There are sadists really.

They take this delicacy of their species that they refer to as /see ach iyiy essiy/ and they not only withhold it from us, full-well knowing how we adore the substance, but then they put it so inapropraitely on those chlorophyll pods they insist on eating. (I can only imagine how differently their digestion system must work for that to be palateable!)

Then, to add insult to it all, they let the /see ach iyiy essiy/ burn to charcoal.

Have they no sense of it’s value? Sticks of opium are to be melted and smoked not this! Have they no morals?

My eyes widened incredulously as the wonderful fragrance turned to that of the usual burned food. It really is too upsetting to report back to the feline collective. this disregard for the delicacy has been on record as food abuse. the record needs no more citings to inflame and strain the relations between our species.

She recently realized she’s being tailed by a long white thing with nearly no hair. An invisible rat with only the tail showing! That must be it!

LOL. Look at her run. She’s being stalked!

And is she ticked! She’s goign to get that invisible rat if its the last thing she does.

Admittedly, clearly, to anyone, it does look like an unlikely candidate to be part of her stocky frame. It doesn’t look proportioned to fit her so couldn’t possibly be part of her.

Now there she goes attacking it again. She tail is switching back and forth and she doesn’t like that obstinous at all. Tackle.

That pain girl, that means something. Pause, yes, think, yes.

Tail. yes.

Your tail.

right groom it.

Good girl. Yes, that hip, know you can barely reach it, but it’s you too.

Sad thing is she’ll forget again by tomorrow.

Mror knows that when she thinks she’s hiding sometime next week, that part of her is sticking out the the closet – a tell-tail sign don’t you know? She’ll fully beleive she’s hidden.

Ah, to have a colleague with a brain. I swear we have to find a yellow brick road and wizard for this lady.

By Catess Mror, that was some storm! Hail even the size of kibble. It was quite the clatter on the window glass. Like nails of bull terriors on concrete.

That recently has just come and gone was positively tail-tucking.

You know, I am not one to hide from a bit of thunder. Even a squealing child will only make me rise to withdraw and observe at a safe distance. But this storm was unique. It was crackling. I could feel the shockwaves. Faint smell of ozone even.

The storm was closer than most I’ve seen.

Nonetheless fearless investigator I am, I kept my eyes and nose to the screen door, at least initiallly.

I was thinking to myself “With the speed of sound being about 740 miles per hour and if lightning and thunder separation is 5 seconds, that lighting strike was a mile away, and each strikes has an average distance of 3 miles. By my calculations it must have been –”

I must have jumped at least 3 full cat lengths directly backwards in an arc!

(Landing on my feet of course)

But yoowlie! that strike must have been well within half a mile. Much tooo close for this cat’s comfort.

I spent the next part of the storm hiding out under the couch, just to be on the safe side.

For myself I like to read the wind in the trees, the currents the seagulls rise on, the pigeons and crows play over. The way the wind makes the grass ache with arches and cucumber umbrella leaves tremble with the storm to come. the wind has come up more briskly and the sky has darkened rapidly with the white whiskers of stratus pushed out the way for black rats of anvil clouds.

Perhaps I’ll continue more later.

The subjects are proceeding well in their langauge training. It is punishingly slow. I had had hopes that we would eventually confer on their species’ new string theory of there being 11 dimensions and point out the error in mathematics that would demonstrate there are only 8. Sigh. Their level of preoccupation seems to be more in keeping with a physical string that they jerk about.

Perhaps it was too much to hope. A large part of the time we have to dumb-down our speech speaking slowly and loudly and gesture by circling their bodies without own to get across the simple message that there is no water.

The procession of them high-tailing it home should begin shortly.

I have observed a greater probability of their carrying their ears (the tiny paralyzed things that go for ears in that species,) the equivalent of high when there is sun such as this.

