How I Spent My Summer Vacation

It’s been months since I posted to my blog, I know. Absolutely nothing all summer. And how did I spend those precious sunny hours of summer, you may ask? Was I rolling in the catnip beds of an English country estate? Was I sampling fondue in the Swiss Alps? Was I chowing down chowder at the tip of Cape Cod? No, no, and finally, no. I was here, manicuring my claws while those about me led harried and, no doubt, much more exciting lives. A cat such as myself should really have a social secretary. One gets so bored spending one’s day napping and snacking, playing with an occasional insect maybe, or hissing at one’s housemates. And then the boredom begins anew, with the napping and the snacking. Only this, while I could be doing momentous things! Why, I could be hunting wild game in the mountains of Turkey. I could be deep-sea fishing off the coast of Sardinia. I could be bird watching in the cloud forests of the Canary Islands. But no. Here I am, just wishing and dreaming. Which, frankly, takes quite a bit of energy! Did someone mention napping?

It's April Fool's Day!

As you know, I’ve been gleaning interesting factoids about human holidays. Humans are very concerned with the calendar, particularly about beginning it. For instance, did you know that April Fool’s Day, which is today, was part of yet another New Year’s celebration which began on the spring equinox? This is most confusing indeed. We’re only beginning April and already we’ve had three New Years. One begins to suspect that the New Year’s celebration is less about starting a new year and more about a little festive imbibing.

Now the origin of April Fool’s Day is rather fun. In 1564, the French nobility decided to move the New Year to January to get a jump on the Gregorian calendar, and then not tell anyone they didn’t like, like the bourgeoisie. Then when April 1st rolled around, the people celebrating the old New Year’s Day could be made fun of and called “April fish,” presumably because they were so behind the times that they might as well have been in the previous astrological sign of Pisces. Traditionally, the French celebrate April 1st by sneaking dead fish onto their friends’ backs. This is so sweet! My Humans, of course, are not French. I did not get a fish. Perhaps it’s just as well. I’ve had Ocean Whitefish all week, and I’m hoping for something different—like lamb! After all, we are in Aries now.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Top o’ the morning to you! No, I’m not really Irish, but I do like to get into the spirit of the holiday—the wearing of the green, the kissing of the Blarney stone, the chasing of leprechauns. We have so much to thank the Irish for. In addition to shamrocks and William Butler Yeats and pots of gold, there’s Riverdance and Enya. There’s also Guinness and Laphroaig, both of which I’m sure my humans would like. But in my opinion, the ultimate contribution of the Irish to world culture is corned beef. It’s juicy and succulent, and contrary to its name has nothing to do with corn whatsoever. Today it was the luck of the Irish for me. In celebration of the holiday, my Humans made New England boiled dinner. I passed on the carrots and potatoes and cabbage, of course, but the corned beef was divine! I could have eaten much, much more, but when one is watching one’s waistline like I am, one must resist. But I do look forward to St. Paddy’s Day next year. Erin go bragh, everyone!

It’s Daylight Saving Time!

Last night I lost an hour of sleep. Clocks all over the country were turned forward an hour in accordance with the old adage “Spring forward, Fall back” created a century ago by an Englishman who was also an early riser and an avid golfer. He was appalled that his fellow Brits slept well past dawn instead of gallivanting around before breakfast, like he, on their thoroughbreds. He also longed for just another hour before dusk in which to finish his round of golf. If only the clocks were set one hour ahead, he thought. Well, I am not an early riser (or a riser at all, if it suits me), and so it comes as no surprise to me that English horsemen and avid golfers would come to be so completely in charge of the clock. Who else would have nothing better to do than wheedle and whine until everyone else was forced out of bed at some ungodly hour? As you can see, this lack of sleep has made me cranky, which makes me think this would be a great time for a nap.

Happy Leap Day!

Did you know that only 6 hours of today are actually today? It’s true! The other 18 hours are left over from the last 3 years and are pasted on to this year to make a whole day. That’s because years are really 365 days and 6 hours long, but a 6-hour day is just not workable. Why, the loss of sleep alone would be a source of catastrophic crankiness. And when would one shop? No, a 6-hour day is right out. This was wisely understood back in 45 BC by Julius Caesar who, having been off making love eyes at Cleopatra in Egypt, returned to Rome to find that the Senators had moved the Spring Equinox to winter. In order to remedy this extreme silliness, he had to add 2 whole months to the end of that year. Of course, while he was fiddling around with the calendar, which in those days had only 355 days, he decided he’d make some other changes. For instance, on the advice of Cleopatra’s astrologers, he added a couple of days to each of the 12 months to follow the solar calendar and make all the holidays fall in the same season every year. Then, every 4th year an extra day was tacked on to the last month of the year, which in those days was February. This was all well and good, but Caesar didn’t stop there. In my estimation, he should have been less concerned with changing the calendar and more with casting a wary eye toward Egypt where Marc Anthony and Cleopatra were playing fast and loose with each other. Instead, he changed the name of the 5th month, Quintilis, to Julius (now known as July) after himself. The Senators were so peeved about this final rather self-serving calendar change that shortly thereafter came the whole Ides of March and “Et tu, Brute” thing. Poor Julius. He was succeeded by his son Augustus, who in a fit of family resemblance named the 6th month, Sextilis, after himself. I wonder which 6 of today’s hours are actually today. For the other 18, I plan to nap.

