Yet Another Series of Pandemic Updates from Leia the Cat

April 16: Today was bright, and I was able to nap in the sunbeam in front of the door to the domicile. That allowed me to witness several humans leaving packages on the front porch. All of these humans wore masks. While I appreciate the effort, even with face coverings, humans are graceless and ugly compared to cats.

April 17: the human attempted to convince Spike and me that we had to walk only on pillows scattered across the living room "to avoid stepping in the burning lava!" She grew quite alarmed when we did not play this ridiculous game. I thought about indulging her. Then I thought again.

April 18: I do not know who Billie Jean is or why she demands the "moonwalk," but if I meet her, I will vomit a hairball onto her shoes. My human, incidentally, now appears to be limping.

April 19: Today was a relaxing day except for the half-hour lecture the human gave me on the uses and misuses of the apostrophe, a subject both tedious and unnecessary for an evolved creature such as myself. I have to admit to being surprised that this sort of thing passes for knowledge among humans.

April 20: the human engaged in something called a "primal scream" today. I engaged in clawing the bedroom drapes in response.

April 21: Spike incurred the wrath of the human today by standing in a bowl of pasta sauce to more effectively steal cheese. After a bath in the sink <shudder> the hair dryer was inflicted upon him. It did not go well. During all of this chaos, I, of course, ate the cheese.

April 22: the human heard something on the loud screen today and kept typing "face masks for cats" into the cat warming device and promising to protect us from the apocalypse. She was twenty minutes late with my dinner, however.

April 23:  the human "sang" the song "Danger Zone" by the execrable Kenny Loggins in preparation for rolling the garbage can to the curb. I am giving her my butt for the rest of the evening.

April 24: last night, when she SHOULD have been asleep, the human began stalking back and forth, pausing only to floridly display a single claw on each hand. This is a hostile gesture among her kind, here aimed at someone recommending "lysol injections" and "uv light to fight viruses." Today, I persuaded Spike to nap ostentatiously in a sunbeam, just to mess with her.

Pandemic Updates from Leia the Cat, 2nd Week of April 2020

April 8: The human has cleaned and organized the room referred to as "home office" today. She appears to have done this by moving all of the mayhem and flotsam from that room into another room. I really do not understand human behavior.

April 9: The human had three "meetings" at which she spoke into the cat warming device. I attended the third, interposing myself between the screen and the human and receiving adequate head scratching as a result. While I prefer the human's undivided attention when I demand it, the praise I received from the voices coming from the cat warming device was surprisingly gratifying.

April 10: Today the human sat around reading books. And more books. Finally I sat on the books and received appropriate attentions. Then she nudged me aside and went back to books. I do NOT approve.

April 11: The human attempted to lecture me today about sleeping and rolling around on the cat warming device. Apparently, this sends messages that no one can decipher. I will, of course, continue to do as I please.

April 12: The human arose from her bed at 3am last night, went into the dining room with a basket of old cat toys, and encased six of them inside egg-shaped plastic vessels. Then she wandered around the house depositing them in various locations. This morning, she attempted to persuade Spike to "find" the "kitty Easter eggs." Spike did not find them. I did not participate.

April 13: Today has been a quiet day, not because the human has finally left the domicile, but because last night's storm appears to have traumatized both her and Spike. Frankly, they were both equally useless today. I, of course, am not affected by meteorological drama.

April 14: The human cleaned the dining room floor today, which surprised me, as she has been astonishingly slothful. Having moved the chairs into the living room, she lost whatever mind she has left, draped blankets over them, and invited Spike and myself into her "fort" for "reading and self-care." The human is clearly completely bonkers. I will confess, however, to taking a peaceful 45-minute nap in the "fort."

April 15: The human spent most of today talking to various devices and drinking brown liquids. Eventually, I had to knock several devices to the floor to make room on the human's lap for petting and napping time. Attempts to retrieve the devices were met with claws.

Pandemic Updates from Leia the Cat, First Week of April 2020

March 31:  It is the middle of the night. The night belongs to me! This must stop. The human has covered her face with half a paper plate and is angrily shouting with some horrific, terrible musical soundtrack. I do not know who Andrew Lloyd Webber is, but I hope someone drops a chandelier on HIM.

April 1: The human fed us on time today, spent the morning cleaning, uttering only minor expletives about "damned internet connection," and then has spent the mid-day typing into the cat warming machine. Is it possible she can be domesticated after all?

April 2: The human woke up at an acceptable time today, but provided the wrong flavor food, something to which I had to draw her attention by knocking over her glass of iced coffee. Twice. FINALLY, she become aware of her error and provided a tuna substitute. Acceptable. But I expect better service tomorrow.

Update from Spike the Other Cat: Mom doing puzzles. Puzzles are yummy. Need to be washed first, though.

April 3: The human has started a new and somewhat worrying behavior. She has been asking the throw pillows "which ones of you would like to live in the bedroom this week? Is anyone unhappy with this sofa? Who would like to move to the loveseat?" She also praised the dishes for coming out of the dishwasher "all sparkling and ready to meet the world!" It is possible that her lack of contact with others of her kind is dangerous to her mental health.

