Editor’s Note: The thaw arrived earlier than expected up here, leaving us in spring’s usual tumult. Normally, the yeti-haunted hamlet of Alturas would still be buried under 10 feet of snow come January, but instead we find ourselves inescapably mired in mud, like Napoleon in France, only with rednecks instead of Russians.
However, as there is still no fix for Fallout 4, Mr. Raymond has instead wandered into the sagebrush prairie with a keg of beer, where he is communing with the elk. We expect him back some time next week, if only because the audit reports will be due. In the meantime, we give you the latest update in the feline politics of the House on Poplar Street:
So I got a new bed. This is important because the new bad has a bed frame. That is important because on Thanksgiving, when it was twenty below twenty below outside and the snow was so deep even the mammoths had snowplows, Sneaky Pete ran inside and hid under the bed, saying he wasn’t coming out ’til Easter.
“Also, you can’t see me, ’cause I’m too schneaky,” he said in his best James Cagney voice.
“You’re right there, dude.”
He’s such a crackhead. I may have to have an intervention for him. He wanders in meowing at the top of his lungs, devours all the food in the house, and then flops down on the couch.
“Sneaky, what the hell are you doing?” I say.
“I’m Sneaky Pete,” he says. “You can’t even see me, ’cause I’m too schneaky.” Then he sprawled across the couch and yowled at the top of his lungs.
“I’m calling the sheriff on you, cat.”
“I is 10 ninjas.”
Anyway, the problem isn’t that he fights with the other cats – the problem is that Tabby and Silver like him, and I Do. Not. Want. Another. Cat.
Silver lets him sleep on her special pink blankie, the use of which by anyone else, including me, usually results in massive feline retaliation. And yesterday I caught Tabby licking Pete’s head. He’s only ever done that with Silver.
“What the hell, Tabby! Are we opening up a cat house here?”
“He’s my brudda from anudda mudda, sir.”
I gotta stop letting him read Cheezburger after dark.
But while they might like having S. Pete around, any change in the zeitgeist is an excuse to run amuk over my time, sleep and sanity. It’s even worse now that the thaw has come, because they wanna be outside, but of course they also feel the urgent cat need to always have an open door available in case of kaiju attack. It’s their favorite game; they call it “Door,” where Tabby demands I open the door so he can go in and out and in and out and in and out 74.3 times an hour even though it’s the middle of the night and I’m buck-ass nekkie and then I notice my neighbor (who is a prominent member of the Elks Lodge) who had gone out to empty the garbage is staring at me standing naked in the street yelling at a cat who is nowhere to be seen …
But at least in that case, Tabby knows what he wants, which is more than I call say for Silver, who is making a hobby of just sitting in the bathroom staring intently at nothing. I’m thinking maybe she’s receiving radio signals from another planet and the linoleum helps with reception. If so, it’s messing up her spatial awareness, because then she’ll demand to be let through a door that doesn’t exist, or that I pick her up and set her down in midair.
Or maybe it’s my spatial awareness that’s messed up, ’cause it’s 4 in the morning, in that magical time where even if I do manage to get back to sleep, it won’t be long enough to do me any good, which … you know, it’s gotta be aliens, because only they would have the timekeeping technology advanced enough to calculate the exact second when it hits “too late to hit the snooze button” and alert Silver to start meowing right at that exact moment, when she will peacefully sleep though any number of hours until then.
Then she does it again when I’m getting ready to get in the shower – from total catatonia to berserk neediness in under 2 seconds, which is apparently triggered by the sound of the water running. And I could try ignoring her, but only at the cost of my security deposit, because when she gets bored, she likes to attack the blinds. It’s got to where I sleep with the blinds up in full view of the neighbors, which only worked until Tabby woke me up by batting at the window. Aliens, I tell you.
Especially yesterday, when I’m 10 minutes late and still half asleep and I’m trying to get some clothes out of the dryer so I can go to work and earn the money to buy the cat food, and maybe hopefully get some sleep.
All of which is complicated by the fact that Silver is sleeping in the dryer.
“Silver, I kinda need to get in there,” I say.
“The needs of the kitty outweigh the needs of the few.”
I nodded. “Mm. Or the one.”
“S’right, Mister.” Then she bit me and went back to sleep.