Scotch the Cat, “The Exorcist”, and the Land of Abandoned Toys

  Okay, what happened was…

  I woke up. That’s all I did.

  I was napping in one of my secret places, behind the purple couch with the too-big pillows that smell like me because, well, I can’t leave stuff alone. I like it back there. You have to squeeze a little bit to get in there, but it’s worth it, because then there’s a place just my size. I can lay there and peek and see stuff, but nobody can see me. My daddies will call one of my names and walk around looking for me but they don’t know where I be and it’s fun.

  They try to tease me, though, my daddies. They go to the Pan Tree and open the door and make one of the Treat Bags make noise. When I was little and more simple, I would hear that noise and run to them very fast, because it meant I would get little bits of something special in my bowl. I like bits of special. But after years of simple I figured out that sometimes the noise was a trick. My daddies were not putting something in my bowl. They wanted to get me.

  I don’t wanna be got. I don’t wanna be anything where I can’t jump down and run somewhere else. My daddies don’t understand that I am very important and I don’t have time for being got. I have things to do. Important stuff I need to do now, not later when they lay down on the big bed with the come-for-tour that I like to scratch and they are not caring if I break stuff or not. Don’t get me! Unless I say.

  Because being got is bad. My daddies are going to do something I don’t want them to do. Sometimes they want to take little round white things and shove them in my place where the food goes. My throwed. I don’t like that. That’s not a treat. Why are they shoving it? I don’t want it. And one of the daddies knows how to squeeze on part of my face where my mouth just falls open, I can’t help it. Then bam, not-treat in my throwed. I will scratch him later for bamming.

  And sometimes they want to stop fleece. I don’t know fleece. My daddies say fleece is bad and they don’t want fleece on me. But what is fleece? They don’t say that part, just stop fleece. So they get me, because I didn’t think right, and I got got. And one daddy holds me and the other daddy puts cold yuck on my back. The part of my back that I can’t lick or scratch, by my head. That’s mean. Daddies are mean about fleece. I can’t get yuck off! Even if I run and hide and be mad.

  But the baddest got thing? The clip hers. I think my daddies love me but then I get got and one of the daddies has the clip hers. And then I don’t know about love. I only know I want to be away from clip hers. One of the daddies makes me be still and the other daddy puts the clip hers on my scratch-toes and he CUTS THEM! My daddies cut me! They cut my toes! It is terrible and bad.

  And I try to stop them. Because I know they might have demons and maybe they don’t understand. I know about demons. Sometimes the daddies leave the Tea Vee on when they go to those places I can’t go and they come back with bags of stuff that I can sniff. And one time the Tea Vee had a long show called “The Ex Or Sips” about a girl named Lend the Bear who spit up lots of hairballs and killed people who wore black and white clothes and made them fall down stairs and stuff. She was loud and mean but other people in the show said she did it because of demons.

  So my daddies have demons. And that makes them want to cut me. But it’s still just me that has hair balls, so maybe that movie didn’t tell me everything.

  I forgot what I was trying to tell you.

  Oh, the cutting and the clip hers. So when my daddies and the demons try to cut me, I fight. I fight hard, because I don’t like it when big people make me do things I don’t want to do. I squirm and I wiggle and I howl like Lend the Bear, like my daddies are trying to kill me. I don’t know if they are or not but I don’t want to find out. This makes the daddies say strong words and they are not happy, but Scotch is not happy either because they might be killing me. Why do they not understand that I’m not happy?

  I’m sad now. I don’t know if I want to talk anymore. Daddies should not hurt kitties with clip hers. Bad.

  Oh, look. A leaf just fell in the yard. I want to kill it. Or maybe I want to check my bowl to see if there’s something new. Or sleep. I like sleeping.  And stretching after sleeping. Do you like tuna? I like tuna. Bunches. And bugs can be yummy.

   I forgot again why I’m here. Oh yeah. I was talking about the picture that goes with this story. I don’t like that picture. And I think it’s Lie Bell that one of my daddies took it. It makes me look mean like maybe I did something bad to my toys that look hurt. They are only a little hurt, not bad hurt. And they only got hurt because they made me mad. Don’t make me mad, don’t get hurt. Gold In rule. But maybe I should tell why I mad and then had to hurt.

  I was behind the purple couch, just laying. I already did all my important morning stuff and checked and sniffed all the things that need checked and sniffed. So it was time for a brake, because I’m in the Kitty Union and we have work-hers rights. So I was braking, and maybe snoozing a little because I’m good at that. And then one of the daddies was done with his get-ready stuff and it was time for him to say bye and drive away in his car to that place he goes to make money.

  I don’t really like this part. Because I was all settled and comfy and didn’t want to do things that make me look cute. But that daddy has to play with me for a little before he drives to the money place. I don’t know why. I know he’s going to come back. And I’m not going anywhere, because they don’t let me go anywhere, because I am End Door Kitty who gets told no-no when I try to run outside and touch grass. (I still try, but always no-no and door slamming.) So daddy was trying to play and I didn’t want to because I was braking. He called my name lots.