Busy, busy, busy. Everyone here is busy—too busy to help me with my blog or take my picture, or even give me a bath, which, as you can imagine, is totally boring for me. So today I went shopping. On the Internet. With no money. Would that be Windows shopping? I wanted to look at all the new styles, get a leg up on fashion trends. I could search for something fashionable, but not too provocative (although my diet is working like a charm). Maybe something asymmetrical. Pink. Sparkly, even. PetSmart, being “big box,” would carry the standards, but I wanted something cutting edge, slick, boutique-y. So I Googled “cat apparel.” Most of the returns were for cats on clothing, not in it, but I did find one that touted “luxury and designer cat apparel at the Gilded Paw.” Very promising indeed.

Here I must complain. Without question, cats are much more chic and sophisticated than dogs right out of the gate, so why do they get all the cool attire? Witness the Gilded Paw’s Cat Vests and Coats. If I put these on, I’d find myself saying “Howdy, pardner” or “It’s elementary, my dear Watson.” Words that are not in a cat’s vocabulary! But go to the dog dress section and you get some stylish outfits like this kicky pink camo frock or this sweet little black dress. Here’s a glittery Spandex evening gown that would show off my newly defined curves to perfection, and I just adore this sizzling tangerine organza number. Then there’s this to-die-for Emma Rose creation in black velvet with marabou trim and real Swarovski crystals! All for dogs! On the other hand (and I do hate to admit this), a chihuahua and I might have a few anatomic similarities. I just might be able to slip into a Medium. And I’ll definitely have to accessorize.

Happy Groundhog Day!

Today groundhogs all over the country came out of their burrows to look for their shadows. This delightful custom was started by a German groundhog poet many centuries ago who wrote:

Wenn's an Lichtmess stürmt und schneit,
ist der Frühling nicht mehr weit;
ist es aber klar und hell,
kommt der Lenz wohl nicht so schnell.

Or if your German, like mine, is a little rusty:

If Groundhog Day brings wind and snow,
Then spring will very soon show.
But if Groundhog Day is clear and bright,
Then spring won’t come so right.

Not a very talented poet, to be sure, but obviously showing much initiative to have created such a widely observed holiday.

Today, Chicago’s groundhog, Chuck Wood, didn’t see his shadow, so they’re in for an early spring. Neither did Jimmy the Groundhog in Sun Prairie, Wisconsin, Staten Island Chuck in New York, Wiarton Willie in Ontario, or General Beauregard Lee in Georgia, lucky groundhogs all. But Metompkin Max in Virginia, Pee Wee in Montpelier, Vermont, and Sir Walter Wally of Raleigh, North Carolina all saw their shadows, meaning six more weeks of winter. Our very own Queen Charlotte of the Queen City also saw her shadow. Well, no big surprise for Vermont where they’ll probably have six more months of winter. But poor Virginia! Poor us! Nevertheless, I think it was very selfless of these working groundhogs to rouse from their naps, go out into the cold to face anxious crowds, and make (perhaps unpopular) weather predictions. I mean, why would they personally care if it’s winter or not? They have mounds and mounds of fur, by all accounts, so what’s a few more weeks one way or the other? Those of us with no fur, on the other hand, must suffer the cold for at least six more weeks. I do hope my hand-knit sweater shows up soon.

I have been on my diet now for ten days, and I must say that I’m beginning to look quite buff. I have, of course, been exercising, jogging up and down the stairs with The Princess—not my first choice of work-out partners, but he doesn’t seem to have a health-conscious bone in his body.
My new leaner self is not, however, due to the sublime deliciousness of the menu. No. Who knew healthy food had no taste? I do like the idea of eating a good diet with, for instance, a real food substance like fish or chicken or beef as the first ingredient instead of some mysterious meat by-product. Ethnic ingredients such as ground corn meal or soy flour are chic and tasty, but sadly they are quite full of carbs, and so are verboten. My Humans, naturally wanting to provide me with only the very best, brought home some All Natural food in tiny, gourmet-style gold tins. I was literally dancing with anticipation as the first adorable can was opened and served to me in a white French custard cup. This very special, chosen-just-for-me food was the most amazingly unappetizing meal I have ever tasted. Where did the flavor go? The label listed tuna and white fish and egg. Chicken? In there! But then came brown rice and carrots and sweet potato like an army of portly carbs marching across the label. At the end were the cranberries and blueberries. Are these dessert? There were vitamins and minerals. There were even amino acid complexes. I checked every single ingredient. Where were the artificial and natural flavors? Not in there. Could this be the real secret of successful weight loss? I know my Humans mean well, but I do hope that next time they will check the labels first to make sure that flavors have been included. Surely flavors don’t have that many carbs.

