My owners are simple creatures. They both spend an inordinate amount of time staring at monitors and dispatching their job related inanities from their keyboards! When they come home, after opening my tin and their own, we devour our respective meals, and all retire to the living room.
Thankfully they are not interested in the sorts of programmes that involve the caterwauling of talentless wannabes, or the antics of "soap opera" characters. But, I have been periodically subjected to their sporadic devotion to certain long running American TV series' such as "Lost", "Mad Men" or comedies such as "The Big Bang Theory". In addition my female owner irritatingly insists on subjecting me to any "corset wearing" costume drama/film ever made, seemingly with "Pride & Prejudice" on continual loop! Such programmes offer nothing to me, since they are invariably devoid of any substantive Catty-Kin characters.
I am currently suffering my way through "Downton Abbey" where the only Cat on screen is a scavenging kitchen Cat forever being abused by the below stairs staff - what lazy stereotyping!
Being simple creatures, they became disenchanted with "Lost" and gave up watching it, because they said that it had "become boring and convoluted". Judging from their often perplexed expressions, I would surmise that it was more a case of they could not fathom what was going on!
For those of you unfamiliar, "Lost" was an American television six-season series which follows the lives of various individuals and groups of people, most importantly the survivors of the crash of a commercial passenger jet flying between Sydney and Los Angeles, on a mysterious tropical island somewhere in the South Pacific. Episodes typically feature a primary storyline on the island, as well as a secondary storyline from another point in a character's life. The problem for my owners seemed to be keeping up with the jumping-back-and-forth timelines!
They had the same problems with The Star Wars franchise and I have kept them away from "Heroes" et al to spare their blushes. For those of you old enough to remember, "Twin Peaks" nearly finished them off, and watching them struggle with films like "Memento" or "Mulholland Drive" was frankly painful!
Anyway, back to "Lost". Since Cats are supposed to be able to sense death, I could have told them that I knew that all the characters were in fact dead from the start, and that everything else was merely a story about being "in limbo" but I did not want to patronise. Since there are not alone in their confusion, and web-forums abound with discussion from similarly bemused humans, Catty-Kin have enacted a One minute synopsis of the whole six series of "Lost" for your cerebrally-challenged minds to understand.
To quote another bewhiskered genius, Simples!
Monday, 25 October 2010
Monday, 18 October 2010
My dish always runneth over!
It is official - dogs are half-wits. While I am tempted to end my post there, I suppose I should elaborate - ho hum!
A Bristol University study has "found" that some dogs are such extreme pessimists that they suffer anxiety when left alone. The Researchers came to this conclusion by studying 24 dogs of various breeds ranging from nine months to nine years old. First they began the study by going to a room with each dog in turn and playing for 20 minutes. They returned the next day, but this time left the dog alone for five minutes, during which the scientists recorded the animal's behaviour with a video camera. The footage was used to give each dog an anxiety score.
A day or two later, the dogs were trained to walk over to a food bowl that was full when placed at one end of a room, and empty when placed at the other. When the dogs had learned the difference, the scientists tested the animals' underlying mood by placing bowls in ambiguous positions – in the middle of the room, for example – and noting how quickly each dog went to the bowl.
The most anxious dogs were slowest to approach food bowls placed in or near the middle of the room, suggesting they expected to find the bowl empty.
The less anxious dogs ran to the food bowls, implying they were more optimistic.
Now, that is the Researcher's view of the results.
My view? The inferior being that is the dog, is neither "toilet bowl half full or half empty". He simply is a trainable simpleton, too needy for human interaction, and with the memory function akin to a goldfish, unable to think outside the box. That is why when his owner comes through the door each day he acts as if he has not seen them for years, while we Cats merely saunter from our chosen resting place or lift our heads momentarily from sleep, to make the briefest acknowledgement of their return.
No self respecting Cat would be fooled or made anxious by such "puerile antics" as moving a food bowl. If a Researcher tried to "play" with us for 20 minutes, he would find he would be permitted maybe 5 minutes of play, followed by 15 minutes of clawing, scratching, biting and hissing!
Supposedly "intelligent" dogs such as Lassie are paraded in front of us to show the guile and ingenuity of the species. I put it to you that Lassie was merely trained to jump and bark on command, and that without such training Lassie would have watched helpless on the riverbank, as the child was carried away by the torrent of waters, thinking to itself, "Oh well, we all have go sometime I suppose - now where is that bone?".
