Curiosity Killed The Cat

Curiosity killed the cat.

No this is not a horribly tragic blog explaining that Pipsqueak Meow has been killed in some bizarre accident. He’s alive and well.

For now.

To be blunt, I can’t swear there will never be a horribly tragic blog explaining that Pipsqueak Meow has met an untimely end because it’s entirely possible curiosity will, in fact, kill this cat.

I don’t know if it’s because I work at home now and the last time I had a kitten, the unforgettable Princeton P Kitty, I was out of the house during the day so I didn’t witness all the crazy shenanigans going on or if (as I’m beginning to suspect) this cat is trying to send me over the edge.

Our day usually starts with usual cat behavior – he tries to stick his face in my coffee, he flings himself all over the bed while I’m making it, he insists he should be able to eat the dogs’ food…all completely normal.

But then the curiosity kicks in and that’s when things start to go downhill.  Like today when I tried to get a few things done before I started work and our conversation went like this:

Pip: Have you ever wondered what would happen if you jumped on the robo-vacuum while it’s zooming around in a very enticing fashion?

(It is interesting to note that I don’t actually believe the cat talks to me, I’m not a complete whack job…but I’m pretty sure I can read his little mind).

Me: What are you doing?! Stop that, stop it right now!

Pip: Don’t mind me, I’m just performing a little experiment. I want to see what happens when you POUNCE like THIS on the vacuum!

I rescue the vacuum, distract the cat with a toy and try to continue my morning routine.  At which time he turns into a toddler…a toddler with a thousand questions and claws.

Pip: What’s that? Is it coffee? I like coffee! Can I have some coffee, can I , can I? Hey, did you know your sweatshirt has a string on it? Did you know your sweatshirt has a string on it? Did you know your sweatshirt has a string on it? I like strings! Strings taste awesome! Did you know your sweatshirt has a string on it? Where did the coffee go? What are you doing now? Putting things in dishwasher? Do you need help? Did you get food off the plates? Do you want me to jump in the dishwasher and make sure? Hey, what about that coffee?

 

At this point, I guzzle coffee with reckless abandon, certain that caffeine is the only thing keeping me sane.

A few hours later, while I’m fixing myself lunch, Pip starts up again: You know that dog you got me, the big one?

Me: He is NOT your dog, he’s been living here longer than you have—

Pip: The big one, the one I named The Bub. Do you think I’m faster than he is?

Me: Pip! Leave The Bub alone!

Pip: I bet I’m faster than he is. We should race.

ME: LEAVE THE BUB ALONE!!

Pip runs over and challenges Bubba to a race…by which I mean he bit Bubba on the tail and ran to the top of the cat tree as fast as he could.

Bubba, who is incredibly patient with this small obnoxious animal, barks once and moves to a different doggy bed.

Pip: Well, I’m definitely a faster sprinter than he is. But I wonder how we’d do in a longer challenge…like a race all around the house. I wonder how many times I need to bite him on the tail to get him to actually chase me a little.

ME (punctuating each word with profanity too offensive to post here): GET AWAY FROM BUBBA! I WILL LET HIM BITE YOU, I MEAN IT!

Pip (slinking ever closer): You don’t understand. I don’t WANT to bite him on the tail, I’m just doing a little research into canine psychology. I need to see what happens when you jump on a dog’s tail like THIS!

In case you’re wondering, I have no idea who would have won the race around the house that started then because I managed to snatch Pip up and – as the cat behavior books advise – put him in the guest bathroom for a timeout to consider his many sins while I tried to enjoy the last 10 minutes of my break.

Unfortunately, the cat behavior books fail to mention that some cats enjoy timeout because they can pull the weird little cover off those bolts on the bottom of the toilet and bat it around the small room like a soccer player.

He did, at least, pretend to be repentant…I let him out of the bathroom, he meows plaintively, rubs against my legs, pretends to be adorable....then slowly starts slinking across the couch toward Sassy.

Pip: I just want to do a little experiment—hey! What’s going on? Put me down, food lady, put me down!

I dump him on top of the cat tree and try again to finish eating while he plays for almost five whole seconds before running back over to jump on my lap.

Pip: Question: are you at all interested in seeing how fast I can run up and down the stairs?

Me: No

Pip: I’m pretty fast.

Me: I believe you, I don’t need to--

Pip leaps from my lap, runs up the stairs at top speed, runs around office with the heavy footsteps of a much larger cat, then runs back down.

Pip: See? And that wasn’t even my best time! I’m way faster than that!

Pip proceeds to run up and down stairs three more times. I begin wondering aloud if someone slipped illicit drugs in the kitty kibble.

Which is when Sassy decides to butt in on the conversation: I’m pretty fast too—

Pip: This fast?

Sassy: Maybe!

And they both run up and down the stairs at top speed. And Pip did win, though, to be fair, that’s partially because he used Sassy as a springboard to fling himself in the air over her and leap down the last three stairs in one fell swoop.

Sassy, furious at this blatant foul, demands to be placated with treats while Pip struts around living room, confident he has set the land speed record for five pound felines. And not at all concerned that he has essentially cheated in this race.

Pip, jumping up next to me: I told you I was fast.

Me: Yes, very impressive.

Pip You know how fast I am? Fast enough to run across the countertop and stick my face in your soup LIKE THIS before you can even grab the spray bottle!

The next few seconds are an incredible whirlwind of shouting, cursing, barking, meowing and spraying water…some of which actually lands on the cat, though not enough to deter him.

He proceeds to run around the house again, leaps up on the dining room table into the box that was just delivered, insists he’s not technically on the table if he’s in the box, jumps back out of the box, runs back into the bedroom and slides under the bed like a baseball player stealing home.

I storm around angrily, waving my hands in the air and shouting horrible threats in his general direction…then finally sit down to start work again and he comes out, curls up in my lap and promptly falls asleep.

Which might be the only reason he’s still alive.