The front door closed at 4 p.m. today and both my servants were gone. Since I do not recall granting them permission to leave this weekend, I am sure they are out buying items for my kingdom. It’s getting rather shabby in here. I’d like a new litter box that cleans automatically, since my servants are too lazy for regular cleanings. I also need more catnip. My supply will last only another five days. I will need much more to get through the holiday season.

Lastly, I hope they bring home a couch that looks good with tabby. I would like to nap on the couch more regularly, but am repulsed by the current couch’s non-tabby design pattern.

You’ll find it interesting to learn that my favorite place to sleep is in the sun, or on the he-servant’s chair, or on the servants’ bed, or on top of the piano, or on my scratch pad, or in front of the television, or under the futon, or in that secret place where I hide and the servants can never find me. I can almost always be found in one of those places, except the last place… I am never found there.

3 a.m. Saturday, October 25, 2008

My concern that the servants have defected is mounting.

The door has not reopened, and no new purchases have been delivered to my kingdom. If they don’t return within my next four naps, I’m going to begin looking for new servants.

10 a.m. Saturday, October 25, 2008

I am hiding in the place where I am never found. There is an intruder in my kingdom. I know he is not one of my servants – he is taller than either of them and he is not fat. I am analyzing him to see if there is enough meat on his bones to be worth killing.

10:04 a.m. Saturday, October 25, 2008

Negative; intruder is not worth killing. Not only has he brought me catnip, he has also cleaned out my litter box. Now he is calling for me by name, which proves that I am famous.

10:06 a.m. Saturday, October 25, 2008

Do not consider it a sign of weakness that I came out of my hiding spot at the intruder’s request. I’m sure you would come out of hiding, too, if someone said “Come here, you beautiful person. I want to give you a hug.”

When he was petting me, the intruder promised to come back every day. This is excellent news. I don’t know how long my servants will be gone, but I vote to banish them forever. This new servant takes better care of me and is not fat, so I know he will never try to eat me. I look forward to tomorrow.

8:59 p.m. Saturday, September 20, 2008

The he-servant is away tonight, so my options for vandalism and misdeeds are plenty. The she-servant is powerless to keep me from anything. With the he-servant gone, I can shred the carpet. I’ll drink from the toilet. Pee anywhere. And my favorite activity: I will hunt the she-servant.

Hunting the she-servant used to be a daily event before she brought home the he-servant. She would put her pajamas on and patter around the apartment. I would lurk until the moment was just right. Then, with all my might, I raced toward her. I lunged into her ankles and sunk my teeth into her calf. This was never pleasant for me, believe me. Rather than tasting of cheese, the way one would hope, she tasted human in the most disgusting way. Ugh; I always had to clean myself after the evening attack. If it weren’t for the way it made her respect and fear me, it wouldn’t be my all-time favorite activity.

There she is in the kitchen now, barefoot and dumb. She is finishing the dishes and anticipating a call from the he-servant. She is paying no attention to me, as usual, and I despise her for it. Should I pee? Attack? Pee? Attack?

Oh… excuse me… hairball…

4:15 p.m. Friday, August 29, 2008

Of course I can swim. I do not need a life vest. I don’t even need a canoe, except to make my life vest relevant. The real desire here is for the life vest itself. I want it badly, because it is a bold, undeniable testament to the fact that my life is valuable and should be saved at any cost. Yes, any cost. Including you and your “life.”

I would wear my life vest at all times, so all who see me respect my worth. If doubters question my life vest, I will tell them my canoe is just in the next room, and to shut up, and while they are at it, to go get me some catnip. Then I will ban them from my kingdom. They are dirty, anyway.

6:13 p.m. Wednesday, July 30, 2008
My carpet experiments have had exciting developments, leading to two new discoveries:

1. Ripping at the carpet in a torrid frenzy releases many more pieces of carpet than a normal tug. In fact, a single pull at the carpet will only loosen one or two pieces. Rapid clutch-and-release action brings up an average of eight pieces per second.

2. The sound of carpet shredding brings servants running. Excellent discovery. I now do this in front of any closed door, because within two seconds (16 pieces of released carpet), a servant arrives to open the door.

I am still drafting a plot to keep these doors from closing. I will not be denied access to any part of my kingdom. Updates on this will come later.

5:47 p.m. Thursday, July 31, 2008
I just finished watching the NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams and am encouraged to hear that the salmonella outbreak has not been solved. This makes an intriguing add to my scientific studies. Here’s my plan:

The servants, who will eat anything, make perfect test subjects. For one week, I will dip dozens of my hairs in tomato juice. I will release the contaminated hairs into the kingdom, to eventually land on the servants’ food. Then I will watch carefully for signs of illness. It’s true that the slothful nature of my servants could conceal symptoms of illness, so I will carefully track how long they spend in the bathroom, the sounds from within the bathroom, and the odors that exude from the facility.

