It must be acknowledged. Cute and winsome and handsome as Bugs is, he is also a fierce predator.
I warn the tender-hearted amongst you that this post may not be suitable for all audiences. I’m by no means sure it’s suitable for me. So please feel free to surf off to your favorite kitten-eye-candy site, and come back and visit us here on our next post.
I include this one, however, in fidelity to my aim of facing what is with fortitude.
Regular readers know that Bugs is a lot of cat crammed into a small space.
So we continue to pursue leash-walking, as a strategy to get him outside and thereby enlarge his world. Every day I put him in the harness and we practice our come-along | OK stop right there technique. In the house only. Then I take him, in my arms, to the screen door, and stick his head out. That’s all the further we’ve got so far.
Progress is somewhat uneven, but measurable.
Before I begin — those who remember his “salamandering”? He forgot all about that, in the excitement of the following. He wasn’t quite as spry and fluid as he’d have been without the jacket – but he was definitely up on all four paws.
The other morning here’s what he pointed me to:
I’ve said it before:
We grow ’em big ‘n’ tall down here in Arkansas.
“Ma, I don’t think I can finish him. It’s like those all-you-can-eat steak things. >>Ergh.<<“
Both combatants down. Only one shall rise again, to fight another day.
[Editor’s Note: Bugs is waiting for an appearance-invitation from Katnip Lounge. That should be one fine grudge match, over there. Watch this spot for ESPN narrowcast times. Off-track bets will be taken.]
catself 
When I was a kid we had a cat that liked to eat grasshoppers. The boys would catch them and gross the girls out when he crunched them down.
Gross-out would be about right, by this girl here.
Bugs,
At least it has a little more meat than the crickets I’ve been eating! All those legs don’t really do much for me, how about you? And is that a nice goat-skin serving tray you’ve got there?! I have to eat mine right off the cold floor. Daggummit. Where are the freakin’ wildebeest?!? Those of us with the secret opposable thumbs deserve better!
Yah, my Bean tried out those crickets on me too. I liked them but she’s such a liberal, she couldn’t stand storing those little chirps in the oven and her dwelling on their imminent demise and all like that. She let them all go into OutTV, can you believe it? I leave the legs lying around for the Bean to clean up if as and when she ever gets around to it. Nothing on them worth bothering about. I don’t know what your bean could be thinking — not — serving you on the floor. WTF?? Something is not right over your place. We said this before. Why is bean not paying attention? Maybe leave a leg or two on the pillow next time. If you had wildebeest, legs like those would really make an impact . . . . fun thought. Go for it.
Ah, Bugsy, the difference here is that I am hunting free-range, wild monster crickets that somehow got lost from the herd in the basement. It sounds like you, my fortunate friend, are being served specially chosen insectoids. Thus, I eat mine wherever I find them. No serving trays here, buddy boy. And I did leave some legs on Mama’s pillow when we where sleeping downstairs because of company. She didn’t take pictures of them though. Your bean may not be so bad after all. But I still don’t know about than leopard costume she dresses you in.
Well, JhaJha, all I can say is we got to get you some wildebeest. Sounds like things are pretty grim your way. What is life without goatskin trays? Pallid. Paltry. Puny. Pee on it, maybe. BTW, don’t encourage Bean with praise. She needs to improve, that’s what she needs to hear.
Excellent job although I was cringing in anticipation of the big final crunch. Bugs looks handsome in his harness!
But you stuck with it to the bitter end. True grit, girl. The birds have trained you well. And the harness? Cute, isn’t it. Form-fitting. I like him in it too. Course, with me, I like him stark naked. Any which-a-way he’s good with me. Even when he steps in my water-mug (did, this morning) and claw me in the butt while I’m trying to eat (also did, this morning). >>sigh<<
Hmm… Did the cricket help you open the treat jar, Bugs? So you were making sure he couldn’t spill the beans to your bean??? A dead cricket can’t chirp.
This is what you do with accessories. Kill them. I like that phrase. “Dead crickets can’t chirp.” Pithy. With just the right edge of menace. Where would you like me to mail your check?
WOW. What was that thing?? We definitely don’t have those here. Or that bright warmy stuff coming out of your sky. Anyway, record holding best catches in our house both go to Mr Stripey Pants who once brought me a whole pigeon (through the catflap) and also a swift that he plucked right out of the sky. He’s a, what’s the term, obligate carnivore. Yeah, it was like something outta Platoon.
If you know your plagues, that is a locust. They jump and they fly.
Put together a few zillion of em and they eat everything. After that, everyone has to eat them back.
Shiver. All very well for me to joke about this and have my fun — but when you put it like this — thinking of peoples’ crops and livelihoods and survival being wiped out by a few zillion of these monsters — thinking of plagues — I want to try to remember a bigger picture than the one that first strikes me.
What I’m mindful of now is that this one insect, all by itself, weighed so much that when Bugs dropped it, it actually made a plopping sound on the floor. Inconceivable to imagine a few zillion of these, dropping out of the sky like B-52s.
Thank you Oldcat, as ever, for your help in the mindfulness department.
That, my dear Minlit, is or I probably oughtta say was a dinosaur. I guess you are more evolved where you are. That’s why your guys get to bring you birds, which everybody knows are what dinosaurs evolved into. Pretty impressive, plucking them outta the sky. I tell you what, tho, when my Bean accepted my invitation to be my lifetime slave, I’m reasonably sure she didn’t expect to have Platoon re-enactments on her living room floor. What did she expect? Not really of interest. Bright warmy stuff gone now, by the way. Might remind you of home now. Gray. Or — grey, I believe you say where you come from.
Yuck! Luckily, our cats haven’t gotten ahold of a grasshopper, else there would be sounds that would most likely make me flee the room. It’s bad enough to watch them eat spiders and stink bugs. Blech. I like to think of myself as a no-nonsense, not very girlie woman, but crunching insects still gets me. That being said, Bugs looks extremely pleased with himself.
Honest, Melanie, I’m with you on this one. So you may well ask why do I bring it on myself? Answer: You’d understand if you spent just one day around here. Bugs goes on yelling duty pretty much on a 9 to 5 basis and you should just get a loud, so to speak, of the pipes on this guy. Can’t hear yourself think. He’s quiet whilst hunting dinosaurs. For a spell at least. Until the sounds to which you refer. Garg.
The Miao Brothers admire your superb bug-crunching skills. Personally, I admire your sweet star-face and your cute jacket, in that order.
We over here are grinning like pole-cats at this. (What’s a pole-cat?) [pawse for research]
Oh. Gosh. A weasel that emits a malodorous fluid to mark territory.
How did this happen? We started out happy . . . .
Our world. Are you sure, littlemaio, you want to be here? We would forgive you if you changed your mind. We love having you here — but we would understand.
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