Scotch the Cat Discusses the Big People and Their Drinking Games

Hi, everybody! It’s me again, playing on Daddy’s toplap because he’s in the Food Room trying to make a breakfast burrito. He’ll be in there a while, because he makes them extra special and puts lots of stuff in them, stuff that I can barely smell before I get shooed away, and it takes him a long time. Plus, he has that look he always has in the morning after people stay up way late and sing songs on the patio, stupid songs that don’t have anything to do with cats. He’s moving kind of slow.

  But I’m making something special, too, and that’s why I’m typing on the toplap. I need to write a report. I been selling some of my cat treats to simple LeeLee Kitty that lives in that blue house, and saved my money until I had enough to start Online School. I cornrowed at DePaw University and now I am doing my very first class. I’m going to be a Jordanist!

  That means I write stuff and people pay me when I do it. Well, the paying comes later, after I take all the classes and glad-u-ate and get to wear a hat with a tail sort of like mine, but not as pretty. That will take a little while. But my confessor says I just need to practice and practice writing about what is going on around me and I will get better. And I have lots of time to practice, like the long part of the Daylight Time when nobody is here to watch me run and knock things over and then pretend that I didn’t. (I checked to see if there were Running and Pretending classes at the DePaw place, but no, so I had to pick something else to be good at.)

  So I decided to write my first report about this thing the Daddies do, when they have loud friend-people come over and everybody is thirsty. They do this a lot so I understand most of it, but I still get surprised sometimes, because I forget things when I go to sleep or a flying bug outside whacks my watching window and makes me pee a little. (Don’t tell Daddy or Daddy that I do little tinkles outside the box, I’m not supposed to but I’m a little jumpy and egg-sight-a-bull and whoops.)

  Okay, now I have to check my student intox for e-male, because there’s 5 things I have to remember to write about when I report stuff and I already forgot. (This is hard, learning and paying attention and not just laying around and licking my no-more-berries place.) Um, oh it’s this e-male here, with the 5 things. Now, it says I have to tell about Who, What, Where, When, Why and How. Okay.

  Wait. One, two, three, four… Hey, there are six things here. Why is my confessor talking about 5 when there are 6? (See, I told you this was harder than licking.) I guess I should write about all 6, and if there’s only 5 then I can throw the other page away later. Wow, this is going to take longer than I thought. I better go check on Daddy in the Food Room, make sure he’s not ready to come in here and yell and make me get down.

  THUMP-THUMP. Thump, thump, thump, thump. Thump. Pause. Assess situation. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thumpthump, airborne noise, THUMP.

  Okay, I think there’s still time. Daddy hasn’t even finished finding all the things for his burrito, and he’s looking for the big white bottle with the head-rake medicine that he sometimes needs when there’s been singing on the patio. Then he’ll need a big glass of water and will probably lay down and watch Golden Grills for a few minutes. (And Other Daddy is counting money and crying a little bit, so he’s busy too.) If I hurry, I think I can get done.

  Oh, dang, already stuck. Which of the 5-really-6 do I write about first? Is there a rule? I am always surprised by rules because I just don’t understand them even if I try to. I always get some part of it wrong and then the Daddies have to discuss it and I have to wait longer for my food. Well, I’m just going to pick one and start. The confessor can tell me to do it another way if I should, I’m still a little kitty. Okay, um…

  WHERE: I like this one because it’s very easy. Where is here, my house. I’m never anywhere else except my house. (Or the Satan Place, with white-coat people pretending to be nice and then BAM, there’s a long stick in my butt and people are taking notes. I don’t like that place and I tell everyone all about my not liking.)

  WHO: My Daddies and some of their always-friends, the really thirsty ones. Oh, and Other Daddy’s Brother. The Brother one doesn’t come over very much, because he lives in Hugh’s Tongue and that’s far away by lots of big water. I don’t want to go places with big water, so it doesn’t matter if Brother has a litter box or not, I’m not going.

  But the always-friends I know more better. There’s one lady who wants people to look at her all the time, and if they don’t, she does things to make them look. And there’s the other lady that always smells like lots of different kitties, like me but different. She’s nice to me, but she never brings her kitties over for play-time, so she might be a little mean or her kitties don’t know how to behave like I do. When I want to.

  Oh, and there was a man and a lady that just got Mary’d. That means they get to sit really close and groom each other’s faces a lot, while the other people kind of look at other stuff and drink more. It might be nice for me to have a Mary’d friend one day to lick. But I don’t know. Where will she go when I’m done playing with her and want to be alone and stretch in the window? Maybe I’ll understand that part better when I’m older.

  WHEN: Last night. (Wow, that was the easiest part of the 5-really-6. Now I’m halfway done with my news story. I could be very good at this.) But it sure would be nice if the Daddies let me know when there will be drink-singing, so I don’t have to be scared at first when it starts happening. But they never do. I have to find out on my own, and we already know that figuring things out really fast is hard for me.

  Usually, I’m just really relaxed, flopped on the kitchen floor, just kind of so-so sticking one of my paws under the Fridge Raider like I lost a puff ball, hoping the Daddies will stop by and pay attention to me by getting the yar stick and whacking around for something that I probably hid somewhere else. (Sometimes I have to wait a long time for the Daddies to pay attention and not just step over me and head to the Treasure Closet for “something to snack on”. They need to be better trained.)

  And then BAM, somebody pushes the front door-hell or just walks in the back door, clomping and yelling. Of course I have to claw at the wood floor just trying to get up really fast, and then race to a secure zone. (Mean people could be coming to take my toys or my food or even kill me like that scary movie, Night of the Living Catnip. None of that has ever happened, but you never know around here.)

