
“Pffft! I’m a cat. I’m all about me.”
“And that is why communication between us seems to be one constant battle. When you try to be understood before you understand, communication will break down, and may end up becoming a battle of two egos.”
“I don’t have an ego,” I told her with smug self-righteousness. “I’m an expensive purebred. I’ve got blue ribbon winners in my bloodline. I’m always right, and I don’t care what anyone thinks of me because I’m purrfect. What’s an ego?”
“You’re a living, breathing caricature of an ego, little buddy.”
“The world right now is in turmoil. No one is trying to understand one another. People are lashing out in fear and frustration. Even if their own lives are not touched by tragedy, they are unconsciously reacting to what they see on the news by being short and angry with others, including strangers. It’s a scary time for all.”
“I got scared by the lawnmower this morning,” I told her, trying to relate to what she was saying. “So did Frank. He hissed at me, like I was responsible for the loud scary thingy zipping around our backyard.”
“And how did you react when Frank hissed?”
“Oh! I jumped on him and bit his neck. Could’ve pounded him good if KC hadn’t joined in, siding with Frank. I’m gonna try this communication-thing you’re talking about.”
“In what way?”
“Next time Frank or KC try to stop me from jumping on them and biting their necks, I’m gonna tell them what you said.”
“I can’t wait to hear what you heard I said.”
“I’m a living, breathing caricature of an ego. Hiss off!”
Note from Momanager
Living with Rabbit has taught me I've acquired a vast supply of patience in my advanced years. His outrageous behavior no longer shocks me. I just roll with whatever mischief he's concocted.
The only time I get truly frustrated is when he deliberately antagonizes one of the other cats, primarily my seniors. They now live inside my bedroom until I've got Rabbit either locked up in his ZenDen, or out on the catio. Then they're free to roam the house.
Since being locked away from Rabbit, Dori is slowly gaining weight, and her back issues from being jumped on seem to be getting better.
I've been told (repeatedly) by breeders of Turkish Vans that Rabbit's behavior is normal, and actually he's very sweet.
I adore my breeder friends, and appreciate their advice. But when I think of them living in a home with more than one Turkish Van, I imagine them holding one Van by the tail to pretend him from going after his fur sib, and in the other hand they're holding a big bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.
Cuz that's how I end my days here at Casa Wonderpurr.
Why am I always made out to be the villain? Okay, so maybe I can be a bit more enthusiastic about life. I'm now five, and every day is a new oppurrrtoonity for a great adventure.
Like today. Mom bought some cool triangle boxes. What a great idea! They felt amazing under my paws. Fresh and unique. Cool and comfortapurr. All I wanted was to enjoy these new boxes, but then along comes Miss Bweaking Nooz repurrtor Dori, and next thing I know, my plans to enjoy these boxes turns into a big deal.
Yesterday after Mom fed me in my ZenDen... she forgot about me. I wasn't released into GenPop until after 9am. By then, while the aroma of bacon purrrmeeated in the air, there was not a single strip of delicious porkness left for me to nom. I felt really bad about that. Flopped down on the coffee table in front of Mom so she was aware just how badly she'd effed up. Even Dadders couldn't cajole me out of my gloom.
It all began after I'd enjoyed a particularly nice afternoon. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping... Opie hit a new decibel screaming cuz I'd dared to look at him. Seriously, the Ginger Wuss doesn't need anything more from me than a side glance to get his tiny tail all knotted with stress... which I actually take as a compliment. His hissy fit came on the heels of Dori complaining to Mom that she didn't appreciate me putting the bitey on her neck without first asking.
Dear Diary, It seems like yesterday when I arrived at my Forever Home, filled with all these gullible house cats. You would think after five years they would have a clue about my sense of humor. Alas, compared to my superior Turkish Van DNA, their intelligence is right up there with field mice. Especially my precious little DoriDeer. She believes every word I say, and then goes running to Mom to blame me for tricking her. Or, as she would say with her lisp, "twicking" her.