Dog owners should take heart - they are in no danger of finding their dog reading Sylvia Plath, overdosed on worming tablets, with the Cat standing over them saying, "It's a cry for help!!". If a dog is "depressed" they will be distracted for hours by nothing more challenging than a chew toy.
Cats are eternal optimists - that is why the corners of our mouths are formed into permanent grins!
And why not be so optimistic? All available food is our food, every piece of furniture is ours to sit or sleep upon, our affections are ours to bestow and withdraw at will, and we are equipped with such superiority of mind that when our bowl may be found empty, we can merely enter through the cat flap of the neighbouring Kin and eat all their food, and the dog's too!
A Bristol University study has "found" that some dogs are such extreme pessimists that they suffer anxiety when left alone. The Researchers came to this conclusion by studying 24 dogs of various breeds ranging from nine months to nine years old. First they began the study by going to a room with each dog in turn and playing for 20 minutes. They returned the next day, but this time left the dog alone for five minutes, during which the scientists recorded the animal's behaviour with a video camera. The footage was used to give each dog an anxiety score.
A day or two later, the dogs were trained to walk over to a food bowl that was full when placed at one end of a room, and empty when placed at the other. When the dogs had learned the difference, the scientists tested the animals' underlying mood by placing bowls in ambiguous positions – in the middle of the room, for example – and noting how quickly each dog went to the bowl.
The most anxious dogs were slowest to approach food bowls placed in or near the middle of the room, suggesting they expected to find the bowl empty.
The less anxious dogs ran to the food bowls, implying they were more optimistic.
Now, that is the Researcher's view of the results.
My view? The inferior being that is the dog, is neither "toilet bowl half full or half empty". He simply is a trainable simpleton, too needy for human interaction, and with the memory function akin to a goldfish, unable to think outside the box. That is why when his owner comes through the door each day he acts as if he has not seen them for years, while we Cats merely saunter from our chosen resting place or lift our heads momentarily from sleep, to make the briefest acknowledgement of their return.
No self respecting Cat would be fooled or made anxious by such "puerile antics" as moving a food bowl. If a Researcher tried to "play" with us for 20 minutes, he would find he would be permitted maybe 5 minutes of play, followed by 15 minutes of clawing, scratching, biting and hissing!
Supposedly "intelligent" dogs such as Lassie are paraded in front of us to show the guile and ingenuity of the species. I put it to you that Lassie was merely trained to jump and bark on command, and that without such training Lassie would have watched helpless on the riverbank, as the child was carried away by the torrent of waters, thinking to itself, "Oh well, we all have go sometime I suppose - now where is that bone?".
Dog owners should take heart - they are in no danger of finding their dog reading Sylvia Plath, overdosed on worming tablets, with the Cat standing over them saying, "It's a cry for help!!". If a dog is "depressed" they will be distracted for hours by nothing more challenging than a chew toy.
And why not be so optimistic? All available food is our food, every piece of furniture is ours to sit or sleep upon, our affections are ours to bestow and withdraw at will, and we are equipped with such superiority of mind that when our bowl may be found empty, we can merely enter through the cat flap of the neighbouring Kin and eat all their food, and the dog's too!
Monday, 11 October 2010
A Gift From Me To You
It's Monday, it's October, Christmas is too far away yet - so here's A Gift from me to you
"Laughing is the sensation of feeling good all over and showing it principally in one spot" (Josh Billings)
Mr. Patterson xxxxx
"Laughing is the sensation of feeling good all over and showing it principally in one spot" (Josh Billings)
Mr. Patterson xxxxx
Biting The Hand That Feeds You
......And then there were two. Last week my fellow neighbour Kin, Appollo (or Polly) died. He was to buried with his brother Zeus (who died in July) but due to some rather worrying signs of exhumation by the local Fox community, his owners decided to have him cremated and scatter his ashes instead. So that just leaves me and their brother Achilles (Bill to his friends) as neighbours.
After such proof of Catty mortality, I have been reflecting that if I can carry my inner Kittenhood within me at all times I will never become older. From now on I will refer to myself as Master Patterson and revert as often as possible to Kitten antics.
