#Jodh #thatsmycat #nonuts

Let’s make it easier for the cat.

He thinks he can explain this better than me, but this is where he is wrong.

I have the experience to explain this better, if not the expertise.

The photographer can put things through different filters, and eyes can change. Not all eyes though, and not all the time. This is where we agree.

They think this man with the dark blue eyes, the ones that do not change colour, no matter how many filters you run them through, they, not me, think he is the killer of worlds. It is said that the blue-eyed one will change the world to suit the image he sees in his mind, and his eyes will not change colour for anything other than what he sees for himself.

This is the way of thinking that brown-eyed ones whose eyes also do not change colour can be more gentle, and more able to say, ‘Okay then,’ and walk away. It’s not always true, for sometimes the brown-eyed one thinks, I will drown it all in nothing, for I will reflect nothing.

But, they also think the ones whose eyes will change colour to reflect are more able to tell lies. This is not true either. We are better at adapting, perhaps. Less likely to try to change things to suit others. We merely reflect things back, that’s all. Not anything more than that.

They think the one with green eyes, or yellow eyes are demonic, sometimes, but are they? Do their eyes change with light, or reflect things back? Not always no, not always at all.

Is it not too hard to explain this, for I am demigod not peaceful, boasts the little cat. He is too small to be harmful, and his eyes do not reflect. I am a demon from great masters of the deep, says another small cat and his eyes are blue and do not reflect, but he is also little and unable to do great things. My mistress says I am neither cat nor dog, says a tiny demon master, and he is not quite right, and not quite wrong, and he has indeed adapted. But does he know his way home?

The green eyed cat is not the one who boasts, he thinks to himself, and yet I cannot find my way home.

No man is the master of his distant past, thinks yellow-eyed cat, and he sits with his people of eyes that reflect and thinks he must look out for the blue-eyed man whose eyes are like sky. He is not a killer at all, because he is the one who protects yellow-eyed cat, and the ones he loves.

‘Let me tell you something,’ says the brown-eyed one, not understanding, and trying to keep his wits about him. ‘I cannot see those people so you do not tell me what to do.’

Intelligence is not defined by eye-colour, not at all, and no one here had told the man what to do. Yet, he fights me back, and I see his pain and let him fight for me as well, if that is what he wants to do, and I will be very, very cranky if he thinks he can get the better of me.

I found this out some time ago, he says to himself. Not too old to be a ratbag yet, not too young to be letting me think I can be better than her, not that silly to think I am letting this go.

‘Very well, my friend,’ he says and they start grinning at each other. ‘I am destined for great things, and I’m taking this all on board because even though I do not want to call you a shithead, you are and that’s the truth.’ And he goes back to all his brown-eyed family and says, ‘She has also brown-eyed people on her side of the family, so sorry mate, you f*cked up there, and you are not getting away with it,’ and he laughs very loudly because that was exactly the argument they had last week and he didn’t think she’d remember.

But she did.

‘This time,’ says the man, puffing up his chest and trying not to grin. ‘On his behalf, I am having the last word. So three against one wins the day, I think. I could be wrong. It doesn’t seem fair. ‘He looks down at his notes. ‘Who wrote this shit. I need someone who is much fairer than that. This is abysmal.’

He stomps off and throws another book in the cupboard. ‘That didn’t work either,’ he calls over his shoulder. ‘She’s not letting me do it this time. My mum would be so happy right now, I think I need to have a nap.’

Update from a Small Cat – Jan 26th

‘Ah. You wish me to meander with you.’ It wasn’t a question. The cat had stood up and capered along the wall under the fence at least five minutes beforehand, and was likely waiting on the corner for his frenemy, el cato.

‘I didn’t say that, you did.’ El cato projected this thought through the glass door at the rear of his own house. ‘I am not ambulating today either.’

‘What are you doing then. I can’t see you?’

‘Nope, I am a figment of your imagination and you are a worm.’

‘Oh, fabulous. I have always wanted to be a worm.’

‘You have not.’ Of this, el cato was sure. ‘You said you never knew which end to talk to.’

‘Perhaps I’ve changed my mind?’

‘I don’t think you have changed your mind.’ El cato stood and stretched, fluffing up his magnificent tail. He had spotted le chat peering over the fence. ‘Little basket.’

‘Speak to me not of baskets, I am breathtaking. Look at me.’ Le chat wiggled his backside with anticipation. ‘Just so you know, I’m ready to pounce. I’m not sure what at, yet, but I’m ready.’

The dog on the other side of the fence wrinkled her pretty face. ‘What are they doing,’ she mumbled. ‘And why must I always be the one between them?’

The human, who had not got up to look around the corner (through sheer willpower alone), sighed deeply. ‘I can hear you all. Will you please cease and desist. It is Sunday morning. Even the birds are silent.’

