Saturday, November 5, 2022

Rabbit vs The Raccoon Mob - Part 5 - No Charge

 Here's a Lesson on what may happen if you aren't nice to the cranky orange tabby living in your house.

Rabbit vs The Raccoon Mob - Part 4 - Final Warning

 There is something to be said for when you aren't afraid of your enemies.

Rabbit vs The Raccoon Mob - Part 3 - Witless Protection

 Is there a better protection than a Witless Protection?

Rabbit vs The Raccoon Mob - Part 2 - A Visit From Guido

When you owe Large Peanuts to the Raccoon Mob, you're sure to get a visit from Guido the Boss.

Rabbit vs The Raccoon Mob - Part 1 - Edible Money

 When you borrow money from the Raccoon Mob, but have no intention of repaying the loan, you'd better be prepared to face the consequences.

The Subject is Penguins

I recently came across some interesting information about penguins and thought I should share with you.

The Difference Between Men and Women

 Is there anything more annoying than when you're trying to take a cat nap, but your sisfur has something she wants to tell you?

Tough and Feraly

 While I have the run of my house, there is one room I've never been inside. It's the lair of the Garage Band, Chevy and Nikolas. They've got a huge room to play in, with cat trees, and caves and boxes and toys all over the place. And because I'm not allowed in there, it's the one place I want to be!

The Leprechaun Trap

Catching a Leprechaun is easy!

What Time Is It?

 When you are bursting with newfound information and it needs to come out in one huge gush, you tell the first purrson who strikes up a conversation with you.

Red Bucket Banter

 Sisfurs are so easy to fool.

Early to Bed


Dear Diary, Today I got a new bed. Not a puffy pet bed. A real bed. A big boy bed with legs and a headboard and sheets and pillows.

Dear Monday, You Are Hereby Cancelled

Dear Monday: You are hereby given notice to leave the premises immediately and not return. 

So far you are being blamed for Daddy stepping in a Gidget-gross hairball first step out of bed. 

You are also to blame for crows tearing apart the trash bags on the curb shortly after my Dadders put them out.

You made Momma spill 95% of her breakfast shake, making a mess of epic proportions. Plus she had used the last of her strawberries and was devastated. 

Also, the gooey drink dripped over the counter into the drawers, as well as soaked her shoes and shorts. Not a good look, I assure you. 

It's All Fun and Games Until the Squirt Bottle Comes Out

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?

Seek First to Understand

Dear Diary – While lounging in my momanager’s lap this weekend, I demanded she pay attention to me instead of the book she was reading. She told me, “After I finish this chapter about Seek First to Understand.”

“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.”

“So proud.”

“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!”

So proud.

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.

Cellmates and Farewells

Dear Diary, This morning around 4 am I was shocked and delighted to see Mom thrust Frank into my ZenDen with me. 

As Frank tells it, he had a strong urge to harass Jesse the Toothless Wonder, and chased the dude up over the refrigerator into the loft. There Jesse screamed like a Drama Queen. 

Side note: although not having a single tooth in his mouth, his scream carries amazingly strong throughout the house, and directly into Mom's ears, despite her being relatively comatose.

The Box Hog

Dear Diary,

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. 

No Respect for this AssRabbit

Dear Diary, I had big plans for a nice week, but for some reason my game was off. It's not like I take enjoyment out of creating stress for my fursibs, but ... ya know... sometimes things happen. I can't help that I live with a bunch of overly sensitive, geriatric wusses. They were all once young and bouncy like me.

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.

Rabbit Has a Nightmare

Dear Diary,

I recently had the worst nightmare ever. The reason why I'm even bothering to write about this is because... usually... I'm the nightmare someone else is writing about in their diary.

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. 

The Softer Side of Rabbit


Dear Diary,

I have a Deep 'n Dark Confession to... um... confess. 

Here it is, another Wicked Cat Wednesday, but it's getting kinda hard to keep up my AssRabbit image. 

Hey, I know my Fans expect to see me jump on Dori's back and bite her neck. They expect me to steal noms from my geriatric fursibs, and they expect me to knock stuff off the counter. They expect me to have a total lack of impulse control, Livin la Vida Loca, AssRabbit style.

They expect me to lead Team AssRabbit by example, cheering on my pals who take the initiative to flaunt their Cattitude without making excuses.

And yeah, I love doing all that. 

But I'm not only a Role Meowdel for Bad Behavior. I'm more.

I'm a special needs, emotionally challenged, sensitive kind of guy... 

But not a weenie.

Oh sure, I'm stuffed into my jams when my enthusiasm for life surpasses Mom's ability to cope. Jams act like a thundershirt to calm me the hekk down. For awhile she was buying jams like crazy. Mostly cuz my purrsonal motto is: Be Savage, Not Average.

But there are times when I'm exhausted being me. Times when the pawpawrazzi isn't around, and the camera is off. And I shake off the day's wildness to crawl into Mom's lap and relax.

No sneaky biting of her arm either, also known as *makes paw quotes* Love Nips.

Yeah, it's getting hard to keep up my Bad Boy image. I really hate to disappoint my Fans, but.... Oh! Hang on...

In my defense... she walked by.

Until Next Time...


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.