  I pretended I didn’t hear him. (Braking!)

  He called more. I was starting to think I didn’t like this daddy. Let me lay and not do anything! Go make the money and bring me back a treat bag. Not hard, just do. He called more. I thought maybe I call my Union Stew Herd and file a grieve ants, but I didn’t know where my sell phone be. (Maybe in big water bowl where daddies sit. The bat room?) I like to throw stuff in big water bowl, so maybe sell phone got throwed. I forget stuff. I’m simple but I’m pretty.

  I finally got tired of daddy calling so I got up and peeked around the purple couch. Daddy saw me and grabbed me and raised me in the air and made baby talk. I don’t like to be in the air. I have told my daddies “No Air!” all the time. One daddy understands, and no air. This daddy not understand, and air happens. So Air Daddy was doing the air thing and I had to remind him about no air. When he didn’t listen, I squirmed and tried to kill him with my claws.

  He didn’t like that.

  Good. He put me down on my special place. It’s a desk that other daddy got from Pear One. But my daddies don’t do desk stuff with it. They put nice soft floors on the top so I can lay down and watch out the window and wait for leaves to fall so I can think about killing them. And that was okay, because it’s my me-only place and I can think about being the King Kitty of the world. But then Air Daddy found one of my old toys and put it down beside me.

  I don’t like that old toy. I liked it a long time ago when I was little and didn’t know that if I just wait, there will be new toys coming. I played with it a lot when I was stupid, because it was red and it was a crab and I like seafood and it was easy for my claws to grab it and throw it everywhere or maybe put it in one of my water bowls and wait for one of the daddies to find it and make funny faces because I drowned my crab. I like it better when my daddies don’t understand my plans. Because I get more treats that way.

  Anyway, daddy threw yucky crab on my special throne and then kissed me on the head. My head that I had just cleaned with one of my front paws and now it was dirty again. Why do they not understand about clean spots? Don’t touch! It takes a long time to make things clean. So I was in a bad mood and I was glad Air Daddy left for the way-far place because I needed to call my lawyer. And then sleep.

  But I didn’t get to do anything of my important stuff, because other daddy came out of the Off Hiss room and wanted to know what I was doing. Why checking on me when Air Daddy just did? You have sell phones. Text and leave me alone! But I tried to be sweet because maybe treat time, you never know. I just sat there and tried to look hungry.

  But no treat. Other daddy saw ugly crab toy and thought I was playing with it. (I not!) And he thought I needed other toys. (No, please.) And he found the mouse toy and flopped it on my throne. I don’t like the mouse toy, almost more than crab. Mouse toy don’t work right. When you pick up, no sound. When you throw on ground, it make noise. Why that? It should scream when I pick up, not throw down. Stupid bad toy.

  So now I had two not-want things on my throne. Life is very hard. I tried to tell daddy that this was not working for me, that toys should be in trash and treats should be in mouth. But he not listen. He thought I was singing or something and wanted to take a picture. He stupid sometimes. He ran to get cam-raw. I wanted him to fall down and leave me alone until I need something. I’m busy and popular on Cat Book. Two thousand furrers!

  But he came back. Bad daddy! And he had cam-raw, and shoving it at my face and talking to me pretty but he really didn’t mean it. He just want me to look at cam-raw. I don’t want to look at cam-raw, but only so many places to look, with ugly crab and stupid mouse in my house. So I finally look at daddy and he burn my eyes with cam-raw fire. More reason to call lawyer.

  And then he show me picture. I look all mad, because I BE mad, with not-want toys on my soft royal floor that is MINE. And I get madder because I know this daddy is the one who makes clog posts about me and not talk to my agent before he do. Not right. But I can’t stop it, daddy goes clogging without asking me if okay. My daddies need training, Clog Daddy AND Air Daddy. Please click on Pet-Pal link to donate for my cause to train daddies better. It’s flax deductible! Send lots of money. Money good.



P.S. to Clog Daddy: Why are there dead plants outside my royal window? King Kitties don’t want to see that. More lawyer reasons. I call now.

Previously published, slight changes made. Status update: After a series of arbitration meetings between the various lawyers, both daddies were forced to sign an agreement that Yucky Crab and Stupid Mouse could no longer be presented during interactive playtime without written permission…

In a related story about the proper treatment of cats (yes, I purposely picked this post as a lead-in), albeit of a more serious nature, let’s shift gears:

My friend Rebecca is in the midst of doing the right thing with a colony of feral cats on her property, rounding them up, getting them spayed and neutered, and then releasing them. (I know that drill, as we are doing the same here at Bonnywood.) She is on a fixed income, so even if you use low-cost services, things can get a little pricey in the long run and the hit to the pocketbook can be considerable. (I know that drill as well.)

