Sing A Song Of Sebastian

Sebastian.  A/k/a Spanky Pete.  He doesn't get a lot of press, because he's not crazy.  He doesn't make trouble; he doesn't do naughty things.  He's not perfect, oh no.  He has a tendency to yowl at night - well, every night, but this is a trait common to many male Keetains who believe they have exceptional singing voices.

Let zem eat birthday cake!

Hey, yesterday was my birthday, my uncertain-ageth.  Much to my delight I received several posts from my dear friends on Facebook.  Two e-cards came as well, a vanishing custom.  More amazing still, I received two greeting cards on actual card stock, a way of life which is nearly extinct, sadly.

These last are worth noting, so here they are.

Fat Cat

Keaton, that big loaf of cat.  I could fill an entire blog with his antics alone.  I could also fill a three story townhouse with his ever increasing bulk.

Although he is not a Hemingway, somewhere along the line Keaton seems to have developed an opposable thumb.  This secret digit allows him to break into sealed containers to procure victuals on the sly, far from the watchful eye of She Who Would Try To Keep His Weight Down.  Worse, he demonstrates a considerable predilection for sweets.  So much for the obligate carnivore theory. 

What's in a name?

Back when I was working with Anjellicle Cats Rescue in NYC, I would routinely find myself having to rename my foster Keetains.  I say "rename" because they would all come from Animal Care and Control bearing not only little numbered collars, but also names.  Such names.  I guess when you're out of ideas and a mom cat is popping out kitten after kitten right in front of you, you have to think fast.  Judging from the monikers bestowed upon these rescues, it appears some of these people were either loopy from overwork -- or very, very drunk.

Project Kittyface

OK, I confess.  I am a gratefully recovering artist-procrastinator.  I start a new project, expect perfection, and get overwhelmed.  Then I do something I've always done perfectly: abandon it.

All you can eat (just catch it yourself)

Shiver in yer boots, ye insects that venture indoors.  The overwhelming stealth, power and focus of the mighty Keetain hunter is trained on you.  He senses you.  He wants you. He'll get you.

You're toast.  With jam, by the look of things.

I want a man with a slow hand . . .

I want a lover with an easy touch

I want somebody who will spend some time

Not come and go in a heated rush

I want somebody who will understand

When it comes to love I want a slow hand

Some people just have "the touch" with Keetains.  The little things become kitty putty in their hands.  It's rather like hypnotizing a crocodile, but without the potential inconvenience of losing limbs.

Smart as a bag of hair

I love a clever idea.  As noted in my last post, although I was totally skeeved out by Bart Jansen's ghoulish Orvillecopter, ya just gotta hand it to the guy - he thought of it first.

Well, Danelle German has come up with a doozy.

"Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's..."

Super creepy!

Houston, we have lift off

Yes, the hot topic of the week for animal lovers and remote controlled helicopter enthusiasts alike: The Orvillecopter, or as I like to say, Helli Kitty.

To the Rescue

My last post got me thinking.  Where would one go to get a quality Keetain?  Of course, one could go to a breeder.  So many people do.

I personally would love to breed cats.  How fabulous to make your living by encouraging cats to do what comes ever so naturally - reproduce!

The Faux Coon

The Maine Coon is a very unique and very popular breed of Keetain. They're big, they're handsome, they're smart, dog-like and big old goofballs. They fetch their toys, head butt, help you with everything, tag along wherever you go. They mature slowly and aren't fully grown until four years old. They are not known to be lap cats but make up for it with good, solid, loyal companionship.

A Raw Deal

Whenever someone touches my furry little pussy cats, I always hear the same thing, “Ooooh, they’re so soft!”  I am very proud of my Keetains’ coats.  Their fur feels silky, luxurious, shiny and expensive, which it is.  In addition, their teeth are white and free of plaque, and their eyes are bright.

When the person who mentions this happens to be a veterinarian, I smile and keep my mouth shut. 

The Plague! The Plague!

And lo, the angel of the Lord appeared unto Julia and said, “Hail Julie, full of grace, the Force is strong with thee.  Blemished art thou among kitties, and blemished is the Fruit of the Loom Lord Cheeses.  I bear unto thee bad tidings of great oy vey. . . for ye shall contract a virus, and it shall spread and be called feline viral rhinotracheitis, FVR for short.  It is also called feline herpes.”

I Heart My Veterinarian

As everyone knows, part of responsible pet ownership is making sure that our little charges' medical needs are met.  This means prompt visits to the veterinarian if there is any indication of an illness that won’t self-cure, as well as, one would hope, annual exams and regular dental care.  I have not a shred of loyalty when it comes to vets. 

The Secrete Life of Julia

WARNING:

If you are of a delicate sensibility and your gross-out threshold is lower than an Ewok at a limbo party, or if you happen to be eating right now, you might want to consider taking a pass on this post for the moment.  One goal of this blog is to shed light upon the fantastic mysteries of Keetain behavior.  Unfortunately, not all of what you read here will be pleasant or easy to stomach.

Brave you are?  Thirsty for knowledge you are?  Then at your own risk proceed.  Be warned, young Skywalker, reeks of TMI this topic does.

Today I will be discussing Julia’s anus.

Three Cats and . . . A BIRD??

Yes, yes, we know.  What does a girl do when she is delivered from crazy spinster catladydom only to find herself living with a parrot-toting bachelor?

Herd cats, of course.

Introduction

What the heck is a Keetain?

Well, it's a cat, m'kay?  The word just fell off my tongue, born of the bizarre, silly voice I -- along with millions of other pet owners -- use to communicate with our uncomprehending but nevertheless slightly embarrassed companion animals.  And often with our babies, though if we are truly conscientious parents we stop that at the age of 20 or so.  My "pet voice" is a cross between Alvin the Chipmunk and an Appalachian grandmother on Dexedrine.  So mah Keeeeetains they is, 'Tains for short.  This blog is intended for cat folk, although the conversation may drift to other species and phyla.  I hope to educate, amuse, or simply waste space on the interwebs. And I'll try to stay on topic.