SQUEAKY HEDGEHOG!!!!

Do you remember how I received a package from Star, Winnie, and Tim the other day? And it had a fun stuff your own squeaky toy inside? Boss Lady thought it was so cute that she stuffed it immediately. She let me sniff it. Then she threw it a couple times. But, she didn't let me play with too much. She was afraid I would destuffinate it before she could get any fun pictures. During this little while when we played with the toy, she referred to it as Squeaky Hedgehog.

Last night, while Boss Lady was relaxing in front of the fire and surfing the internet, I decided that I wanted to play. I brought her bagel and spinner and Mr. Green. But, those weren't the toys I really wanted to play with. I wanted to play with the forbidden Squeaky Hedgehog. Boss Lady thought maybe it was a good time to play with Squeaky Hedgehog, too.


Prepare to be destuffinated, Squeaky Hedgehog.


Boss Lady would like to announce that Star, Winnie, and Tim are geniuses. I've never played with a stuffy toy, without destroying it, as long as I played with Squeaky Hedgehog. Usually, I chase a stuffed toy for about 10 minutes before I started ripping it apart. Last night I chased Squeaky Hedgehog for 45 minutes and never made a single hole. I shook it and tossed it and fetched without hurting it at all. Boss Lady was very impressed.

Which brings us to Tyrone. Tyrone was not at all impressed. Tyrone made his feelings perfectly clear.

If you come near me with that damn squeaky hedgehog, so help me you’ll end up with a leaky nose quicker than you can say squeak.


And the same goes for you and that damn camera, Lady.



Tyrone is something of a stick in the mud when it comes to playing. He hates it when I get rambunctious.

I’ve got my eye on you, so don’t try anything funny.


Then the funniest thing happened. I gave Squeaky Hedgehog a particularly wild throw, and it bounced off the chair right above Tyrone's head. If you've ever wanted to see a Portrait of a Pissed off Cat, I've got one for you.

Throwing squeaky hedgehog at me qualifies as something funny. And I don't find it amusing.



I thought maybe if I shared my toy, Tyrone would understand the fun better. I was wrong.

It squeaks. It’s covered in dog slobber. It is inherently offensive. What the hell is it doing invading my space?


The only other thing I could think of to try was the goofy look.




Is it working?



And, because one more picture of Tyrone can't hurt,

Identity Crisis

I am currently suffering an identity crisis. With the cold weather, my humans don't like Tyrone staying outside at night. So, every evening before Boss Lady's Mother goes to bed, she calls Tyrone inside. She opens the front door and calls, "Here, kittykittykittykittykitty." And I come running from where ever I am sleeping in the house. The humans all laugh about it. Boss Lady even managed to set me up for another starring role in a moving picture. She demanded that I inform you that no training was involved in this "trick." I learned it all by myself, with absolutely no help from the popcorn jar. Boss Lady is thinking about making this my recall; so far it's the most fool proof response yet.



She tried to get video proof of me chasing a string as well, but I wouldn't cooperate once she turned on the camera. They've got strings and ropes and dangly things all over the house with the decorating business going on. I love to chase them and pounce on them and bat at them with my feet. Boss Lady and the others laugh hysterically at me. They say I think I'm a cat. Well, I know I'm not a cat. Besides, cat's don't have the market cornered on string chasing.

He's Not As Helpful As Me, Though

Boss Lady was supposed to do laundry on Tuesday, which is her day off, but she was busy and lazy and didn’t bother. Which meant she had to do laundry on Wednesday, which is the day she goes in late. First thing in the morning, she stripped the sheets off her bed and threw them in the laundry. She hoped to have them washed and dried and be able to remake the bed before she left for work, so that she didn’t have to do it when she got home from work at 10:30pm. She prefers to reserve that time slot for playing on the internet. Unfortunately, she didn’t think to check the drier when she started the washer. So, it wasn’t until the sheets were ready to go in the drier that she discovered an only partially dry load of towels already in the drier. She had to finish drying that before she could dry her own sheets, which meant she didn’t have time to remake the bed before leaving for work.

Then, of course, when she got home she didn’t feel like making the bed. She felt like sitting down to relax and see what fun had occurred in the land of social networking. She figured she would simply cut short her internet time and leave herself 10 minutes to make the bed. It shouldn’t have taken longer than 10 minutes. It’s just a matter of putting some sheets and a blanket on the bed and then arranging the pillows. It never takes longer than 10 minutes. On Wednesday, when she really needed to go to bed relatively early because she had to be to work earlier than usual the next morning, it took almost 30 minutes. Why so long? you ask. I’ll tell you. Because she had quite a bit of help making her bed. Let me tell you how it went.