Now that the New Year is not quite so new, I’ve set aside a little time to evaluate how my Resolutions are working out.

• Beef and Liver Feast is back In! On my new diet I can eat whatever I want as long as it contains lots of protein and moisture! Animal protein, that is. Tofu is not acceptable no matter how politically correct.
• When my new Yoga DVD arrives, I can take my practice to the next level.
• My last bath was tear-free for everyone, especially with my lovely new “Baby Magic” body wash.
• I did say that I wouldn’t chase The Princess, but we were only playing.
  

I think my Resolutions are coming along splendidly. But it seems that no one else in the household has made any Resolutions whatsoever. Where is the pursuit of personal growth and fulfillment? For the good of the household, I must take it upon myself to suggest some of the more obvious Resolutions needed:

1. I will be considerate of my housemates and cover up my litter box deposits.
2. I will not hog all the warm spots on the bed, especially if I have mountains of fur.
3. I will not gobble up all the table treats when the others, especially the naked ones, are not looking.
4. I will finish and bestow hand-knit sweaters on those I have promised them to.

I could think of hundreds more Resolutions that would make our household a more harmonious place to live, but these will do for a start. Perhaps if I post them near the food dishes others might see them and get the hint. Besides, now would be a good time to see what’s on the New Menu.

I went for my annual physical exam today. I got to ride in my sedan chair, which is much larger and more luxurious than her sedan chair. My Humans lined it with a fluffy cushion and sprayed the inside with a special relaxing aromatherapy scent. Everyone at the doctor’s office knows me, and they were all very happy to see me again. The doctor’s office is stylishly decorated, but those fashionable stainless steel exam tables are quite chilly to sit on. I got a shot and had my blood drawn for routine tests. Overall, I am in perfect health! Except that my doctor says I have gained weight and am too plump. I don’t see that myself, but he is the doctor. He put me on a special diet—the Catkins diet! This means I will need to consume more chicken and beef and fish, eating only the most superior of proteins available. I will be compelled to dine on more canned food and have fewer kibbles, which are loaded with carbs. At the very least, I will feel it my duty to eat bacon at every meal. On a diet like this, I will be my slender self again in no time! I guess going to the doctor can have its advantages.

It turns out that knitting is less meditative than I’d been led to believe. One has to hold the needles just so and move the yarn a certain way. How meditative is that? Having long, elegant nails does not help unless one is merely trying to show them off. Then it hardly matters what one is really doing. But when one is trying to experience Zen, all this casting on and knitting and purling can be a big distraction. I myself, like any newcomer to Eastern practice, got quite caught up in the motion of the yarn—sliding back and forth, rolling off the ball so enticingly. I wanted to run and leap and twirl around with it, snatch it with my teeth and give it a great death shake, disembowel it even. Why, I was quite beside myself! My Human Female, seeing my utter inability to concentrate in the face of these distractions, finally gave up, declaring that I’m all toes and she’d do it herself. (Well, finally!)

Now that I’ve been there and done that knitting thing, I have a few pointers:

1. Never let anyone call you a Dummy.
2. Always pick the most expensive yarn your Humans can afford.
3. Only pick colors that complement your complexion.
4. Do not let your tail fur get caught in the cast on.
5. Knitting is a learning experience.

What I’ve learned: Knitting itself might be pretty yawn-worthy, but who knew that the yarn could be so much fun?

I decided to learn to knit today, as I’ve heard that knitting is very akin to Zen, Zen being a close relative of Yoga and in the same part of the alphabet. I did glance briefly at the Knitting for Dummies book that I got for Christmas, but decided it wasn’t for me. For one thing, I am not a Dummy. Hence my lack of interest. But that’s not all. Its cover is so garishly yellow that any sense of balance and harmony inherent in the act of knitting would be quite overwhelmed by it. Besides, my Human Female also gave me a knitting lesson certificate, so who needs to go to the trouble of reading anything? Then I looked at my gift yarn. Well! I admit that I think the colors are quite nice—a pastel variegation of green, lavender, gold, and a lovely rose which would be quite fetching as a sweater against my palest-of-pink skin. But the actual yarn is furry! Is this a joke? I suppose I can use it to learn with. After all, I do need some cheap yarn for practice before I go on to my next project in alpaca or cashmere, or maybe even real pink angora! This is so exciting! I need to start that lesson right away.

Happy New Year!

I spent today helping in the kitchen. Sour dough loaves were rising on the counter. Black-eyed peas and rice with a cayenne pepper for hoppin’ John simmered on the stove, and a big pot of collards and hocks bubbled on the next burner. I got to taste-test the bacon for the hoppin’ John—crisp and salty. I wanted more, but no one offered. My Human Male made skillet cornbread to go with the pot likker. All of this simmering and baking and pouring on of hot sauce is a centuries-old Southern New Year’s ritual for bringing good luck and a large bank roll in the coming year, which my Human Male says we certainly could use. I agreed, and would gladly have assisted, but the rice and beans and collards were not to my liking. I wonder how much luck and cash some New Year’s hocks and bacon will bestow, y’all.