It was true. The birds were distant, the wind was lifting into a breeze, and le chat was beginning to sing the song of the people, so they would hear him and perhaps wonder…

‘Oh there you are,’ said the human under her breath.

‘I was bored,’ murmured le chat. ‘Wall smells like stone, fence smells like metal.’ He stared vaguely off into the middle distance. ‘Cobwebs.’ He crouched low on the sand coloured brick. ‘Extra large.’

The human made a slight wheezing sound which the cat assumed meant she was laughing. He stood and turned, wrapping his own black tail gently around his forepaws. The patch on his shoulder stood out starkly against the white of his coat.

‘My ears are not lopsided,’ he chided her. ‘One is merely listening more than the other.’

On this, they could agree.

‘And, just so you know,’ he added. ‘Bermuda is the general opposite place in the world of where we are, which is why, when I dig, you say I am trying to dig all the way to Bermuda.’

And that was the absolute truth.

Updates from a Small Cat 4

This morning, the cat adopts a terrible French accent. He wishes to discuss his neighbour, El Cato.

‘Why do you wish to think in an accent you cannot truly speak,’ thinks the people mama at him.

‘It does not matt-air,’ says the cat, for this morning he shall speak with an accent different to his own because it is fun, and he shall speak because he is a cat of nine lives. When one is a cat of nine lives, a cat has options to don whatever character they choose.

‘Be shush,’ says the cat, for the people mama was speaking to other people and not him. ‘I em calling from ze fenz end you mest sive moi.’

The people mama decides to check the fence where last she saw le chat and see if he truly needs saving. She opens the door to the rear of the building and he dashes in, chatting excitedly.

It sounds a little bit like, ‘Meh, mow, mioh, me.’ What it means is, ‘I ev sived myself from ze fenz, and now I mest check on ze Farza Figga.’

The cat has tap-danced into the master bedroom, checked on the father figure, and tap-danced back out, only to throw himself into a luxuriously verdant position on the floor that resembles hardwood but isn’t. He is a cat of short thinking today, and it is difficult to keep up with him.

He decides to talk around his breakfast. ‘Did you see ‘ow well El Cato’s human counterpart played last night, mama,’ he mumbles around his food.

‘I did,’ says the mama. ‘His own mama must be very proud.’

‘She is, I think,’ says the small cat. ‘Although we think he may have been slightly distracted by distractions at some point during the evening match.’

The people mama pushes her mouth together and tries not to smile. ‘Yes, well. That is none of our business, and we shall not discuss it.’

‘Not any of it?’ The cat is determined to be naughty this morning.

‘No. I am sure he is a very good boy.’ The people mama is also determined, but she is determined not to start laughing. ‘He played very good tennis, and that is the whole point. Just like the falling apart old man down the other end played very good tennis.’

‘Fallin’ apart old man?’ The cat is confused. ‘That man is not so old.’

‘I suppose it depends on how one looks at age in certain aspects, like sport for example,’ explains the people mama. ‘In sport, that old man is absolutely ancient, and falling apart at the knees. Plus, he has small children, and that makes him even ancient-er.’

‘It does?’ El Cato’s human counterpart is curious now. ‘I thought it would make him younger? Perhaps I should reconsider the idea of making small children any time soon.’

The people mama decides her time is up. To upset other mamas is not why she is here. She smiles and waves, and quickly leaves on wings shaped like bonnets and a crash-helmet shaped like a yellow flower, one she had tied to her head with two very thin pieces of grass.

‘Is that who I think it is,’ said the small boy’s father. He grinned to himself as the ladybird flew off. ‘I think there might be a story about that ladybird around here somewhere.’

But that might be a story for another day.

Updates from a Small Cat 3

The human observes the cat digging a small hole. The cat does things in the small hole by balancing over the top of said small hole. The cat then pushes sand into the small hole and proceeds to run in short aimless leaps around the tiny backyard.

The cat thinks the human is boring and should make what the cat just did sound a little more exciting. The human nods in agreement.

‘The cat has attempted to dig a small hole in the direction of Bermuda. It is highly likely he will not be able to dig all the way to Bermuda as there are things in the way, but he has attempted it. As I watch, with slight horror, the cat’s tail resembles the actions of a small lever which, I assume, means there is something coming out of his (the cat is a male) rear end (his bottom). This does not take as long as it normally would, so perhaps I am incorrect in assuming it is what I thought it was, and perhaps the cat is ‘releasing water’ instead. The cat then hurriedly covers whatever it was he deposited in said hole and makes the decision to run around the small backyard with gay abandon.’

The cat would sigh if it could sigh. The human has heard it snore before, so thinks to herself it is highly possible the cat could sigh.