When she arrived home from work, Tyrone came racing from the neighbor’s yard and streaked through the front door with her. He begged for some food, and then he came into the living room where he curled up on the couch and fell asleep. This was all very normal. When it’s cold out, Tyrone prefers to spend the night sleeping on the comfy couch in the toasty warm living room; he does not prefer to sleep in a bedroom upstairs. On Wednesday, though, he must have decided to give the bedroom a try, because, when Boss Lady went upstairs to make the bed and go to sleep, Tyrone followed her. He followed her right into her room, hopped up on the bed, curled up, and fell asleep.

Boss Lady looked at him, put her hands on her hips, and explained to him that this was not going to work. She could not very well make the bed with a cat sleeping in the middle of it. He would simply have to move. She told him he was welcome to return when she was finished, but he had to move for the moment. Tyrone ignored Boss Lady. Figuring that he would simply decide to leave rather than be covered up, Boss Lady began making the bed. She started, of course, with the fitted sheet. She put on the first corner, and waited to see if Tyrone would leave. He didn’t. She put on the 2nd corner and looked at him again. He rolled over and looked back at her. He did not seem amused. Note the flashing of sharp meat hooks.




She put on the 3rd corner and looked at him again. He remained unbothered.




In annoyance, she put on the 4th, and last corner and waited for Tyrone’s response.

He stayed put, forming a nice lump in the middle of her bed.




Boss Lady proceeded to poke, prod, shake, and generally harass Tyrone in an effort to piss him off. Her efforts worked nicely, and pretty quickly she could see his tail twitching through the sheet.




After he was thoroughly annoyed, he decided it was time to move, and he tried to crawl out from under the sheet. Boss Lady kindly lifted a corner to let him out.



He then promptly flopped down in the middle of the bed again.




Boss Lady just looked at him. Then she poked him and prodded him, hoping to get him to move. He just rolled over as if he wanted his belly scratched.




She gave up trying to move him, and put on the flat sheet. Then they went through the poking, prodding, and harassing routine until he decided to move. Again, he popped out from under the sheet and immediately curled up in the middle of the bed. At which point, Boss Lady covered him with the heavy wool blanket. Then she poked and prodded him. This time Tyrone decided to play along and he tried to swat at Boss Lady’s hands. He poked all his claws through the blanket. He twitched his tail. He rolled around. Then he finally decided to come out and curl up in the middle of the bed again.





Comfortable with the routine, Boss Lady tossed her homemade quilt over Tyrone and left him alone. All on his own, he got annoyed with being covered up and he crawled out. Then he got annoyed with the pillows and he attacked them. Finally, almost 30 minutes after Boss Lady started the process, her bed was made and she could go to sleep. Except, that she had to figure out how to get herself into the bed, which was, at that point, being hogged by a cat. Knowing that Tyrone would not take kindly to being picked up and moved, Boss Lady decided to just crawl in and hope for the best. The best ended up being a cat very excited to play a new game involving the attacking of toes and fingers through 3 layers of bedding.




The next morning, Boss Lady related this story to Boss Lady’s Mother in exasperation. And Boss Lady’s Mother explained that she plays this game with Tyrone every time she makes her bed. Boss Lady’s Mother and Tyrone think the game is quite entertaining. Boss Lady, not so much.

Equal Opportunity Insults

As she does every morning, Boss Lady’s Mother called Tyrone inside for breakfast and put down his plate of wet catfood. As I do every morning, I took up sentry duty mere inches from Tyrone. Being the skittish cat that he is, Tyrone hates this. And, being the softy she is, Boss Lady’s Mother made me move away. Of course, she then rattled all the pots and pans in the cupboard directly adjacent to Tyrone’s breakfast nook. Tyrone responded by attempting to launch himself through the front door: nevermind breakfast, he wanted out of this scary place. He’s probably lucky he doesn’t have a concussion considering how hard he hit the door. I interpreted this as a sign Tyrone was finished eating and took it upon myself to clean up anything he left. Boss Lady shooed me away, Boss Lady’s Mother calmed Tyrone, and Tyrone returned to eating.

When his plate was clean of wet food, he immediately commenced begging for a 2nd ration. Boss Lady accused him of being a fat pig and refused to enable his unhealthy eating habits. Boss Lady’s Mother, once again the softy, relented and gave him some dry food. I came over to offer to eat the food instead-thus preventing further weight gain by the cat, but they both shooed me away.

When Tyrone finally finished and made his exit, I wandered over to clean up any crumbs he left. He usually leaves quite a few, and I was busy nosing the plate across the floor when Boss Lady walked by. “You Pig!” She exclaimed. “You had your breakfast. You may not be fat, but you’re just as much a pig as the cat.”

At least I’m not fat.