Computer Kitty


Is therealljidol really still going on? Really? I declared victory in October 2011, so I figured that by now, eight years later, it would be finished.

Eight years later, of course, in cat years. Jeez. The Fat Man asked that I include that "in case somebody reading doesn't know who you are," but, duh, who doesn't know who I am?

Kitty on Alert

Oh yeah, image descriptions. This first picture is of me on high alert. Me, Kitty Michaels.

So this lady (who wrote this piece) named porn_this_way contacts me and asks me to be her champion. Lady, let me tell you, I am everybody's champion. As in I've beaten all of you. Beaten you down. Beaten down and buried in the sand box.

Come to think of it, the sand box sounds like a fine idea right now. Excuse me a moment.

Kitty Under Towel

This second picture is of me, Kitty Michaels, chilling under a towel. I call it my blanky.

All right, I'm back and now I'm under my blanky. Yeah, I use a blanky now. Tough cats can use blankies, too. I'm old. That's what I want to write about today. Being old.

Fourteen years ago, in May of 2011, the evil vet told the Fat Man that I had a month to live. I freaked out until the Fat Man told me that meant I had a year to live, my time. It turns out, I had a year to live in Fat Man time, too, because here I am, still around, still strong (mentally strong) and still showing the Fat Man and Grey Cat who is boss.

Me, I am boss.

Kitty on Couch

All right, in this third picture, it's me, Kitty Michaels, sitting on the arm of the couch with a little food on my lip. You can see the Fat Man reaching over to wipe it off. I will bite him. Not kidding.

Getting old kind of sucks though. I can't keep dry food down - which turns out to be awesome because I get wet food every single day now. Sometimes, I make the fat man chew up his lunch meat and feed me that. It sounds gross, but it tastes so good, and I heave it up if its not pre-chewed. That is one of his jobs now. Food chewer.

Kitty and Sandwich

This fourth picture is of me looking at an enormous sandwich the Fat Man is eating. He has to eat enormous sandwiches to stay fat.

I also have to be more careful about jumping on and off things. I can't jump up on my own, so the Fat Man has to put me on the couch and on the bed. I also have to wait for the Fat Man to put me back on the floor, so my old habit of resting on his feet comes in handy. When that lumbering behomoth wakes up, I feel his leg twitch and get on with the necessary swats to his chin and eyes. Man, nothing like punching a human in the face a bunch to make you feel alive. Know what I'm saying?

No, do you? Do you know what I'm saying?

Kitty on Foot

In this fifth picture, I, Kitty Michaels, am sleeping on the Fat Man's leg. He's under a blanket, so you don't have to imagine anything icky.

I'm not supposed to eat grass anymore, but the Fat Man will let me chew on it. He says humans chew on leaves so why shouldn't I? Upon my order, he grew a pot of cat grass, which is now looking more like green gum. I never bothered to learn how to pull up stalks of grass (that is what the Fat Man is for), but that's just as well because (and this is a theme of old age) I barf it up.

Kitty in Grass

The foreground of this picture features a healthy crop of grass. The background of this picture is me, Kitty Michaels, looking through the grass.

Anyhow, between the vomiting, the inability to leap places, and the messy face (I let the Fat Man clean my face after I eat these days - saves energy), I know that my days are dwindling down. I'm measuring out my afternoons in Fancy Feast covered spoons. There are just too many signs to ignore. The end is nigh. This will likely be my last journal entry and my final official communique.

Soon, somebody else will need to be there to hear the laughter of small children - and immediately squelch it via Cuisinart style multi-claw attacks. Somebody else will need to help clean Grey Cat's ears and butt with their tongue - I try to get the Fat Man to do this, but he's hopeless. And somebody else will need to remind you all that I've won this and every other season of LJI - I trust Gary enough to know he'll tell you.

Enough of this writing stuff. I have more important things to do.

Kitty Asleep

This final picture is of me, Kitty Michaels, asleep with my feets near my face. Kind of stalkerish of the Fat Man to take pictures of me while I sleep, frankly.

Love to everyone who's sent me chicken over the years. Except the Fat Man.
Computer Kitty

Boo Ya!

So the Fat Man has been keeping me away from the computer because "reading comments on Yahoo! news articles makes me too angry and that's bad for my health."

But he's not home and he left the computer on.

I've lost a bit of weight and eat smaller portions of food, but when I eat I am still ravenous.

