Teabag – Thinking Outside The Box.

Schroedinger

Now I know I’m just a cat, but I really don’t understand this “thinking outside the box” thing. Everyone knows boxes are for playing in… and occasional naps. Serious thinking, can only be done under the bed, and that’s a fact!

signature

Teaching Your Peoples To Relax

happy-sundayweb

Dasha has written a lot about cats, in fact all you peoples have, you think you know everything. So I think its time that we cats told you a few things about yourselves. We cats do our best to look after you but a lot of advice goes unheeded. First – you work too much, work, work, work. Even on your days off you find excuses to work. You’re all so stressed and that’s bad because it makes you sick, and if you’re sick, then who will get the food? You need to look after yourselves better than you do and you need to chill out, now some of you (those of you who understand what we cats try to show you) are good at relaxing, and some of you, Dasha included, are horrific bad at it.

Despite my best efforts and my cutest and fluffiest attempts to get Dasha to stop doing stupid things, (like washing her car just before she goes out and gets it all dirty all over again an hour later) she still won’t slow down. So it’s time to teach her, and you, how to chill out like a cat. So you can feel better and happier and live for longer.

Continue reading

Teabag – Twitter Is A Lie!

caturday

I joined Twitter today. I’m a bit disappointed. I thought there would be more birds.

signature

Teabag – Dreams

KHALIL-GIBRANweb

I know Dasha thinks I dream of chasing mice. I would be annoyed, but I have better things to do, and it’s not her fault, she’s just a People, and all cats know that all People are simple-minded. It’s one of the reasons we domesticated them and have stuck around for so long looking after them.

The truth is, I dream of air that is hot and dry. Air that is alive and twisting in the heat. Alive, but without breath. The grassland is thirsty and still. As I stalk, silently my paws disturb tiny particles of dirt which rise in tendrillous curls around my claws, which twitch and wait impatiently to be unleashed. Then the scent, teases my whiskers and nostrils, I breathe in deeply, my heart races, I feel blood pounding inside my head. But I wait. I must move closer, unseen, invisible. I am the dry brittle parched grass, I am the dust, I am the air, shimmering and writhing in the scorching sun. I feel my muscles tense, the beating in my heat is getting louder, I burst out of the grass, paws tearing and scraping at the earth. The herd is running too, but I don’t see them, I have my prey in sight and I can see nothing else. It starts, runs the wrong way, away from the herd. I knew it would. I am at its side, I smell its fear and sweat as I leap up and sink my teeth into the back of its neck. I hear its pained, panicked lowing, the sound makes me tighten my jaw.. A lioness comes alongside and sinks her beautiful claws into the struggling buffalo, our weight pulls it down onto its knees. It will all be over soon, the lioness takes its throat in her powerful jaws and crushes its windpipe. Then I wake up.

…Mice I ask you, there are far more terrible and glorious acts to dream of than those that result in the death of a mouse.

signature