  So I hide and I stay very quiet and I peek out. Once I figure out it’s just time for more drink-singing and not death, I’ll slowly amble out and eventually let people see how cute I am so they can pet me or give me taboo bits of something to gulp down really fast before Daddy can yell “Hey, kitties don’t eat that!” (Daddy can be a little bitchy sometimes.)

  WHAT: People drink lots of stuff, from little bottles and big bottles and fancy bottles, and bottles that have to be in the Fridge Raider first, and bottles that are really boxes with a faucet, and bottles that sometimes fall over and spill stuff and make people say loud things and point at each other, but nobody is really sure about the pointing so they just find more bottles.

  They eat things, too, stuff that smells good and is in pretty Fee Hesta Ware that the Daddies collect in a cabinet with doors that I can’t open, damn them. But the drinking is very more popular than the food. One of the always-friends told me in the hallway once that you can’t eat too much food or you lose your fuzz. That sounds scary, so I’m going to drink more, too.

WHY:  Well, I guess they do it because it’s fun. All the people sure laugh a lot and tell naughty stories and play Tree Via games and know all the words to the songs. When it’s time for people to go home or go nest on one of the couches, they all hug each other and stuff. I don’t think they would do that if drinking was boring and sad, but I don’t always understand people. Like why they have to leave home so much or why they wear pants.

HOW: How sounds like Why to me, so I guess I need to take some more DePaw classes and get smarter so I can finish my reports all the way. I want to get really, really good so I can be on TV and have my own show and wear a beret and meet Pappa Rotzy. And I can write movies and win A-cat-a-me Awards and make my Daddies very proud. I’m so excited. Well, as excited as us cats can get about anything.

  Oh, dang! Daddy is coming down the hall right now and he’s gonna use That Voice if he sees me typing. I gotta destroy the Evan Dense. That means I have to use all of my paws to walk on this keyboard and mess everything up and-



  “Get DOWN!”


  Thump, thump, thump, thump. Thump. Pause. Claw on leather couch because mad about getting down. Thump, thump, thump, thump. Stop at food bowl. Sniff. Eat one tiny bit of kibble. Spit second bit of kibble on floor so Daddy or Other Daddy can stomp on later and holler. (Fun!) Thump, thump, thump, thump. Spy coaster on coffee table. Whack it off. Thump, thump, thump, thump. Flop on rug. Sigh.

Previously published, slight changes made for this new post. Bit of trivia: I was a communications major in college, before I dropped out in a misguided attempt to “go find myself”, and I was confused by the five-really-six things you should include in a news story. The professor was thoroughly unimpressed that I questioned this, and she suggested that perhaps I should find something else to do with my life. So, I did, by not taking any more classes where she was the assigned professor…

P.S. If you carefully analyze the opening photo, you can see, in the upper left, a section of our bar at Bonnywood. There’s enough hooch in that mess to inebriate entire countries. I’m rather proud of that… 😉

40 replies »

    • Well, if you have an election coming up, we need to change that movie title. Perhaps we should go with “Which of These Walking Dead Will Damage Us the Least?”. Seems fitting.

      The bar at Bonnywood is always well-stocked. Granted, some of the bottles are dusty and forlorn, but you never know when a guest might arrive who favors an obscure liquor that no one else has touched since 1873. I just want people to be happy… 😉

      Liked by 2 people

    • I’ve only had ONE cat over the many centuries of my existence who proved to be decent and not self-absorbed, loving one and all without question and never fussing about anything. Her name was “Splotchy”, a moniker which speaks more about my rare moments of creativity-failure than it does about her delightful personality…

      Liked by 2 people

  1. Well done Scotch. Your inside look at the shenanigans at Bonnywood are much appreciated. But now that you’ve pulled back the veil on that den of iniquity… perhaps you could share Daddy’s secret margarita recipe? I promise I won’t tell anyone.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Oh, so that’s how it is, eh? We’re only friends because you seek my super-secret but life-changing margarita recipe? I’ll never reveal my methods. Never! Until I’ve had that first margarita. Then I’ll tell you everything I’ve ever known about anything. Tequila does that to me. You?

      Liked by 2 people

  2. I wish Scotch could meet Ripley. She’s my new kitten. I don’t know if you know what a Cornish Rex is, but that’s what she is. She looks like an alien…hence her name….after the heroine in the movie “Alien.” I think between the two of them, they might could “off” a few daddies and write a very interesting “nob-el.”

    Liked by 3 people

    • First, I’ve never heard of a Cornish Rex (it sounds like something one could eat at an English pub where all of the beers are warm), and now I’m scared to Google such. Because if the photos look like Scotch, my slumber tonight will be even more unsettled than usual. (I rarely sleep more than a few hours at a time without jerking awake, convinced that I haven’t done something I should have done.)

      Second, and more importantly, why are you so invested in the violent death of Partner and I? That seems a bit rude. Then again, you may have motives that I can’t fully understand, and I shouldn’t be judgmental about such… 😉

      Liked by 2 people

      • To address the second part of your message….violent, gruesome murders are the best! I don’t really wish that on you and partner, but if you saw Ripley, you might be a little skeered. If I could figure out how to post a picture of her, I would do a post and explain all about those little “aliens.” Alas…I can’t figure it out. Help me….I’m WordPress challenged. 😦

        Liked by 2 people

  3. *first I must check to make sure that mega box of tissues is at hand. Yep. Check. Cool* Now some appropriate music for the situation:

    Oh heck. I had clever right on tap here, and it appears the well has run dry (unlike your bar o’ wonder). Sometimes we just need to be alone, stretch out in the sun and contemplate the six or five or six 😉 meanings of life. Ciao Scotch.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ah, I’ve heard rumors about this Seventh Thing. As a cub reporter, I would have investigated further, despite my college professor who have scorned my efforts. (“We haven’t changed our methodology since 1617. Stop fighting me!”)

      Liked by 1 person

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