After a week studying tomatoes for salmonella, I will dip my hairs in chili pepper juice, which Brian said may also be a culprit. Observations will follow.

Lastly, I will spend a week using spinach juice, in case I am fortunate enough to find e.coli. The symptoms are similar to salmonella, which is disappointing. I prefer more dramatic results, but will settle for the delicious glory of general illness, should it strike the servants.

5 p.m., Friday, June 27, 2008
Something wonderful happened this afternoon.

At precisely 3 o’clock, the he-servant answered a knock at the door. There stood a pair of senior servants, whom the he-servant calls “parents.” Wearing grey hair and pastel clothing, the parents slowly entered my kingdom.

I instantly preferred them over my ordinary servants. My servants make sudden movements and terrible noises. They startle me awake daily with their careless thrashings. I could tell these new servants weren’t capable of sudden movements.

As a test, I wound my supple body between their ankles. Sure enough, they moved too slowly to trip over me. There’s an idea – servants you can’t trip! On one hand, that would make it harder to punish them, but on the other, I’d get more sleep. And since I prefer my own comfort even over the servants’ pain, I’ll take it.

10:20 p.m. Friday, June 27, 2008
I was very handsome this evening. I carefully cleaned myself after dinner in preparation for using my litter box. FYI, my time in the litter box was well spent.

Then I headed to the couch, where the senior servants were sitting. My original servants sat on the nearby loveseat.

“Come here, Howie,” my she-servant said. “Sit with me.”

“Come here, Howie,” the senior servants said. “Sit with us.”

With my big green eyes, I made eye contact with all four people. Then, looking at my original servants, I gracefully leapt to sit with the senior servants. Thus began The Snubbing.

The Snubbing is something I look forward to every time the servants have “guests.” It’s the painfully obvious decision I make to spend time only with the guests and never with my original servants. Do not cast judgment on me. The Snubbing is a regular part of maintaining servants, who otherwise tend to overestimate their importance.

9:15 a.m. Saturday, June 19
The servants are showing signs of jealousy. Instead of ignoring me this morning, the she-servant tried to pet me.  And instead of continuing his lazy habits, the he-servant cleaned my litter box and offered me catnip. I saw every move they made, and though I was drooling for a good hit of catnip, I strolled over to the senior servants. Then I yawned, stretched, and flopped at their feet.

They ate it up.

One of the senior servants was so taken by me, he offered me his brand new laptop. I laid on it immediately and am still there. It seems to have an internal heat source, which I appreciate, and is just the right size for my svelte body. I love this gift.

As icing on the cake, the senior servants pet and praise me for accepting their gift. This is the correct attitude to have.

I know the servants have noticed the model behavior of the guests; I can hear them talking about it in the kitchen. I pretend not to notice, but in truth, I’m so pleased I could purr. In fact I am purring. On days like this I truly love my life.

Ahh, the end of another weekend. The servants are preparing to head back to work and get out of my hair. Peace and quiet is just around the corner. I will not miss them. To compensate for their rampant overeating, they are on diets and are perpetually miserable. They mourn the loss of French fries as if the fries were family members. Hey – try eating dry food every day. THAT’S rough.

When they leave, I’ll be able to complete the charitable project I’ve been working on. I’ve been collecting letters from fans for nearly a year now. (That means you, faithful readers.) Correctly assuming that I am all-knowing, you sent questions, compliments, or requests for help. Replying has been difficult due to my taxing schedule of eating and napping, but there is no one better to answer your questions. Here’s what I’ve addressed thus far:

Dear Howie:
What is your favorite way to hack up a hairball?
Sincerely, Curious

Dear Curious,
Good question. I find the most comfortable spot in my kingdom and crouch there. I howl mournfully to attract attention. Then I summon my stomach to come up through my throat by retching. A few dry heaves normally produce one of my finest works of art – my own hair, molded into what looks deceptively like a Tootsie Roll. Beautiful.
-Howie

Dear Howie:
Do you ever eat so much so fast that you puke up entire unchewed pieces of food? Why does this keep happening to me?
Sincerely, Am I Sick?

