My Life

I Know I’m Not Supposed to Touch This

Hi Daddy,

This is Scotch. Well, I think I’m Scotch. It’s hard for me to remember, because I’m a simple cat. Things are confusing. Sometimes you call me Bo-Bo, and sometimes Other Daddy calls me Scooter. Sometimes I don’t know if you’re talking to me, or to other cats that I can’t see, so I just sit there and don’t look at anybody. But you’re nice when I don’t know my name and you pet me anyway.

I know I shouldn’t be using your toplap. I got in a lot of trouble when I used it back in those bad days when you weren’t here and you were in France with those people that don’t live here but come here sometimes. But I thought it would be okay if I used it now because it’s your special day! But sometimes I don’t think right, so I don’t know for sure.

I don’t know a lot of things. Sometimes that’s okay, but sometimes I worry.

But it’s your special day! Yay! You are 322 cat years old today. That’s really old! I was at the window that you open for me in the bathroom, and I talked to Tabby Lee that comes over in our yard and makes me want to claw her because she gets to run around outside and I can’t. She said 322 is super old and that you should be in a home. But you are in a home because you live here, so I don’t know if Tabby Lee is just mean or is simple like me. Maybe I shouldn’t talk to Tabby Lee anymore.

But then, Tabby Lee ran away because Torty Sue came in the yard. Torty Sue is really big and makes lots of cats go do something else for a while. Torty Sue has a big head and a big mouth and can eat really fast. Tabby Lee says Torty Sue can eat a squirrel in two bites.

I never saw Torty Sue do that, but she probably could, because she has teeth like in that dinosaur movie we watched the other day. I didn’t really want to watch that movie, because it was loud, but I knocked my puff ball under the entertain-bent center and I couldn’t get it. I tried to tell you about it, but you thought I wanted a treat. I didn’t want a treat. I wanted my puff ball. But you were shoving crunchy bits at me, so I ate them and then watched the movie. I hope that puff ball is okay.

Um. What was I talking about? Oh! Your birthday. Well, I have a funny story to tell you about your birthday. I know you like stories, because you write them all the time and make bog posts. I don’t know what a bog is, or why you post to them, but-

What the hell was THAT? Oh, it’s just my tail.

Oops, I just cussed. Sorry, Daddy. But I can’t help it. I’m a little nervous sometimes, and when things come at me out of nowhere, I get a little jumpy. Like what’s up with that machine in the ceiling that blows hot air when it’s cold outside? I like the hot air, but I don’t understand that bang thing when it turns on. Every time it happens, I have to look at the ceiling like it’s never happened before. Why can’t it whisper?

I forgot what we’re talking about again.

Oh, the funny story. Well, I was in the room with the things that you type on, and you were somewhere not here, and Other Daddy was talking to that thing in his hand that makes me hear Aunt Tiffany’s voice sometimes, and they were talking about Soo She for your birthday. Well, I didn’t know who Soo She was, so I wanted to know more, because even if I be simple, I try to learn stuff. Even if it hurts like when you take me to the vegetarian and they shove long plastic things in my butt.

So I ran over to Other Daddy’s desk, and tried to be cute so he would look at me and tell me what was going on. But he didn’t look at me, even though I was very cute. So I did the thing where I jump on the couch and then run and jump on his desk. (This is fun! Except when I don’t do it right and I bang my face into something I don’t want to bang my face in. That makes me sad, even if I don’t remember it two seconds later.)

So I landed on Other Daddy’s desk, and nothing fell off, so I thought my cuteness would make it alright. But Other Daddy wouldn’t look at me. He was still talking to that thing that sounds like Aunt Tiffany and not loving me for my cuteness. This made me a little mad. Why is it so hard for my daddies to understand what I need?

I meowed in my bestest voice.

Other Daddy was still not looking at me. Little bastard. So I marched over and used my paws to step on his typing thing. This always works, even though there might be yelling. Other Daddy scooped me up and put me on his lap. I don’t really care for this, but I wanted to know more about Soo She, so I pretended that I was okay and licked at my no-more-balls place and tried to get comfortable.

Other Daddy says to Aunt Tiffany: “But I don’t like seafood.”

What! Oh. My. God. What kind of heathens are raising me? Who doesn’t like seafood? Seafood is the best thing ever. Better than puff balls. I discreetly clawed Other Daddy’s thigh to show that he was a bigot and needed some counseling. Other Daddy yelled something unpleasant and hurled me to the ground. This is NOT how I should be treated. I might be slow, but I’m from royalty. Obey me!

I don’t know where that came from. Am I royalty? Maybe. The pictures on my wet food containers say that I am. I think that’s fair.

Anyway, I ran down the hallway to find my “fuzzy thing on a stick” toy, and this took a little bit, because I have lots of toys, and I can’t always remember which one I like on which day, or where they might be. I finally found it, shoved behind the bread box. Why was it there? That box is up on the kitchen counter, where I’m not allowed to go because people yell and act like I’m destroying civilization. Why would they put it there? Oh. Maybe they didn’t want me to find it.

My daddies suck sometimes.

But I found Fuzzy, and I dragged it back to the office where Other Daddy was still talking to Aunt Tiffany. He likes to talk a LOT. I go to sleep sometimes, and wake up years later and he’s still talking to Aunt Tiffany. About the same thing. I don’t really understand them.

So I spit out Fuzzy and his stick at Other Daddy’s feet. Other Daddy picks up the stick and starts waving Fuzzy around. Yay! Now I can hear what they are saying without Other Daddy getting suspicious about me hanging around when I normally pretend that I don’t want any attention. To make it seem like real life, I jump and pounce and try to savage Fuzzy, even though I don’t really want to hurt him. This is just something I have to do if I want things to go my way. I understand my position in life.