There has been a higher rate of their stammered variety of purrs of late. Perhaps it is because of me. You see, I have been feeling somewhat worse for the bark of the construction nearby. It has left me skitterish with cravings for grass. My addiction to licking has spiked again. I can’t seem to help myself sometimes. I groom compulsively, even the soft cat-beds and my Sandy’s hand until I had rasped it red. I don’t know what comes over me

But soon they they will be home. I look forward to that. They do have a kind regard for me and have shared body heat at length, even stilling their pawing of the one-eyed glowing machine to just sit and be with me. I couldn’t have had a nicer assignment.

None other than yours truly (with one of my study subjects in the background)

Must say, there’s been a flurry of HT to observe lately. Coming and going at all hours of the day! The last one was particularly “interesting”, being an especially large specimen with the lolling arrogance of a golden retriever, presuming his finger offereings woud be liked and flicking at my head as I cautiosly approached his beta aura. At least he wasn’t a loud speaker. He did off-gas some most canine-like residues. As long as I live with these subjects I cannot understand what they see in those mongrels. They hardly seem like a species, more like a motley collection of rubbage, not one the same intelligence or tone. Such harsh language they have.

But I am only upsetting myself with this line of thought. So, more generally, lots of work to parse, reparse, collocate and send to the feline collective of dimension 5. (I had mentioned earlier you may recall that I speak dimension 3 but that is only my litter-state. By wean-age I had been dropped in D-5)

My closet uncollegial collegue scheduled herself with the study subject for the evening. It is her call of course being the dominent officer yet I can’t help feel that it may be better for all involved if we reversed. In her last assignment, she was under a great deal of strain and it is only fair that she get the more body-natural night shift. It is a more challenging task with the dream sequence probes. It rquires a strong almost-Vulcan mind to hold together under all the chaotic conditions of their extremely long nap cycles.

Besides, she is not the most discrete of observers, tending to head butt doors in her night confusion. She tends to disrupt their extended nap pattern with her clumsiness. Still, I know its not easy for her. I am more adaptable and can be alert whenever they are. Mron knows I am the more sociable of the pair.

My day shift means that I get to sun myself but also the strangers to discipher is frequent. I hear someone approaching down the corridor as we speak. Ciao!

If they had the benefit of tails, they would be flicking but as is, only a jaw twitched. If it were my colleague and I involved in such a napless fuss, one of us I know would be plotting. As surely as the other fell asleep the other would have vengeance with a neat, effective line of blood exacted on an ear or nose. The attitude that rose would fall to place accordingly like an arched back resettling to longer-circle-lie-nap.

Sometimes I wake up tuna-aware of the cheddery opportunity I have here. I thrill to observe up close the species I studied in kittenhood. They have fascinating habits of interaction first-nose. They have a whole other tack when it comes to conflcit resolution for instance. It seems extremely elaborate and energy consuming.

While my kind, partly due perhaps to the configuration of our vocal folds and the gentle nature of our telepathy, fall short of the protracted negotiations this species seems capable of. Even in the middle of this moving of house, there was not one attitude adjusting claw of the nose, although judging from the glint of those oddly full-moon pupils, at a number of points, and the clutch of their prehensile paws, the claws very nearly were unsheathed. Yet they managed to burble and mumar their way through.

Cross-culturally,this is an outstanding discovery for me personally. when you come in contact with other cultures, it changes you. Even a cat can be unmoved by new data such as this.

Before I go make a nest of myself on my host subjects, I would like to go on record, even if it can’t be in my official report to my superiors for it is harem to say, that I personally believe that the Hairless Talls *have* culture.

Isn’t that a lovely word?

Although our intellectual depths are not guessed by most non-felines, and the Egyptian aage of due reverence has long passed, we are still highly respected in some Hindu temples. There is even one holy cat, recognized as such in Myamar
http://www.vcnet.com/valkat/legend.html

There is a movement to honor us in small ways such as this: http://marykay.typepad.com/gallimaufry/2004/07/friday_cat_blog_1.html

But, all of that is far away and if there is one thing my kind excels at, it is living in the Zen of the moment and this moment has sun and an entracing dance of crows riding the updraughs of wind just outside my perch and I must get back to that.