Talking about Kitten antics, when feeling favourably disposed towards my owners, I will often delight them by rolling on my back and exposing my ever-so-fluffy underbelly for fuss. Invariably only minutes later, instinct seems to overwhelm me, and I open my eyes to find my back paws, front paws, claws and sharp teeth wrapped around one of their unwitting hands. Somewhat embarrassed, I realise that within all Kin is the conflict between the emotions about being fussed (where we release our "Kitten side" with our owners seen as some sort of Mummy-Cat-parent figure) and our "Wild side" where we are the hunter (and the said hapless hand, the prey!).
This week Ukrainian lion tamer Oleksie Pinko learned about this conflict when working with Big Kin. He was attacked by two of his lions, which had to be kept at bay by steel rods and water canons! Fellow Big Kin can be heard roaring before they lunge, strike and bite down on the trainer's left arm (this attack follows another dangerous incident a month ago at Las Vegas' MGM Grand Hotel when a lion turned on its trainer, although that time the audience were separated by protective glass, whereas only a netting appears to separate the lions in Ukraine from the circus audience!)
Now it could be that Big Kin were having a bad day; or were somehow frightened momentarily; or maybe they sensed an "intruder" to the ring and redirected their automatic territorial response by attacking the closest moving target (the said trainer)?
But I would submit that their Kitten Side was overwhelmed by their Wild Side for one mad moment! The trainer made the rookie mistake of pulling his arm away, and because this behavior is similar to prey trying to escape, it triggers a Big Kin's natural response to bite even harder. He should have moved his hand toward the back of Big Kin's mouth – rather than jerking away. No self respecting mouse would ever move toward it's predator, and this would have caused confusion and a loosened grip.
My male owner's hand is a particularly juicy favourite of mine. Unlike my female owner he has not perfected the high pitched “OUCH" that makes me instinctively loosen my grip (since it is the sound my fellow litter-mates would make when I used to play fight with them!).
There is a potential happy ending to this story - like me, Big Kin attacked the non-dominant hand - in this case the left hand.
After such proof of Catty mortality, I have been reflecting that if I can carry my inner Kittenhood within me at all times I will never become older. From now on I will refer to myself as Master Patterson and revert as often as possible to Kitten antics.
Talking about Kitten antics, when feeling favourably disposed towards my owners, I will often delight them by rolling on my back and exposing my ever-so-fluffy underbelly for fuss. Invariably only minutes later, instinct seems to overwhelm me, and I open my eyes to find my back paws, front paws, claws and sharp teeth wrapped around one of their unwitting hands. Somewhat embarrassed, I realise that within all Kin is the conflict between the emotions about being fussed (where we release our "Kitten side" with our owners seen as some sort of Mummy-Cat-parent figure) and our "Wild side" where we are the hunter (and the said hapless hand, the prey!).
This week Ukrainian lion tamer Oleksie Pinko learned about this conflict when working with Big Kin. He was attacked by two of his lions, which had to be kept at bay by steel rods and water canons! Fellow Big Kin can be heard roaring before they lunge, strike and bite down on the trainer's left arm (this attack follows another dangerous incident a month ago at Las Vegas' MGM Grand Hotel when a lion turned on its trainer, although that time the audience were separated by protective glass, whereas only a netting appears to separate the lions in Ukraine from the circus audience!)
Now it could be that Big Kin were having a bad day; or were somehow frightened momentarily; or maybe they sensed an "intruder" to the ring and redirected their automatic territorial response by attacking the closest moving target (the said trainer)?
But I would submit that their Kitten Side was overwhelmed by their Wild Side for one mad moment! The trainer made the rookie mistake of pulling his arm away, and because this behavior is similar to prey trying to escape, it triggers a Big Kin's natural response to bite even harder. He should have moved his hand toward the back of Big Kin's mouth – rather than jerking away. No self respecting mouse would ever move toward it's predator, and this would have caused confusion and a loosened grip.
My male owner's hand is a particularly juicy favourite of mine. Unlike my female owner he has not perfected the high pitched “OUCH" that makes me instinctively loosen my grip (since it is the sound my fellow litter-mates would make when I used to play fight with them!).
Kin Commandment Number 10 - Never Bite The Hand That Feeds You/Opens Your Tins/Controls The Cat Flap!
Monday, 4 October 2010
For Whom the Bells Toll
I am not at my best this week - suffering as I am, from a bout of tinnitus. For the last week I have heard nothing but the ringing of bells in my ears. Two to be precise!