April 4: A better day today. The human was quiet and productive, providing treats and even sharing her dinner with us. Has she adapted to her confinement? Or is this merely a lull?

April 5: The human is now referring to her living room chair as the "command chair," and she spent 25 minutes today explaining to Spike that his "position is at the ops station" and pointing at the loveseat. She also berated me for "falling asleep at the conn!" I am relentlessly ignoring her and hoping her hallucinations pass quickly.

April 6: Not much to report today. The human did not exit the dwelling, but did open all of the windows and shout "the outside be inside!" far too loudly. I was able to nap in the breeze.

April 7: So many boxes have been delivered! But am I allowed to keep any?! No! The human keeps slicing them into uselessness and removing them from the domicile. The orange cat and I do not agree on much, but we concur on the outrageousness of this behavior.

Pandemic Updates from Leia the Cat, March 2020

Pandemic Updates from Leia the Cat, March 2020

(with the occasional comment from Spike the Other Cat)

 

 

March 15: The human is acting suspiciously. She pointed at the alarm clock and laughed, then cleaned out the refrigerator. Something is not right here.

March 16: Odd behavior continues. The human fed us late today, and we had to check to make sure she was not dead. She has stacked towers of gooshy food next to the cabinet and cleaned the oven.

March 17: The human seems determined to erase my scent from everything in the house. Is this why she is not leaving the domicile during the day? Or is she trying to take command of my territory? I am concerned, very concerned.

March 18: the cat warming device which the human kneads with her claws and stares at regularly has taken on a new function, for the human now periodically speaks to it...and IT SPEAKS BACK. The human may be practicing witchcraft. She was also late with my breakfast again.

March 19: the human woke up and fed us at a reasonable time today, then proceeded to move boxes around for several hours. I am aghast to report that most boxes were CUT OPEN and taken out of the domicile, rather than being placed strategically around my territory. This human is very badly trained.

March 20: the human behaved acceptably last night, providing a warm place where I could bathe and do my nails, but this morning she pulled out a Device of Evil Noise and fed paper to it for an hour while Singing Aloud. I may need to recruit the Orange Fool into my new behavior modification plan.

(March 20: update from Spike the Other Cat:  Mommy home.  More pettings.)

March 21: the human persists in not leaving the domicile. I thought she was attending to my needs properly when I scented the chicken flavor wafting through my territory, but neither my Significant Looks nor the Orange One's desperate pleas persuaded her to share her bounty. Bereft, the Orange one deposited a hairball in the human's bed.

March 22: if the human is going to stay home, she WILL learn to behave properly. I will knock over a fifth glass of iced tea if she has not learned from the first four.

March 23: the crisis intensifies. I thought the human was finally leaving the domicile today and returning to her usual habits. However, just as I was feeling relief that my tactics had borne fruit, she picked me up, deposited me in the mobile prison cell and took me to the vet! I will not detail the indignities I endured there. I'm not sure how much more of this I can take.

(March 23: Update from Spike the Other Cat: my sister went away today. It was sad. She came back! I jumped on her. She smacked me. Now I am happy.)

March 24: the human is STILL here, and she is really getting on my nerves. Not only does she persist in talking to me and to the orange cat whenever she sees us, even if I am clearly set upon other business, but she also talks to inanimate objects. I do not know if she has always been this way or she is going slowly mad, but if I hear her call, "Missing coffee cup, where are you?" one more time, there will be blood.

March 25: Things improved slightly yesterday, as the human installed a new light-and-noise machine under my supervision. The orange one attempted to hand tools to the human, but because he does not have opposable thumbs, this resulted in tools rolling under the sofa. I took great satisfaction in watching the human crawl on her belly to reach things, mewling pathetically the entire time. Such theater makes our joint confinement much more palatable.

(March 25: update from Spike the Other Cat: Fun!  Fun!  I help.  Chase tail.  Help more. Nice nap.)

March 26: the human attempted to nap through dinnertime yesterday. While I respect the nap as vital to the mental health of any being attempting to struggle through this universe, I have had enough of late meals. I climbed upon the human's head and spread out my fur. She awoke in a panic and promptly provided the appropriate wet food. Honestly, we could just avoid this kind of unpleasantness if she budgeted her time more effectively.

March 27: She has put BOOKS in my napping spot! Fortunately, I am not so old and weak that I cannot clear my spot myself. Loudly.

March 28: the human is determined to remove my scent from ALL of the fluffy blankets. I am determined to sleep in the basket where the un-felined blankets are folded until one of us surrenders to the inevitable.

March 29: the human did not feed us until 10:00 AM! I do not feel at all sorry that she slipped in cat vomit leaving her bedroom. She simply MUST LEARN.

March 30: Things have escalated here. Last evening, during what is clear Feline Dominance Time, when humans are supposed to be asleep in their dens, my human, may her fur be forever tangled, turned on the Loud Noise Machine and began singing the songs of her kind while gyrating through the house. Periodically, she would spot Spike or myself and exclaim, "Hands up, Kitties! It's time to rock this pandemic!" My nerves are shattered, absolutely shattered.