My Life

I Know I’m Not Supposed to Touch This (An Impromptu Scotch the Cat Retrospective)

Note: After perusing the comments on the previous post, I’ve decided to resuscitate some of the Scotch stories. I’m not sure how many I’ll share, but I promise to stop just shy of everyone getting sick of yet another tale of feline follies. Enjoy.

 

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,

Bo-Bo

 

Originally published in “The Sound and the Fury” on 01/26/11 (on my actual birthday) and then published here at Bonnywood on 03/08/17 and then again just now. (Just to be clear: It’s not currently my birthday, so there’s no need for mushy, celebratory comments. Unless you plan on sending me a gift as well. I’m rather fond of gifts, especially now that I’m retired and on a budget, with me getting mildly aroused by a “ten percent off” coupon at Jack in the Box.)

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, a photo that I have since repurposed a number of times because it’s just too weird and cute. And if you’re thinking it, yes, other people have commented that we have the same unimpressed expression.

 

24 replies »

    • Dear Echo,

      Thank you for understanding that I’M the real reason this dump of a blog has any value. Nobody cares about Daddy’s crusted pies and mammary mixes and Tulsa Hot Flashes and all those other dang stories that take forever to read. It’s all about me! I’m the King! I’m the one who-

      Dear Gwyneth,

      I’m so sorry you had to see that. I try to shield the world from Scotch’s not-so-pretty side, but sometimes things go awry, like when I innocently slip away to see if there is something interesting to eat in the fridge and Scotch takes advantage of my unregulated gluttony, commandeering this keyboard and such. I hope you will forgive us. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m taking Scotch to another round of couple’s therapy… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  1. Mammary mixes? Okay then. Teach ME to be nosy and read all the comments, chuckling because usually they are (almost) as funny as the post that begat them, and YOUR responses? Priceless. Now in case you’ve noticed that I’m over verbose on several posts today, it’s because WP and its useless Reader have not kept me properly informed of updates in regards to Bonnywood and Crusty Pie. Fuckers. Scotch (the cat, not the booze) is hilariously on point as usual. Because who doesn’t like seafood? Philistines!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yep, there are times when I have much more fun with the comments than I do writing the actual post. Of course, because I feel guilty if I don’t respond in a considerate manner, it can take me a month (slight exaggeration) to get through all the comments on a post, which is why it’s taken me so long to adequately respect the Day You Made 700 Comments. Perhaps someday I will actually have some focus in my life and come up with a system that expedites things a bit.

      As for WP, I’ve basically given up on using The Reader. It never has all of the posts from all of the bloggers I follow. (To be fair, there are many days when I never make it to the Reader, because I’ve just spent four hours simply responding to comments and emails and whatnot, but still.) Of course, despite my fussing, the community here at WordPress is a good gang of folks, so I probably won’t be going anywhere soon…

      Like

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