Dear Sick,
Are you sick? You’re disgusting! You sound like one of my revolting servants, you fat lard! Take small bites, and chew, chew, chew!
-Howie

Dear Howie:
What is your favorite thing about yourself? I think your eyes are lovely.
Sincerely, An Admirer

Dear Admirer,
Have you seen the hair between my toes? Gorgeous! My delicate feet have long tufts of hair between each toe to perfectly conceal my razor-sharp claws. It’s hard to pick just one thing about myself to love best, of course, but my toe hair is exceptional.
- Howie

Dear Howie:
You look familiar to me. Is there a chance you are my brother? My understanding is that no one has been told who your father was.
Sincerely, Maybe Your Brother

Dear Maybe,
That’s bull. #*@( the #*($& @$$ to *$%?& #+^%@!!!!!
- Howie

Dear Howie:
How do you keep dominance over your household? Do you keep weapons on hand? And what would you do if someone sprayed you with a water gun? Would you get off the table?
Sincerely, Weakling

Dear Weakling,
My weapons are inherited and I have psychotic tendencies. Very dangerous duo. Undoubtedly you are not as clever as me, but you can at least be brave. If someone sprayed me with a water gun, I’d get off the table. But vengeance is mine. For every drop of water on my fur, I urinate in a new location – in the fridge, on the bathmat, under the sheets, or in a shoe.
-Howie

Dear Howie:
I saw a segment on the news about a new world record for the most beautiful cat. I couldn’t help but notice it wasn’t you. You weren’t even the runner up. How do you survive such a shocking oversight? Clearly you are the MOST beautiful.
Sincerely, Seeking Justice

Dear Justice,
You noticed that too, hey? Thanks. I’ve notified the Cat Intelligence Agency of the fraud. Since then I’ve noticed strange sounds at night and have requested protection from the Secret Service. I may have to go into the witness protection program until it gets sorted out, but nothing this wrong can remain uncorrected.
-Howie

Dear Howie:
Have you always been so handsome?
Sincerely, Your Fan

Dear Fan,
Yes.
-Howie

The world, apparently.

New “going green” initiatives (it’s a little late, if you ask me) are blooming everywhere you look. Now that half the Arctic has melted into the sea, people seem more willing to listen to wise guys like me. Here’s what I’ve been doing, folks:

First, I recycle. As I shed my winter coat, the lost hair doesn’t get wasted. I eat it. Then, that same hair is fashioned into a log in my throat and I vomit it onto the carpet. That’s two uses for the same hair: first, for my winter coat, and second, for stylish carpet ornaments.

Second, I am completely organic. I eat all-natural foods raised with no eco-damaging chemicals or pesticides. Once my elite body has processed all the finest nutrients, I deposit very organic matter into my litter box. I call it “leftovers.” As a bonus, my all-natural leftovers are filled with a powerful aroma. As the beautiful scent carries throughout my kingdom, the servants become increasingly vocal about the excellent work I’ve done.

Third, I store up solar energy. When the sun is shining, I find the brightest location and nap there. As the sun moves, so do I. I sprawl to absorb the maximum amount of energy. This energy takes me through my exhaustive daily duties: eating, expelling leftovers, and slicing the he-servant.

Fourth, I walk everywhere. Or sometimes I get carried, but even then, the servant carrying me is walking. No fuel is ever burned, except the excess fat fuels stored by the servants. And I think you’ll agree that’s not a precious fuel.

Fifth, I educate the servants. I frequently check their trash bins for recyclables. When I find bloody paper that was originally wrapped around ground beef, I pull it out of the trash. Same with the plastic containers that once held fresh chicken. After checking these materials for raw morsels, I leave them as a display for the servants. Paper and plastic are recyclable, you idiots.

Now, look how easy that is. A handful of simple steps can turn your kingdom into a green scene. Trust me, I’ve been doing it all my life. It’s about time you started.

I am pleased to report there is relative peace in my kingdom. The windows are often open, allowing a fresh breeze to blow through. The servants are tolerable. I am shedding my winter coat and they are kept busy vacuuming my hair off the carpet. The he-servant is especially anal about it. I am careful to cast my hair about the carpet so he receives maximum exercise. Because “maximum” is starting to describe his physique, if you know what I mean.

As for the she-servant, I am surprised she can rise from the couch. I know she does, though, because I see her standing while she plays Guitar Hero. This is not among her talents. When the she-servant plays, the game should be called “Guitar Zero.”

Anyway, the peace in my kingdom does not reflect the state of my soul. I am deeply disturbed. I just finished watching a documentary on the world’s most beautiful animals, and was shocked to see that I was not listed among them. Except for possibly the peacock – such a vain animal – I should top the list. If there were an Animal Universe pageant, I would be sure to win it. Though I would frown on such a frivolous waste of time. Maybe.