The cat thinks the human is boring. The human nods in agreement. The cat notes there may also be a couple of words one could consider “politically incorrect”. The human frowns, then makes the decision to use a lot of words that, if taken with context when joined with other words, may be considered highly amusing even if they are “politically incorrect”.

The cat, if the cat could smile, would be smiling right about now. The human is showing her teeth on the inside, and her inner teeth are surrounded by a very large upward smile.

‘Hehehehehehehe,’ thinks the human.

‘The cat has decided to start removing sand from my backyard, from the desperate attempt of a garden bed to be exact, and has also decided he is helping to fertilise it. This is acceptable, even though I do not wish to be observing it right now. He now covers it all up, like any cat would, as they do their best to be clean, even if it is not always in a situation where a cat can be clean. Having done that, he proceeds to use a Thesaurus to describe the motions he is performing around the backyard. Perhaps the motions are considered joyful dancing in that he has helped to fertilise the planet? Perhaps the motions are considered thoughtless, although he seems to land with incredible precision in certain places so as not to injure himself? This is debatable.

Perhaps, thinks the cat, if the cat could think which is also debatable, the human could ask other humans to describe what it is their cats do in backyards when they are doing what this cat has done. Perhaps other humans cat companions do not have the pleasure of having a backyard and need to use small boxes instead?

Perhaps they should have a bloody go then, thinks the human and considers the fact she has written that down. This may be considered as thinking as not out loud but as ‘being recorded’. In her head, the human dons a nondescript yet rakishly attired head covering and waves a pen shaped like a sword or a feather.

‘Speak to me of an Irish cat,’ she cries, then smiles in a slightly lopsided manner as she makes a dashing yet fabulous exit from the area within which she has been writing.

‘Ah ha!’ A distant persian laughs with glee. ‘I recognise this dance.’ He turns to his performers and claps his paws. ‘Begin.’

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Updates from a Small Cat 2.

The human companion and I arose early this morning due to being overheated and having interrupted sleepings. This is because the Father Figure’s sleepings were loud and obnoxiously noisy. It is also because when the human companion overheats she has not-very-nice dreams and it makes her cranky-pants.

Other people readers will notice when I allow the human companion to speak on my behalf sometimes, I have a slightly different way of communicating. This is because I am a cat with nine lives, and I do not need to explain this anymore than what I just have.

I am currently stalking fence. Up and down, up and down, I stalk the fence because I can balance. I am sending human mother updates as I stalk and she listens to me and rolls eyes dramatically. I am not only a cat, I am a sentry. Occasionally I am a sentry stuck on the roof and demand of my human companions to show me the way off the roof. They are not always happy about doing this, especially after the third or fourth time. This is not my problem. I am a cat, and they are supposed to save me.

It is dark, and I have forgotten what I was doing. Because of this I will send the human companion aka the human mother aka… anyway, I will send her messages to come and find me because it is fun.

She cannot find me. This is possibly because I am at the front of the house and she cannot come to the front of the house without making excessive noise that will not only wake up the occupants of the house but the neighbours as well. I think this ha-ha. At least, I do until I require her assistance to come from the front of the house to the back of the house , just in case the neighbours cat, who is rather large and majestic in the human companion’s humble opinion, decides he also needs to travel from the back of the house to the front of the house.

Many times the neighbours cat and myself encountered have each other. Have encountered. Have crossed paths. Sometimes it is not so bad. Sometimes it is not so good. Sometimes I forget how to send people companion messages in English and she leaves it how it was written because she thinks I am a ridiculous cat. I am not ridiculous. Ridiculous was a dog and he was also slightly. I am a cat and I am magnificent. I am not slightly, I am very small.

There are many things I need to say this very early morning. In order to do this, the people companion first needs to make herself coffee. It is going to be a very long day indeed.

🐾🐱🐾🐱🐾🐱🐾🐱🐾🐱🐾

The people companion has just needed to save me from the roof. I required her to come around the side of the building and remind me how to come down, using the exact same way I have alighted from the roof many times in the past. It does not matter how many times the people companion shows me this, I will always forget. I am a cat.

Sometimes, I think the people companion and I have quite a lot in common.

I may have mentioned many times in the past, in various other places, that I am a cat with no nurries. This means I am a ball-less cat. The little furry bag that once contained my family jewels is jewell-less. This is not bad, in my humble cat opinion-ing. This makes me a safe cat. I do not wander too far and that is very fortunate as I frequently do not remember where I am going, or why I thought I would be going there in the first place.

My people companion nods and smiles. She says to me, very kindly, that she understands cats, even male ones, and she says it is much safer for me if I stay in my own home. She says to me to ‘Watch the telly sometimes,’ because sometimes, she says, there are very interesting cats on there I might like and all I have to do is watch them and nothing else. She also says to me to ‘Not be rude’.