In the hopes of cushioning the financial fallout, Rebecca has started a Go Fund Me account to alleviate some of the cost. As an animal lover, I fully understand and support this effort. If you, dear reader, are in a position where you can help out in this situation with a few dollars, that would be really swell. You can find the first of Rebecca’s several progress reports in a post on her blog found here. If you’d prefer to go directly to her Go Fund Me page, you can click here.

No pressure, of course. I normally don’t do this sort of thing here at Bonnywood, but this one speaks to me. (I may be sharp with the humor, but I am soft of heart. Sue me.) Any effort you can make would be appreciated by both of us.


27 replies »

  1. My Golden One wishes me to share his wisdom with you, on behalf of the International Brotherood Of Feline Fellowship; ‘It’s not hard- feed, adore, obey- see?’ Easy. Bow to our will, do this and no hissy/pissy fits.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. OMG I miss Scotch! How many fictional animals have I named Scotch because of him??? At least three dogs I know of… And I think Scotch would be horrified that I named dogs after him, but still. I love him. Where is the book all about Scotch? Have you read The Last House On Needless Street? I did not love the ending, but the cat! He’s almost as complex and lovely as your Scotch. Almost. Best to you and the big-hearted neighbor doing the right thing with the kitties.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Scotch IS a great name, if you don’t mind my saying, so I’m glad that his spirit is living on in other forms. (And he wouldn’t have minded the dog angle, as he always thought he was one.)

      As for a book, I just did a quicky review of the archives, and he is either the star of, or is at least mentioned, in over 50 of my stories. I hadn’t really considered it before, but I just might take up your suggestion to compile his adventures in a book.

      I also did a quicky search on my Kindle, and the “Needless Street” book is available. I’ve tucked it into my Wish List. Thanks for the suggestion, and your lovely words…

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Having been owned by no less than eight different Queen and King Felines over my lifetime…..not including the probably over two dozen different ones that owned my hooman mother…..I feel like I understand Scotch. Have you discussed with Scotch potentially writing a regular blog? Good luck with all the legal stuff because I’m certain you and the other hooman will need a full on Lee Gall team to defend your selfs. Cats are the bomb, obviously. Mast hers of the world. P.S. I have always considered my self part cat. 🧡

    Liked by 2 people

    • Except for a few odd years here and there, I’ve always had animals around me. Mostly dogs during my childhood, a mix of dogs and cats during my younger adult decades, and mostly cats for the last few decades. Dogs are loveable and dedicated, but cats are fascinating. Their personalities are so different and often very intense, and you must EARN their love. And I’m happy to do so.

      And yes, my Lee Gall team has advised that the court proceedings could get a bit nasty. We shall see…


  4. What can I say here? I’m honored and humbled that you have included me and the colony. Even our official, end door only cat Cricket, who shares many of the same thoughts and attitudes of Scotch (though she still has a serious weakness for those treats) has partially accepted the colony. Not so much when a member comes strolling into her kingdom, I mean how dare they? But at least the battles at the door have ceased. I should hear at some point today how the seven he took with him Sunday are doing. The remainder are still nervous about what happened but at least from what I can tell are still out back. This morning they were at the back door demanding breakfast. A good sign I think. Anyway, if the distance between us was not so great, I would give you a big hug, but since it is, I offer a virtual one in its place. That, and an enormous thank you.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Our current and official End Door Kitty is Cleo, and she is NONE too impressed with all the ferals running about on the grounds of her Queendom. And when we have to keep the recuperating ferals in the back of the house for a few days, Cleo makes her displeasure known. Luckily, with the way our house is designed, we can close two doors and the house is split in half, with the ferals in the Southwestern Region and Cleo in the Northeastern Region. This way they never actually encounter one another.

      And the digital hug is warmly accepted and returned. I firmly believe that we are in this life together and we should do what we can to help each other get through it all. If you see a chance, take it…


  5. Hahaha, what a lovely guess of what your cat thinks of you. I have to say, a cat does have the self confidence to know his or her own importance. They don’t have self doubts. They hardly get depressed–unlike dogs who can be depressed without the interaction they enjoy.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I love imagining what other people (and animals) are thinking and doing in my stories. It’s often far from the actual truth, but it’s still fun.

      And yes, cats (usually) have a confidence that is far more dominant than that of dogs. Cats, as long as they are fed regularly, are generally satisfied. Dogs need constant attention and will go to great lengths to get it… 😉


  6. In honor of all the mistreated (pampered) cats here and across the bridge, I made a very small ( 😿 sorry I can’t offer more) donation.

    I bear the scratches from Miss Sophie for the infraction of moving without permission. I’m a bad Mama☹️

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you so much, Angie. And don’t be sorry about the small, at all. I would have loved to surprise Rebecca by contributing the remainder of the goal amount, but it’s just not in the checkbook. We do what we can, if and when we can…

      Interestingly enough, Partner has far more scratches and scars than I do, when it comes to the felines. I’d like to say that I just have quicker reflexes than he does, but really, it’s because he will jump in and endure the fallout quicker than I will… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

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