My house is not my house.

It belongs to my cats.

…. you smile in acknowledgment of this, because you know this to be truth.

My cats let me live here with them at their convenience. As long as I do their bidding, they are content to let me stay. Most daily activities are for their enjoyment, as they see it. Grocery shopping is for no more, than to bring home boxes and bags for their entertainment, and large bags of Purina Complete. Their playground equipment is replaced on a regular basis.


Their bowls, though half full, are actually empty. They sniff the nearly overflowing crumbs with disdain, then turn and look at me, as if to say, “do you want me to starve to death?”


Telly, the eldest, from atop his perch on the washing machine, looks down upon the masses beneath him, and I do mean “beneath him” because he considers himself “above it all.” He watches their silly games and crazy antics, and I think he secretly wants to play like a kitten too, but only occasionally does he join in the fun. His paw, involuntarily pats the air as he watches them tear under the dining room table, dodging the wooden legs and leaping up to claw the poor fake leather seats.


This is their habitat, not the great out-of-doors, but the in-of-doors. They watch the goings-on at the windows, throughout the house. Shredded mini-blinds are a reminder for their humans to leave space for them to see out. They sit on their blankets by the back window, their heads turning and dipping in perfect unison as the pigeons and doves eat from the dog’s dish. They watch them flutter down clumsily, their bellies bursting with Purina, to grab another morsel in their beak, waddle to the water bowl to dip it a few times (double dippers) before breaking it to bits and sometimes even swallowing it whole. I’m sure they wonder at the complacency of the two large white beasts in the backyard. Why they allow this behavior, by the “food with wings”, to continue is beyond them. I’m sure they’re thinking, “why is our food, eating their food?”

Nothing in this house is mine, no space is off limits, no activity allowed unless they supervise it. Visiting the “loo” alone is strictly forbidden unless they are in attendance.


They bathe where they wish, as long as they’re not caught by a human and whisked off the counter-tops.


Cali holds Mittens still while she washes his face….


If a cupboard door is inadvertently left ajar, it is obviously an invitation for close inspection of the contents.


The broom is only brought out of it’s hiding place for them to hone their “stalk & attack” skills. Laundry day is Play day. Piles of whites, darks and towels become the romper room. The dryer is a favorite, whether empty, or full of wet towels awaiting their turn to tumble. This device must always be thoroughly inspected prior to use so as to not tumble dry a cat.


Sleep is their favorite thing. Napping is done in sync, and wherever they please.

Even Peanut has learned to live with the indignity.

peeking peanut

There are occasional stand-offs, but mutual disdain is saved for the food dish. Rounds of tearing from the couch to the dining room table, and back again are frequent. Peanut bouncing off the cushions, leaping from the couch in great bounds, which seem impossible for such a small bundle of spunk. He has learned to co-exist with the herd, after all he is out-numbered.

If told to remove themselves from their chosen domain, they either laugh at you, ignore you, or look at you as if to say, “are you talkin’ to me?”

Telly just turns over and says, “rub my belly, you lowly human!”


Studies have shown cat owners live longer and healthier lives.

“cat owners seemed much less likely to die of heart attack and stroke”

“A stressful day can be turned around when you come home to the happy face-rubbing of your feline friend.”

As a cat owner, you’re less likely to be worried about high blood pressure”

“Cats do more than give you company — they can also keep the doctor away.”

I should, therefore, live forever!


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