Anyway, Other Daddy keeps talking to Aunt Tiffany, and he says “Well, there might be something on the menu that isn’t fish.”

Then why even go there? Other Daddy doesn’t understand the good things in life.

Other Daddy says to Aunt Tiffany: “Okay, fine. Let’s do it. But don’t tell Brian. This needs to be a complete surprise.”

Oh? I know that “Brian” name. That’s the YOU Daddy. The one who lets me make bread on his belly. I love to do that. I mash and mash and then I get sleepy and I snooze a little while Daddy pets me and says he loves me. That’s when I don’t care that I’m simple, and I don’t care that Tabby Lee and Torty Sue get to run around and smell grass and do whatever they want and make fun of me in my bathroom window.

My daddies love me. And every once in a while I love them back. But not too much. Because if I did love on them a lot, they would want me to love them all the time, and I’m too busy for that. There’s still a puff ball under the entertain-bent center that nobody has helped me rescue.

So anyway, Daddy, that’s what I wanted to tell you. Other Daddy and Aunt Tiffany are planning to have you meet Soo She on your birthday. I don’t really know her, but she knows about seafood, and that makes her special. Like me.

But don’t say I said anything. It’s hard enough to get a treat around here…

Your little bread-maker,



Originally published in “The Sound and the Fury” on 01/26/11 (which is my actual birthday) and then published here today (which is not my birthday, so no need for birthday greetings unless you’d like to send me a gift). Minimally revised and updated with extra flair for this post.

Story behind the photo: This is a snap I took for a re-posting of “Scotch on the Rocks” (another feline adventure) a few years back. And if you’re thinking it, yes, other people have commented that we have the same unimpressed expression.


40 replies »

  1. Yay, loved this story when I read it on your blog, glad you re-posted it. Love Scotch (not the drink, the cat)! He has a mind like a soft, squashed potatoe most of the time, and then, BAM – he has got you in the steel, razor-sharp jaws of brilliantness 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

    • Ah, yes, you did indeed mention that you enjoyed the Scotch stories during your sojourn on the old Bonnywood Manor site, a comment which I promptly forgot to do anything about. Mea culpa. I’ll do some digging and see what I can find or perhaps slap together some more. It’s always fun writing from his perspective… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  2. My favourite lines in this are ‘And every once in a while I love them back. But not too much. Because if I did love on them a lot, they would want me to love them all the time, and I’m too busy for that.’ That’s pure cat—through and through. Give Scotch a cuddle from me, but not too much.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Scotch has now been cuddled, per your request, and I kept it under the two-second limit that he usually enforces. When I explained to him that you lived in a country surrounded by water, his eyes rolled back in his head with visions of all that seafood… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

      • I just started reading your book, I’m on Chapter 5 and have to stop, I’m getting funny looks whenever hb enters the room and I have to read out practically the entire chapter to explain my snorts and guffaws! Will resume in private…oh, and don’t worry, you’re not alone, I recognise the family types 😉

        Liked by 1 person

        • I’m so glad that you’re enjoying it. But having said that, I’ve been considering lately that I need to re-edit that book, as I get fairly consistent reviews and comments that the book is too long and somewhat repetitive. And I agree with that assessment. I need to do some pruning, and that would involve having other folks help me find the bits that need attention. Would you be interested in doing that? Time-permitting, of course.

          Liked by 1 person

  3. Thanks Scotch for this entertaining and educational piece. You’ve helped to clarify several behavioural issues with our Cat (which I feel guilty about now obviously) that should produce a slightly more charitable demeanour from me in the future. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • Well, sometimes the kitties need that tough love, so you’re probably right on form, no need for changes. Unless your Cat retains a lawyer, in which case there might need to be minor adjustments… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  4. LOL when he goes to the vegetarian! My cat has a whole other life too. His name is Dr. Solomon T. Whoberry. I’m pretty sure he conducts illegal poker games in our basement while we’re out, drives a green fiat and has a criminal record. And yes, he is a doctor.

    Liked by 3 people

  5. Well, happy belated birthday. Funny post. I’m never going to think of vegetarians the same way again. Lol. And what is it about cats and toplaps? Mine has so much cat hair between the keys, I have to vacuum it. 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

  6. I was sitting at the jail (no. I haven’t been arrested…LOL) and I read this while I was there. Hil-ar-ious! I have always known there was something going on behind those little eyes of theirs. Mine (actually my daughter’ cat) used to open the cabinet doors and when I came in and saw them, I knew he had done it. He (Leroy) would look at me like “who…me? I’m just a kidden!”

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Well shoot. Someone already claimed the unbirthday line. And here I thought I was going to be clever. Instead I’ll just say you do marvelous kitty talk, as I’m sure you’ve been told. Also, kudos to you for offering your belly as a bread maker. It’s a sweet image.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. “What the hell was THAT? Oh, it’s just my tail.” So much like my Mink who has the best embarrased look when she falls off the coffee table then sidles off nonchalantly as if it’s just the thing she intended to do all along. Cats are all food, petting and looking cool.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Indeed, they are. Our younger kitty kid, Cleo, is the more obsessed with her tail, actually getting angry with it and hissing and spitting (which generally leads to a startling tumble). But they both have Nonchalance down to a very fine art…


  9. Isn’t it just awful when you discreetly claw at someone and get hurled away? Poor Scotch. Never forget that you are a super cute furry soul. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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