The Dippy Cat

The Dippy Cat

Monday, April 29, 2013

In Which Dippy Does Not Make New Friends...


Yesterday was both my Ordination to the ministry and my birthday, and in honor of the occasion, my friend Jerrod arrived from far off places, carrying his suitcase.

I should have known better.

We arrived at the house without a problem, and Dippy met us.

"My people! My people have arrived! Oh glorious day...."

She froze as a third person came in the door..

"What evil is this? Why was I not told???"

Skittering like a hairy crab, she disappeared under the couch. Baleful meows drifted out, clearly indicating that he was a Pod Person who would murder us all in our sleep.

Unable to recognize the looming threat a visiting minister meant to my life, I took him into my office without even snatching up a chainsaw or pitchfork to keep him at bay.

Dip followed us in, determined to protect my life. My hero arrived just in time to watch as Jerrod dared to sit in my chair.

The buttocks of doom descended. He had sat upon the sacred spot, where even she was not allowed to tread. She quickly realized that I too had been taken by the Pod people, to allow such sacrilege.

If kitty Oscars were given out for "Best Imitation of Rabies" she would have been a shoe-in.

She stood up. She put her front paws on his leg.

She hissed. She spat. She waited for the fear and terror to begin.

Obviously not in touch with his emotions, he hissed back.

What happened next is rather a blur, but from my perspective she appeared to rise vertically, levitate and hover briefly, then, possibly propelled by jets, disappeared into the hall.

I followed to see what had just happened.

In a final attempt to bring me to my senses, she bit me on the leg- hard.

Now, I admit to being a complete failure as a cat parent at that point. Someone got a spanking.

Oh, but have no fear. The rabid rescuer got the last word.

A few hours later she came and cuddled up, looking smug.

Why did she look smug, you ask?

She had made her point about rotten humans who bring in Pod people and attempt cat discipline.

She had gone upstairs and widdled in my suitcase...

FOR SALE: 1 $90 SUITCASE. SLIGHTLY USED. $5 OR BEST OFFER.

Friday, April 26, 2013

Dippy Meets the Printer

A Gratitude Post from My FaceBook Month of Gratitude in November 2012

I am greatful for the incredibly stupid Dippy Cat- who just tried to jump onto the printer to attack the paper, realized in mid-jump my full plate was already on the printer, attempted to autocorrect and landed on the paper getting pulled into the printer, bounced off (breaking off the back of the paper support and momentarily getting her tail into the roller, rebounded and landed with one foot in my cranberry sauce and the other in my coffee, attempted to flee- tracking sauce and coffee onto my paperwork, and, finally, in a flat panic, escaped by turning around and dashing BACK ACROSS MY PLATE on the printer, to freedom.

The little monster is now sitting on the space heater sulking and casting evil slant-eyed glances at me and the printer that tried to kill her, while licking the cranberry sauce and coffee off of her foot and leg. She's going to be bouncing off walls in 10 minutes!

Why Is the Cat Moist?


I told a few friends today, but it's too funny not to share...

So last evening I'm in the bathroom messing with my hair. Brian is standing there talking to me. Lid is up on the toilet.

Dippy Cat stands up like a meerkat on the far side of the ring, leaning against the lid, and sticks her head in the hand towel folded on the rack on the toilet tank.

Confused at the assault of the evil towel, Dip takes a step backward- and falls into the bowl, still stretched out.

In a desperate attempt to save herself as she falls, she claws frantically at the lid, and succeeds in slamming herself on the head and pulling it closed over top of her as she vanishes into the bowl.

For about 0.5 seconds we were suddenly in the joke about how to Power wash a cat- and then the room exploded and all we saw was water, fur, nails, and psychosis.

We were still laughing so hard we were crying when a friend's small voice came from the other room- "Hey guys, why is the cat moist?"

I was no good for an hour.

A Spinning Tail


1. The Dippy Cat climbs into the bottom of my bar stool

2. She spots her own tail and begins to chase it- inside the ring at the bottom of the bar stool- spinning like a Tasmanian Devil.

3. Have you ever seen a cat make itself so dizzy that it falls over the ring of a bar stool- onto it's head?

4. I have...

5. Once dangling from the ring with her head on the carpet she spots, you guessed it, her own tail- which is now within reach.

6. She grabs it- and bites.

7. Little known fact- a cat which has just bitten itself in the ass can achieve impressive speed at it dashes madly straight up a curtain.

8. Well known fact- a curtain with the full weight of a butt-bitten cat on it will fall, on top of the cat.

9. The Dippy Cat is now hiding under my feet, where there are neither killer curtains nor deadly bar stools. 

10. There is a sermon in this somewhere.

A Moment of Healing


So I get up in the middle of the night last night, feeling a little nauseated. Nothing serious.

I sit in the bathroom, leaning forward over a can.

The Dippy Cat ambles in, takes a look at me, and leaps up onto the toilet tank behind me. I feel her little nose at me ear, and just for a trembling second think "Ah, she has come to comfort me."

Rigggghhhht.

She then proceeds to stand with her back feet on my shoulder and her front paws on my head- and lean over to take bites out of the roll of toilet paper hanging on the wall.

Sigh.

Dippy Saves the Day


At times my life is a slightly strange comedy routine.

Wake up to hear the Dippy Cat wandering around the bedroom, meowing and yowling with all of her might. She sees me stirring, leaps onto the bed, runs up the covers, and stares into my face- whereupon she lets out a hideous howl.

Without missing a beat, Brian rolls over, sits up, and says quite earnestly, "What? Little Timmy's down the well?!?! I told that kid not to go anywhere!" He flops back down.

Dippy stares at him for a minute, then quietly flops over, picks up a corner of the blanket and starts sucking on it and kneading.

Mission accomplished, I guess.

Miss Sexipants Makes a Friend


Last evening I was at my computer trying to get ready to head to Boston today. Brian had been asked to be very quiet as I worked. Out of the corner of my eye I watch as Dippy saunters in, walks over to Brian's chair, stands up on her hind legs and lays her front paws on his leg.

He pats her little apple of a head, wincing.

She begins to make noises like a demented droid: "Mmmmph. Mrrrrmmmm. Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Mrmrmrmrmrmr"

I hear a muffled, "Bugger off, cat."

Excited by this encouragement, she begins to dance from paw to paw, then reaches out and grabs the arm of his chair. "He DOES love me!" Overcome with joy, she sinks her claws into the leather arm support and climbs the side rest.

"I said bugger off," Brian hisses. He stares in dismay at the cat, now stretched out along his armrest and meowing "Paint me like one of your French girls."

Brian risks a quick glance in my direction to make sure I haven't been disturbed. He stands up and snags the Dippy at neck and waist. He lifts....

...And she wraps her front legs around the armrest and refuses to let go.

He lifts higher. He tugs gently. The chair comes up a bit, the cat is stretched out full length, and she refuses to let go. The Demented Droid raises her volume control to 10- "MMMMRRRRRROW. MRMRMROW!"

Brian begins to use naughty words, among which I can hear "pervert", "cat," and "not even the same species." These are all hissed, because, somehow, he hopes I am not noticing...

...A 5'10" man, standing 18 inches from my right arm, connected to a howling cat who has her back legs wrapped around his wrist and her front around the chair and who is quite possibly having the most meaningful sexual encounter of her life, while the chair bangs against the floor.

I begin to laugh hysterically.

Spirit of Life and Love- in the name of all the is holy PLEASE do not let anyone ever ask me how I prepared for my ministerial fellowshipping interview!

Don't Drink the Water!


I am working on a new watercolor piece. Funnily enough, this involves blue plastic solo cups of, you guessed it, water.

...and the Dippy Cat.

So I have the glass of clean water on my desk. She sticks her head in and attempts to take a drink.
The water level is too low.
She stands up, and tries it again.
She meows pitifully, hoping that I will take pity on her desperate, and waterless, state.
I gesture meaningfully to the huge honking bowl of water 10 feet away on the floor.
Her eyes narrow- clearly I am heartless.
She stands up again, and wraps her front paws around the glass. Slowly she lifts it an inch or two.
Vicious monster that I am, I seize the glass- and set it off to the side of the desk, balanced on a binder. I get up and get coffee.
I return to find her hanging head down over the side of the desk like a Dippy Bat- HOLDING the FREAKING CUP in her front paws and slurping away.
I take the cup away and put it in the same place. I toss her off the desk and get out my phone so I can get pictures if she tries it again.
She backs up, jumps onto the desk, and leans over the side grabbing for the cup- and overbalances, head first.

She is now sitting behind me making odd chirping noises and pretending she meant to do that.

Dippy Sings the Songs of Her People- in the Key of Aiiiiiiigggggggggggggg


Not a great morning.

At 4:30 am $%^& Dippy decided, for reasons known only to herself, that Brian's (sleeping) head on his pillow looked like it was up for some burning hot Dippy love.

She crawls up behind him on the pillow, positions herself seductively in an arch over his head (assuming you ignore most of Leviticus, which frowns on that kind of thing) and begins in a loud, LOUD, voice to sing him the songs of her people.

He wakes up in a panic, to find his vision blocked by her front half and her back feet on his ears. He begins to curse loudly and creatively.

I wake up in a panic, hearing the blasted cat howling and him swearing.

Believe it or not, hearing a grown man screaming "Get off my pillow- I'm not interested in your furry ass!" is not funny as you might think on 4 hours of sleep.

He swatted her, and she decided to sit on the window ledge, loudly explaining why it would work out, if he just gave her a chance...

Which is why Dippy and I ended up spending the rest of the night sleeping on the couch downstairs.

Robins Shouldn't Laugh Like That!


My cat needs therapy.

I go out to my sun porch to enjoy a few moments of morning quiet, communing with nature and my coffee. Dippy joins me.

Overjoyed to see the local bird population outside the windows, the mighty hunter crouches down on the sill, and begins to attempt to converse with our feathered friends through high pitched chittering. Given that even a lightly concussed duckling would recognize her outrageous feline accent (not to mention fully extended claws and the fact that she is puffed up like a furry peacock), none of the birds come over to say hello.

Desperate, she thinks quickly...

They must not see me! she reasons. I must be more visible!

In an amazing feat of utter stupidity, she stands upright on the windowsill like a meercat on crack, fur bristling, tail straight out, chittering at full volume.

The nearest bird explodes upward in a wise attempt to flee this vision of abject idiocy- and, startled by the motion, Dippy steps backward.

Off the windowsill.

She lands with a thud on the floor, and leaps in a blind panic up onto the table where I am sitting.

Fortunately, I am holding my coffee mug.

Unfortunately, the table is covered by a slick, plastic, cloth.

I watch in horrified amusement as a howling cat wrapped in cheap blue plastic whips across the table...

And falls off the other side.

Coming back in, I swear I saw a robin snickering.

Dippy and the Death Cloud of Doom


I have seen it all.

This morning I went out to the sunroom to take down the glass windows over the screens. Dippy was sitting in the window sill, investigating the "friend" potential of a large dead spider. As I try not to get involved in her doomed relationships, I ignored her and merrily began to remove glass.

It was colder than I thought at first- and as I pulled the windows I could start to see my breath in the air.

Dippy, tiring of eating her new buddy's legs, let out a yowl of boredom- and her breath came out in a big white puff, just as a massive work truck parked next door roared to life.

What I saw next resembled nothing so much as a basketball made of terror and claws, attempting to grab the evil ghost cloud of death that had mysteriously appeared and roared in front of her nose, and was trying to murder-hug her... and the more she swatted the harder she breathed and yowled, and the more the cloud of death grew.

Fearing for her very soul, my patron saint of strange attempted to roll onto her back and seize the white thing in her hind paws- while balanced on a window sill.

You know that rumor about cats always landing on their feet? It's a lie.

But cats who fall off of small ledges while fighting their own breath, and land in the garbage can on their head? Well, that one is true.

I still haven't stopped giggling.

Dippy Versus the Ninja Bee: Death is No Laughing Matter


Wood-boring bees are large.

Like, have their own zip code and able to mug you for your shoes large.


This morning Dippy and I adjourned to the now screened in sunroom for coffee and stillness (why yes, I also think roller skating in expressway traffic is a good idea and meditate to the sounds of Norwegian Death Metal, why do you ask?).


I put my mug on the table and glanced out at the shivering birds as Dippy was startled by, in turn: the couch, the recliner, the waste can, and my shoe. Unnerved by all these new things, which is not surprising as they have all only been there every morning for the last three years, she was not in a mental place to make new friends.

And then he appeared.

The wood-boring bee.

Over two inches long, and possibly trained as a ninja, the bee crawled out from under the curtain with the speed of a glacier.

Dippy howled like an out-of-tune banshee, and stood up on her back legs, hissing and bristling. Determined to protect the scroungy carpet from this evil, she walked toward the bee, still wailing.

Fearless, the bee kept trundling- toward her.

What followed was an amazing series of dance moves, wherein Dippy would stand up, howling and hopping, and then, when the bee attempted such skilled ninja moves as "walking" and "falling over," she would shriek and flee- only to return again to the fray in 10 seconds.

After a few minutes she mustered all her courage, donned a sacred kamikaze scarf, and, after bowing to her ancestors, leapt into the battle.

The bee fought mightily- even going so far as to appear to notice she existed- but at last he was vanquished by the simple expedient of jumping up and down on him, taking a bite, and then falling over from the sheer exhilaration.

Proudly, oh so proudly, she picked up the twisted carcass of her fallen foe, and jumped up on my table to display the kill.

How wounded she must have been when my snickering became evident... how crushed at my lack of appreciation....

She hissed, and dropped the corpse in my coffee.


The victim after being pulled from the cup - with my foot for a rough size guide!