A Cat Called Asshole

Adventures of he who is better than us.

His official name is Mr. Fluffypants. We call him asshole. Why? Because he is. We learned from the neighbors that he also goes by Bill.

He’s black and white (worst cover for hunting), and longer haired. He is a North Amercian Yourguessisgoodasmine. Some neighbors showed up with him at our house one day as a kitten and we took him in. He’s had us for about seven years now.

He’s clearly better than us. Have you heard the one “a cat doesn’t have owners, it has staff”?

He’s half hearted about everything he does. Halfway out the door, halfway onto the bed, halfway to catching a mouse. Everything requires too much effort. Unless he’s asleep and hears the can opener…..

Open a can of tuna at fifty paces and he’ll immediately awaken and come trotting. Not running (that wouldn’t be dignified), trotting. He loves his tuna juice but not the tuna. We’ve run out of his Friskies before and tried to give him a can of straight tuna. He’ll just turn his nose up and look at us like we’re stupid or something.

He fancies himself a great hunter. The first time we saw turkeys, we caught him stalking them. Yeah, right. What are you gonna do with it when you catch it? He does catch the occasional mouse or insect though. He thinks he can hide behind a bush ten times smaller than himself. Most of his body and tail will be sticking out but he seems sure his cover is solid.

Mostly, he’s accomplished at wanting in and out, and in and out, and in, and out…..you get the picture. He also specializes in commandeering the bed. Either me or my husband’s side; whichever of us he’s decided to grace with his mere presence. What an honor.

He seems to have a smug look on his face most of the time like he knows something we don’t and he’s not about to tell. Why inform the little people? He loves his Friskies Seafood Sensations and God forbid his dish is found empty. He’ll let us know without any doubt that we have committed a great transgression against all felinity.

He once threw up in my lap, looked at me like I was crazy and left the room.

He drools when we pet him. Starts to drip like crazy and we have to shoo him off the bed or couch or whatever we’re sitting on. He loves his catnip. We planted some in the garden just for him and we made it a ritual to visit the bush daily. My husband would rub it all over his body while he ate right off the plant and we would watch him go off to frolic afterward.

He sometimes ambushes us, as cats will do. He’ll be crouched down wiggling his butt, getting ready for the pounce and….bamm! You’re dead according to him. He’ll gallop at top speed across the property if he’s feeling fine.

If we’re outside, he’ll show up and do his lame “I’m here” routine. Cats don’t know how to interact with humans. They just happen along and “oh, it’s you”, and look like they have something better to do.  God forbid they show any real interest in us humans.

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 He’s a night creature. He rises from his day-long slumber and meows at the door at dusk. From then on it’s the in and out routine.

Asshole is the king of all he surveys. He’s a pretty happy cat living the good life here. Hopefully we live up to his expectations.


Author: ldinlove

I live with my family, two cats, and at any given moment: ten dear, two turkeys, ten chicks, ten billion ants, ten thousand bees and wasps, two white rabbits, twenty angry squirrels, one occasional bear ( occasional works for me), a couple of snakes, the neighbor's stray dogs, and one very friendly skunk.

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