Also, Fat Man has started squirting this cherry flavored stuff into my mouth. Cherry flavored! Squirting! I think he is experimenting on me.

Anyhow, the doctor keeps saying I have a month to live, but she's been saying that every month for over a year and GUESS WHAT DOC I AM STILL HERE.

My spite keeps my shriveled black heart beating. That and the fact that I've been getting the best food of my whole life in the last year. Let me tell you, dieing rocks. Wet food EVERY SINGLE DAY. And if I don't like a specific kind of wet food? FAT MAN BRINGS OUT A DIFFERENT FLAVOR IMMEDIATELY.

Seriously, the service around here has improved dramatically. I'd give it like a three star Zagats review now. It would get four stars, but I don't like the wait staff.

All right, back to sleep in my corner of the closet.
Computer Kitty


Recently, the Fat Man has been derelict in his litter box cleaning duties. Both Grey Cat and I use the same litter box and, even when we bother to bury our messes properly, things can get pretty hairy in there after a day if it isn't cleaned all the time.

And me? I don't see any need to bury anything properly. Yeah, sure, I'll make a couple of cursory swipes on the side of the litter box, and on the wall after I've exited the litter box, but I don't need to get my adorable paws dirty.

So the Fat Man used to clean the box every day, but recently its been more like every other day, which means this foul cloud surrounds the box. I wince sometimes as I approach it - but what else can I do? I've considered peeing on his laundry, but he's been keeping it in tall hampers instead of in a pile on the floor.

Anyhow, I've been away from Livejournal recently, enjoying my Season 7 Livejournal Idol victory, but I'm back today because I'm hoping her sees this warning.

Fat Man, clean the litter box daily, or prepare for the stinkiest shoes you've ever had. And that's saying something.
Computer Kitty

To Kill A Partridge (In A Pear Tree)

Here I am sick and infirm and then the Fat Man goes running off for like ever.

There is a strange lady coming by and feeding us. She is strangely familiar, but she is NOT DADDY.

I spend all day standing in front of the door listening for the rattling of keys. But when the door opens, it is NOT DADDY.

When it finally is Daddy, I am going to totally kick his ass and/or ignore him.

On the plus side, the strange lady gives us wet treat every day.
Extreme Close Up


Let us go then, you and I
To the cat bowl, then the kitchen.
Getting treats is my mission.
Then to sleep upon the dresser
Underneath your dress clothes,
Those shirts and pants smell of bleach.
The laundry pile smells of you
While you're out, I'll nap there too.

I cannot leap to the top of the bookshelf
The other cat used to go there
Where is she now? When did she go?
Something I'd now like to know.
A few things still bear her scent.
There's things I'd ask her now
She could not have known them then.
Who's feet will I sleep on when I pass?
Will I get wet food every day?
With whom will the Fat Man play?

I grow old, I grow old
Nestled in the Fat Man's hold,
Smelling things I cannot reach
Leaning on his shoulder blade
Looking out the window at the birds
Rubbing his hand so he knows whose boss
His fingers are my dental floss.
He'll smell of me but then he'll wash
If I can't rub against him every day,
How will the other cats know he's mine?

The brush comes out and I will purr.
When dinner comes, you'll share some meat,
Maybe I'll get a dry cat treat.
I'll follow you from room to room
And swat at anything you try to read.
Time escapes when your days are full
To you, I'm still adorable.
Let's play the game where I bite your chin
And when you move me, I return to bite again,

Then bring me water in a mug
(Perhaps I'll vomit on the rug?)
And when we sleep, I won't swat your face
Unless I really need something.
Computer Kitty

The Unbearable Lightness Of Being Me

I don't say this to freak you out (that is a side benefit), but I can see things you can't. All cats can.

The Fat Man will be talking at me because I was scratching up his sofa again and suddenly I'll leap down, walk across the living room, sit in front of the closet and just stare. Sometimes, I'll chatter a little bit or howl.

I don't do this to get out of being scolded. I don't really care if I'm getting scolded or not. Oh no! I'm a bad kitty! Poor me! Give me a treat!

No, I do this because the invaders are here again.

They look like threads and strings. They sneak into your house disguised as socks. You buy them at the store thinking they're ordinary socks, but only one of those socks is normal. The other is a disguised invader. You'll wake up one day and one sock will be gone. That was the one.