I desperately want to go outside. If I could get past the servants, who block my exit, I would create a real sight. My gleaming hair, my sharp teeth, and my jewel-like eyes would cause traffic to back up from here to L.A. Oh how the world would swoon. Yet I ache for praise and reassurance of my beauty. My servants do compliment me, but I have grown accustomed to their praise and do not appreciate it. I need more, from someone else.

As the he-servant returned from work just now, I caught a glimpse of the outdoors. The grass is turning green; I wish I could eat it. Then I could return indoors and vomit my name into the carpet. “Handsome Howie,” it might say. Or “Fancy Feline.” Yes. I quite like that.

5:16 p.m. Sunday, March 2, 2008
Ugh. ~shudder~

5:17 p.m. Sunday, March 2, 2008
It hurts me to even try to say this.

5:34 p.m. Sunday, March 2, 2008
Here’s the thing. The servants have not been faithful to me.

I am so disappointed in them, though I should have expected it. All servants are the same. They promise loyalty, but they don’t really know what that means. Loyalty, to them, is to care for me only as long as I am in sight. The moment they leave my kingdom for work, they seem to forget all about their “loyalty.” And when they come home, I can sniff out the infidelity like a rotten egg.

First, there’s the unmistakable smell of “other cats” on their clothes. That alone could send them to prison in many kingdoms, but I am too benevolent. At the first scent of another cat, I headed straight to their bedroom and peed on the center of the bed.

I smelled the stench of foreign feline two days straight before finding the will to do further investigating. I went straight for the she-servant’s wool coat – which is always smothered in a revolting amount of lint and hair. With my naked eye I was able to spot 16 hideous orange cat hairs. Orange! The color of common cats! Street cats! I’m going to round up those servants right now and make them take a bath…if I can bear the sight of them.

7 p.m. Monday, March 3, 2008
Right now I am listening to the servants as they discuss the other cats. Apparently they are “cat-sitting” for someone from the she-servant’s workplace. Though I appear to be sleeping, I am listening intently.

The servants say one of the cats is extraordinarily beautiful. The other is just a spook who hides under the bed. My claws sink into the carpet and I hear it rip. The fact that they can see any beauty in these hideous alley cats turns my stomach.

10 a.m. Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Revenge. Justice. It has been served. Both servants are stricken with the flu and cannot get out of bed except to find medicine to reduce their fevers. I revel in their sickness. I traipse across their sickbed and step on their aching shoulders. I spin my taut body in a small circle, searching for the perfect spot to nap. She-servant’s face? Too ugly… Foot of bed? Danger of being kicked… He-servant’s belly? Perfect! Large, soft and warm. Serves him right.

In the doldrums of winter, I take pride in the little things. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I am handsome. My teeth are straight. My hair shines, and my white whiskers look fantastic against my large green eyes. I’m a fine sight to behold.

To keep in shape, I go surfing. Not the wimpy kind where the ocean waves do all the work. When I surf, I do all the work. I take a running start a full room-length away, then leap onto my cardboard scratch pad. With my speed and agility, I easily cruise past the kitchen and down the hallway. It always gives the servants a start to see me moving along so swiftly. To be honest, I amaze myself.

I also like to keep my mind sharp. I launch investigations daily, like: What happens if I sink my claws into the carpet and rip upward with all my might? Does the carpet come loose? How much force is necessary to uproot a single strand of carpet? Then, what happens if I eat that strand of carpet? Would that be considered a food, or a hair? Which end would it come out?

I am forced to perform these experiments when the servants are not looking. Their small minds are disturbed when they see me “shredding” the carpet, as they say. It’s obvious I’m one of those geniuses that won’t be respected until long past my death. If a cat of my fame can ever really die…

February 3, 2008

Did you know that I have all of my claws? I do. Lesser cats may have only their back claws, but I’ve got all of mine. And they are sharp. I sharpen them in the carpet, or in the furniture. The mattress. Bedspread. Bath mat. Like I said, I keep them sharp.

I know they’re sharp because I test them on the he-servant. Nearly every other day, the he-servant experiences a delusion and challenges me to a duel. It’s obvious each time the stupor strikes him - there’s a change in his eyes and he starts to make stealthy moves in my direction.

He makes one of his hands look like a claw – can you believe it, a claw! – and slowly angles it toward my face. Then the last bit of light in his brain is dimmed. He puts his fat fingers around my face, and I strike. I draw stripes down his arms. I carve his wrists. Oh yes, my claws are sharp. It’s just the he-servant who’s not.