Cats are nearly perfect creatures in every regard; however, it is a shame that we don't have opposable thumbs. Mom has been distracted and busy, gone for a long time some days, and this is the first chance I've had to get at the computer to update her blog. She doesn't realize how frustrating it is for me when she hibernates her computer during the day or turns it off altogether at night.
I have heard her saying something to him about saving energy. I can't imagine how they could save anymore energy than they already do. Don't tell Mom I said this, but they sit around an awfully lot. Frankie and I play chase with each other, we jump up on high windows and bookcases and, of course, our cat condo. We harass Trixie a little bit if we are feeling very, very rambunctious. (Have I mentioned that she's mean? If we get too wild, or sometimes if we even try to politely walk past her to use the facilities, she growls and she doesn't stop until we are out of sight.)
We also play with Mom and sometimes him, which is about the only exercise I ever see them getting. They have been a challenge to train, him especially, but since Frankie and I both still have all nine of our lives, we can invest the necessary time. Mom has learned to curl up in bed so that Frankie can sleep by her feet and I can sleep by her neck. She hardly ever kicks or rolls on us anymore and, if she does, she stops as soon as she wakes up enough to know what she's doing. When she gets out of bed at night to use their facilities - a lot nicer than ours, btw - she scoots out from under the covers without pushing us off the bed.
That is very thoughtful of her, but I usually get up anyway to escort her. I'd hate to think she ran into any trouble and I was not there to help. Frankie might come along if he's already awake, but if he is sleeping at the bottom of the bed, he just keeps his lazy hindquarters stuck to the bed and pretends he is asleep.
I'm sure you can figure out that someone is not doing quite as well with his training. He kicks a lot and pushes his feet against the railing at the end of the bed, so it is pretty miserable trying to sleep with him. Sometimes he scrunches into the middle of the bed and I can find a little room along the edge of the mattress. Not too often, though, because Mom says, "If you're going to sleep in the middle of the bed, then why did we have to buy a queen-sized?" I am not sure what a queen-sized is, but I guess Mom was not to impressed with it.
You might be wondering why I keep writing him and he, etc. instead of Dad. Well, believe it or not, he objected to a cat calling him Dad!! That just chaps my fluffy butt. How did he get such a big head? Well, I have thought and thought about it, and I decided to call him M. If he doesn't like that, too bad; I'm not going to change one more time for anybody. Even if Mom asks me to really nicely. She spoils M anyway.
Whew, Mom was coming to turn off the computer but she got sidetracked by Frankie. He can be good for something every once in a while. She just started brushing him and that can keep her entertained for quite a while.
Mom's big girl, Alix, came over yesterday and she got a good look at Frankie for the first time in a while. (Frankie's a hider.) She got very excited and said she thought he was some kind of fancy cat. Alix and Mom got on the computer for a long time, looking at cat pictures and reading stuff, and they said Frankie looks just like a Birman cat and acts like one, too. I jumped up on Mom's lap and took a look myself. I must admit there is a strong resemblance.
Birman cats have the darker colors on their legs and face and creamy colors on their body like Frankie. And they have very distinctive mittens and stockings on their feet that do look like Frankie's. They have tiny voices, which is true of my brother, and long silken hair with no undercoat so it doesn't tangle. Frankie's coat is like that, too. (That's why Mom is always brushing him and petting him and making goo-goo sounds about his fur. Yuck.)
I guess I can see why they think he's one of those Birman cats, but I have to tell you, it is sheer dumb luck that he turned out as well as he did. We do not come from fancy cats. We are salt-of-the-earth, backyard cats, and I haven't seen any hoity-toity Birman cats hanging around my birth mother.
Mother is quite stunning and unique in her own way. She is a gray tabby with very, very long hair. There's a big ruff around her neck like a lion's mane. Her coat gets even bigger in cold weather and right now she looks very scary when I see her in the backyard eating. Alix thinks she is a Maine Coon cat, but again, that seems a little far fetched. She might look like the pictures on the computer, but how would a Maine Coon cat end up as a feral living on her wits and the kindness of strangers in this neighborhood?
I am a tuxedo cat, the smartest and handsomest kind of cat anyone could want, and it is hard to fathom why they even care about Frankie's genealogy, but, if it makes them happy, they can believe any fantastic thing that they want.
If Mom would cut me some slack and leave her computer on a bit more, I could visit with y'all more. Why don't you mention it to her if you get the chance? But nicely. She's my Mom and I don't want her feelings to be hurt.