NOTE: Today’s post is from a guest blogger. Malcolm is a 3-year-old tabby originally from New Mexico but currently making his home in Seattle. He can neither type nor spell so he will have assistance from his person but wants his readers to know that these are his thoughts, in his own meows…umm…words.
It has come to my attention that my friends, family, and fans were very upset by my leaving the house earlier this week. I thought it best to speak directly to my people and soothe everyone’s nerves if possible.
My lives (all 9 still intact at last count) have been in a tumult lately as my person thought it was a great idea to uproot my sister Rose and I yet again and move to a new place.
Don’t get me wrong, that place where we lived in Denver was a real litter box. A big guy like me needs room to stretch and time away from the girls. (You feel me right fellas?) That place wasn’t even big enough to get up any real speed when chasing my sister though the house. See, I like to run right at her and make her think I’m going to plow all 16 pounds of fur right into her…even though I’d really never do it because she would bitch and moan for DAYS.
But I digress…
The point is…moving has been rough. We were on the road for 4 days, in something my person calls “Corporate Housing” for 2 weeks, and then people have been in and out of our new house since last week. Rose was a bit of a nervous wreck and she was starting to really bug me with all the hiding and stuff. I try to be super zen and open minded…which is not typical of my culture. I’ve been trying to live in the moment and enjoy looking out the windows at all the new people and dogs and stuff.
Let me stop here and just say that I think using the word “escape” to describe my going outside on Tuesday is a little bit of a stretch. Escape makes it sound like I was sneaking around trying to get out. I DON’T SNEAK! Have you seen me? I’m HUGE and ORANGE. Is it really MY FAULT if some stranger left the front door open and I just happened to walk outside to see what was going on? According to my human I’m not allowed to do that. But I still don’t have a clue what “allowed” means even though she says it all the time. She’s always like, “Mal, you are not allowed on the counters?” What does that mean? I’m ON the counter so I don’t understand what you are saying to me. See what I mean?? Confusing!
I know many of you are curious about what I did for 8 hours outside. I wish I knew. The time went so fast and I really lost track of time. Mostly I hung out in a tree. If you saw me you’d probably think I was scared, but that’s not it at all. My eyes just get all wide like that when I’m having a good time. And I certainly wasn’t intimidated by those dogs barking down the street. I was like “hey fellas, you wanna piece of this?” They didn’t. Of course it might have been because they were behind a fence. I do remember having a little snack. That mouse never saw me coming…well…he did and he ran…but I still ate him.
Sure, I heard my mom calling me for 5 hours. I fell asleep sometime during the middle but the rest of the time I was pretty sure we were playing a game or something. She really likes to play games. Her favorite games are “get off that shelf”…and “don’t lay on my sweater”…and my personal favorite “stop scratching the furniture.” She has this voice she does where she tries to sound mean. It’s HILARIOUS. You should really hear it sometime.
I always intended to come in when I was hungry. But leave it to Rose to ruin a good time. I heard Captain Killjoy in the window telling me to get my tail home because she wanted to eat and I thought “Well, guess the fun is over. Il Duce has called me home.”
The humans had the oddest reaction when I walked up to where they were standing. Several of them laughed. My human cried. I think she was just upset that I beat her at the hiding game. There was a lot of happy talk and my human picked me up and took me inside.
What happened next is embarrassing to talk about…but journalistic integrity dictates that I share it with you.
Uggg…how humiliating! I mean really. I know how to bathe myself. I do have to admit…I like that hot air blowing thing that dried my fur up. A kit could get used to that!
So to close…I was not escaping. Why would I? Have you all seen how well my human takes care of me? I also was not scared. I could totally live outside if I wanted to. But I don’t. And finally I was not being a bad kitty. Not matter what my human says. I don’t have it in me. I ask you…is this the face of a “bad kitty?”
Please enjoy my new theme song: