(K)Nights of the Old Republic

Hello, dear readers. It is I, Buddy the Cat. I just thought I'd drop in and chat with you for a moment. Oh, how I've missed you.

Straight off, I'd like to clear something up. It has come to my attention that the Woman has been discussing my gastric issues with the public. Yes, I have been a bit unstable in that area over the past year. Yes, perhaps I have done more than my usual share of regurgitating on the dark purple furniture, by the front door, under the kitchen table, and at the top of the stairs. I should be allowed to explain.

I am a creature of habit, dear readers. I like my days and nights to follow a rigid pattern. I'm quite intractable. I'm not proud of it, but there it is.

I am especially used to reclining on the chaise next to the Woman while we watch television, with one of my arms hanging over the edge so that I might lovingly caress the dog's ox-like flank as she lumbers past. It doesn't have to happen every night, but by that same token, it shouldn't be stopped abruptly and completely for weeks at a time.

Here is the crux of the issue. The Woman and the Man recently rediscovered 'Knights of the Old Republic' on the XBox. They spent hours playing, with either the man perched on the edge of the chaise, or the woman sitting further back but still managing to make my own reclining enjoyment impossible. God knows I tried to work with them. I tried curling up on behind the Man, but the fear of him leaning back and crushing me was too great for me to bear. I tried laying on the other couch, but it isn't as soft, and I always felt that I was sliding off of the front of it. When I tried to get a better hold on it, the Woman invariably commented on the extraordinary length of my claws and threatened to come at me with scissors. I could not win.

After several days, I could bear it no more. I attempted to tell the Woman and the Man that I was unhappy. I stood in front of them and howled my rage and anguish, but they ignored my cries of protest. By 'ignored', I of course mean 'yelled at me to "shut my pie-hole", then returned to their game'. I threw things at them -- car keys, pens, knitting supplies -- but they simply complimented me on the accuracy of my slap-shot, suggested that I join the NHL, and then returned to their game. Nothing worked.

Finally, I was forced to use the last weapon in my arsenal, the one thing I knew they wouldn't be able to ignore. "Dude...that meow only means one thing. Get the garage towels! HURRY!" Yes, 'dude'. You've pushed me beyond my limits. You, and the Wookie, and Jolee Bindo, and the Woman's computer boyfriend Carth Onasi, and your ridiculous obsession with that game. But I will not be ignored!

So, Buddy? You're telling everyone that you've been throwing up on the floor because we played a little too much KOTOR?

I've said I'm not proud of it, the Woman. But yes, that's the reason.

Doesn't have anything to do with the fact that sometimes you eat your food a little too quickly...

Because you starve me! I eat quickly for fear that you won't feed me again for days at a time!

...eat your food, which we feed to you every three hours, a little too quickly and can't keep it down, or that you're turning 15 this month?

Oh, I don't know, the Woman. Why don't you spend another three weeks playing video games, then go out of town for five days, and we'll see what happens, hmmm?

Remember when you used to kill and eat your own food, and you slept in the hollowed out base of a tree stump in the back yard? You were rugged. What happened to that cat?

You happened to him, the Woman. You saved him from that dangerous, cold, raccoon-filled life. Though he complains, your Buddy loves you, the Woman.

Oh, Buddy! I love you, too, you noisy, grumpy old fella.

Sorry about your shoes.

DUDE!