I don’t know what that means. I am a cat.

I have observed the people companion has taken to watching a thing called ‘tennis’ lately because there are very many interesting people on it. She tells everyone in the house, who would all be males like me, to be quiet because she is watching the men hitting the green balls. She has favourites, as well, and they are not all Australian! It is mortifying.

She says, ‘Don’t be silly.’ She is this thing called middle-aged and says that means ‘far too old to be playing silly buggers.’

I think she is slightly creepy, but what would I know. I am a cat.

I have also heard the Father Figure admiring the clothing of the weather ladies on the T.V. I did not know the Father Figure had an interest in fashion, but apparently he does. It does not appear to bother the people companion too much unless he says something that she finds nasty, then she is all up in his face from her distant couch, telling him off, or ignoring him completely, because that is what one does, apparently, when someone is being rude and nasty. She says it is none of his business whether someone has put weight on or not, or whether the colour of someone’s clothing does not suit them. She thinks, and very loudly, that perhaps he should look in the mirror sometimes.

As I am a cat, and do not have a female cat companion, I do not know exactly how this works, but most of the time, despite them watching strange people on the box, they seem to get along okay.

My personal people brothers/adult male companions (other occupants of this house) do not always understand the people companion and the father figure. I think that is not my problem. I am a cat.

I think maybe the human companion should get a dog. That would be good I think. A dog would understand the people companion even less, and I can beat it up with my bare paws and spit at it for being a dog. I did this with the old dog before he went to heaven under the lavender bush, and he didn’t seem to mind at all.

It is daylight now, and time for me to go to bed. The Father Figure will be up soon, anyway, and my People Companion will need to start doing more things for free.

Goodbye furrever,

Jodh.

Updates from a Small Cat

The human companion has written on my behalf many times over the years and I can safely inform you she isn’t getting any better at it. As I am a cat though, I can’t complain. I can only bite her viciously occasionally and maybe rabbit-kick her with my rear legs.

It has been several years (and I do allow her to write several because I can’t count and she can’t remember) since I joined this small pride of people, and they seem to be learning absolutely nothing from me at all. Instead, I am ridiculed for my continued lack of masculinity (I believe the tag formerly used was #nonuts) and, I am still not allowed within the confines of the younger men’s room as they do not like it when I wish to conduct one-cat scouting parties for feral beasts and spare food.

It is beyond preposterous.

Yesterday evening, the human companion (whom some may call the people mama although it is not very often I see her acting in a motherly way) attacked me with something resembling a feather duster. I use the descriptive words of feather and duster together simply so people understand what it was she was attacking me with. It is not quite the correct term, as there are no feathers on it, merely some form of cotton/acrylic blend atrocity that serves the purpose of dusting when it is not being used to provoke me.

The damn thing has an extendable arm, which she (the human companion) has become rather adept at extending. I would call fowl play but as I said it has no feathers, therefore I shall use the term foul play instead, which, as I am being informed by the human companion, is exactly the right term to use – not that I particularly care what she says, because she doesn’t even know how to catch a mouse. She chose to poke me with the duster for several (please refer to the former comment on several, which usually means somewhere between five and ten but here refers to “we are not sure”) minutes after my most recent attempt at deconstructing her forearm (and sections of her upper arm as well).

As a cat, I will state here that my attempt at human arm deconstruction was for a very damn good reason, and I shall lay that reason out below.

The human companion sat down next to me.

I know, right? I do not remember giving her permission to do that. Then, the horrible creature decided to pat my beautiful fur and say hello.

The nerve of this interaction has simply upset me all over again. While I lay here in the bedroom this morning at the foot of the “Father Figure” I am tempted to attack said foot just to make up for the rudeness of his feminine partner. Unfortunately for me, I know I would be then rudely ejected from the bedroom with… Okay, I am exaggerating. The Father Figure only rudely ejects me from the bedroom when I have performed extreme and repeated manoeuvres with the vertical blinds at the front window. I may simply bite the Father Figure’s foot gently through the doona. I will not use claws, as this can be felt through the doona (it is a light, summer doona), but will bite hard enough that the light pressure (and, as one can tell I am using light as a term lightly) of my teeth will be felt and probably ignored unless I do it again.

My human companion has been enjoying herself far too much writing this update on my life, so I am going now. The rising of the sun has lightened the sky from its former darkness to a colour I cannot describe as a cat, and it is time for me to go to sleep.

Sincerely,

Jodh, AKA leChat AKA #nonuts #thatsmycat AKA many other names I have been called by the bloody woman who writes about me. Pfft.

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**This is a picture of me, taken this morning. I am waiting patiently for my neighbour, el Cato, to jump onto the fence so I can surprise him.