Its hard to tell the difference between a real invader and a piece of string. The only way we can know for sure is if you can see it. If you can see it, its string.

Anyhow, what the invaders do is pretty simple. While you're asleep, they slide down your noses into your brain and eat vital pieces of information. Information like your social security number, or names of people you've known all your life, or your kid's birthday. Sometimes, they'll replace the name of your current lover with your previous lover. They're cold like that.

Once they're in your head, they're almost impossible to get out. They'll keep eating facts until you forget to feed us. That's why we have to get them first.

I'm an especially good invader hunter, so the Fat Man is only stupid by birth, which is a relief.

To catch one, you have to grab it with one paw, stick it in your mouth, kick it with your back legs, and then careen around the house madly until its dead. Sometimes, it takes multiple passes back and forth through every room and writing surface to really execute an invader.

So the next time a sock of your goes AWOL and your cat starts freaking out for no reason, be grateful. They're saving your memories.

This is for therealljidol
Computer Kitty

War and Pieces

When the Fat Man is slow with the food, sometimes I have to forage for myself.

Fortunately, he's not the cleanest person in the world, so I can often find tons of nice, tasty dust balls in the corners and sometimes in the bathroom at the foot of the sink. You just need to scratch at the bathmat a bit until the corner flips up. Its like a buffet.

I don't like all dust. Dust composed of human hair or insect carapaces, for example, it vile.

No, the dust I like mostly consists of cat hair and, well, dust stuff.

Usually, when he sees me eating this, the Fat Man tries to claim the dust for himself - but I am too fast! I can wolf down a dust bunny (note: they are called dust bunnies because they taste like rabbit, which tastes like chicken) faster than he can react.

I note that when he notices me going for the dust these days, he tries to pick me up and fill up my food bowl. My point is, even if I don't get to eat the dust, I win because I get food.

Then he goes around with the terrifying noise thing and points its tube in the corners and disintegrates all the dust. I hide under the bed, which is awesome, because there's more dust there and he never sticks the terrifying noise thing's tube under the bed.

Usually, about ten minutes after eating the dust, I need to throw up, so I do. Usually on the carpet or on the Fat Man's shoes. It makes me wonder sometimes if eating the dust is a good choice. I mean, I always seem to vomit after I eat it. Could I be making a mistake by eating all that dust?

I'm joking with you. Of course I'm not making a mistake because that dust is delicious. Its that terrifying noise thing that makes me vomit. I must remember to claw the Fat Man in his sleep the next time he brings it out.


This is for therealljidol
Computer Kitty

Great Expectorations

So, apparently, an elephant is a very large, imposing animal. I have never seen an elephant, but I am reasonably certain that one has been in my room.

Four years ago, I was sleeping on the Fat Man's feet when suddenly the whole apartment began to shake.

My first reaction was, "Oh, the Fat Man is just walking around again. Then I remembered I was sleeping on his feet and his feet were still there!

There was only one conceivable conclusion - some enormous beast had gotten into the apartment and was lurking in the living room.

I did what any reasonable cat would do - I ran up and down the Fat Man's stomach (leaving scratches so he'd know I was displeased), dashed under the bed and then, much like the intelligent cats that live with awriterswindow, climbed into the box-spring where the beast couldn't reach me.

Man, I miss that box-spring. After the Nice Lady moved in, the Fat Man got a "nicer" bed, but I always preferred that one because I could hide in it.

Anyhow, the Fat Man and the Nice Lady panicked a little bit too and all the lights went out. Grey Cat just chilled. She's stone cold like that.

Fat Man and Nice Lady went out into the living room and weren't attacked by the big creature in the living room, but I knew it was still there. Maybe it was hiding behind the sofa. I came out to check a couple of times over the next day or two and as soon as I saw any movement - even if it was just the Fat Man - I retreated to the safety of the box-spring.

Best of all, Fat Man put my food and water bowls near the bed, so I was able to still eat.

Now, one could make the argument that this was somehow cowardly, but I prefer to think it was strategic - if the creature was hungry, surely it would have eaten Fat Man first.

Anyhow, the beast (which, as I mentioned, I'm pretty sure was an elephant) eventually wandered away and I came back into the living room, triumphant.

Ultimately, it was more afraid of being in the apartment with me than I was afraid of being there with it.


This was for therealljidol