I was the arbiter of my own doom - the mouse, who lives in the space beneath the back steps down to the basement, accidentally fell into my mouth and died, and my female owner believes she caught me in the act of "disposing" of it, when in fact I was about to present it to her for potential urgent resuscitation.
She has always made me wear a blue collar (ironic since I am definitely not blue collar material!) with one bell attached. The aim being to curb any predatory instincts I may have had towards birds, mice and other lesser beings. Anyway, needless to say, being the superior Cat that I am, I had learned how to keep my head still as I stalked, so as to minimise the sound this infernal contraption made.
I am the only cat on the block to wear such a belled-collar, and I feel rather aggrieved that I am being blamed for the fact that she says she has not seen as many wild birds in the garden this year. After all the British Trust for Ornithologists say in a recent article about such avian carnage, that 55 million birds are killed by Cats each year in the UK, and as much as I'd like to blow my own trumpet (or indeed ring my own bell!) I am not that good!
The BTO advised using more brightly coloured collars, more bells, or heaven help me, supervising my outdoor time during daylight hours! Since my female owner balked at having to follow me around the garden as I sniff and investigate every twig, leaf and bush in minute detail, she has opted for a second "louder" bell on my already crowded collar - it's only a matter of time before she adds whistles to the damn thing and my reputation will be well and truly shot to pieces.
I have not yet mastered the art of moving without sounding like a herd of tiny reindeer, and I am getting no sleep, since I am woken by the "tinkle" with every tiny movement.
Worse still, the ringing has got so bad that I can no longer hear the opening of my tins (from the usual 50 paces) or the fridge, from the other side of the house! At this rate I am going to need Psycho-Catty-therapy, but at least I will be able to answer the question "So, how long have you been hearing this ringing in your ears?"!
Since the bells are here to stay I need to train myself to ignore them - after all, rumour has it that Pavlov tried his experiments with a Cat in the first instance, but after ringing his bell to the apparently deaf ears of the said Cat (who merely lifted his head, looked at Pavlov disdainfully and went back to his daily naps), Pavlov realised he was on a hiding to nothing, and used a Dog instead for his Classical Conditioning experiments!
If Pavlov's Cat could do it, I can do it. As the idiom goes, I shall perfect the art of ignoring and overcoming this new affliction "with bells on*" (*Idiom Meaning - A term used to describe an object or situation which has been completed with a special finishing touch)
I was the arbiter of my own doom - the mouse, who lives in the space beneath the back steps down to the basement, accidentally fell into my mouth and died, and my female owner believes she caught me in the act of "disposing" of it, when in fact I was about to present it to her for potential urgent resuscitation.
She has always made me wear a blue collar (ironic since I am definitely not blue collar material!) with one bell attached. The aim being to curb any predatory instincts I may have had towards birds, mice and other lesser beings. Anyway, needless to say, being the superior Cat that I am, I had learned how to keep my head still as I stalked, so as to minimise the sound this infernal contraption made.
The BTO advised using more brightly coloured collars, more bells, or heaven help me, supervising my outdoor time during daylight hours! Since my female owner balked at having to follow me around the garden as I sniff and investigate every twig, leaf and bush in minute detail, she has opted for a second "louder" bell on my already crowded collar - it's only a matter of time before she adds whistles to the damn thing and my reputation will be well and truly shot to pieces.
I have not yet mastered the art of moving without sounding like a herd of tiny reindeer, and I am getting no sleep, since I am woken by the "tinkle" with every tiny movement.
Worse still, the ringing has got so bad that I can no longer hear the opening of my tins (from the usual 50 paces) or the fridge, from the other side of the house! At this rate I am going to need Psycho-Catty-therapy, but at least I will be able to answer the question "So, how long have you been hearing this ringing in your ears?"!
Since the bells are here to stay I need to train myself to ignore them - after all, rumour has it that Pavlov tried his experiments with a Cat in the first instance, but after ringing his bell to the apparently deaf ears of the said Cat (who merely lifted his head, looked at Pavlov disdainfully and went back to his daily naps), Pavlov realised he was on a hiding to nothing, and used a Dog instead for his Classical Conditioning experiments!
If Pavlov's Cat could do it, I can do it. As the idiom goes, I shall perfect the art of ignoring and overcoming this new affliction "with bells on*" (*Idiom Meaning - A term used to describe an object or situation which has been completed with a special finishing touch)
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)