Miss Missy Elocutes


Jack is busy finishing the paperwork for his town council run, so we appreciate Missy stepping in to write this week’s guest blog.

Good afternoon. My name is Missy and I am Foster Cat in Residence at Tales of the Lonesome Pine Used Books. They have invited me to live in their efficiency apartment while I sort my circumstances.

Nothing sordid, mind you, but I was living with a family of six cats and one human staff member up until November of last year, when our housekeeper’s big heart finally gave out. We were all very sad; she was such a good woman.

Of course we had no idea what was in store for us, but we were quickly split up and sent to stay with relations. My companion Smudge and I wound up here. I wouldn’t say a word against Smudge, but let me assure you, we shared nothing but the bills and housekeeping chores.

missy sittingSmudge was quickly adopted, but I’ve been here at the bookstore’s Hostel for Distressed Gentlecats about a month now. My time has not been idle. I’ve run up a pair of curtains for the windows and given the hardwood floor a good scrubbing. I’ve also improved the manners of the staff, and let me tell you, they needed some work. There seem to be four cats in permanent residence, and they had let things slide considerably. I even had to put up a fuss until a clean white towel was arranged under my food service area.

They are kind people, and I know they mean well, but the heart longs for a home of its own, does it not? I would like nothing more than to pack my (clean) ramekins and fluffy pillow, put on my good hat, and go out the door to a quieter, gentler place. While I don’t mind dogs as such, they do make quite a lot of noise. Really, I think it would be ideal for me to live in a home with a couple of younger cats. I could teach them deportment, and the finer points of life, like keeping one’s sleeping area clean, and how to brew a perfect cup of catnip tea. In the afternoon, as they dozed on the verandah, I could read them stories of a morally uplifting nature.

missy walkingAnd while a lady hesitates to discuss private matters, I am of a certain age (oh, all right, seven) and have been… {ahem} seen to down there.

So really, I’m only waiting for the right home to come along: quiet, calm, and with a housekeeper who is prepared to brush my fur at least twice a day. As I say, the people here are kind, but they do seem busy, and I really cannot abide missing a brushing. If you think you could provide these simple needs, do please stop by so we can discuss room requirements and mutual expectations. Thank you for this little chat, and I look forward to getting to know you better soon.

Egad! Those Ears!

nike footThis is Nike Bad Ass The Moth. She was stolen from a family that has barn cats they don’t spay or neuter, by a caring passerby who realized she had “fly strike.” (If you want to know what fly strike is, Google it. Don’t eat anything while you do.)

Fly strike is a horrible way to die, so the lady got in touch with the rescue I volunteer for, and the rest is history. One very reasonable vet bill later (Thanks, Beth!) Nike was ensconced in the bookstore. And our hearts. And Jack’s shoes.

She loves Jack’s shoes. (I think she has a foot fetish overall.) She sits on them and he rides her through the bookstore. He sits down and she attacks, clinging to one side as she attempts to bite through the toe. He can stand up and walk and she’ll continue her attack. I don’t have a photo, because when she does it every adult in the house falls into gibbering incapacitated mush: “Ohlookshe’sdoingitagain. Sweetiebabiepatootieadorablecutiepiekisskisskiss.”

Or variations thereto.nike feet

Nike takes up about a cubic foot of space. And sucks the oxygen out of the room. Grownups entering the bookstore squeal with delight when they see her. Children make a beeline. One of my friends isn’t speaking to me anymore, because her sixteen-year-old daughter isn’t speaking to her because the kitten didn’t go home with them. (Sorry, Cathie!)

nike dogHaving left home too young, Nike picked up most of her life skills from watching our staff cats–she’s still a little soft on ear maintenance, but then it’s a big job for her–and we’re ready to audition permanent homes where she can rule as benevolent overlord. Nike has chased our 65-pound Lab away from her food dish; she also informed staff cat Owen – about eight times her size – that he needed to wake up and play with her, by whapping him with her paw. When he didn’t notice, she jumped onto his head and mauled him.

In accordance with T.S. Eliot’s advice, Nike has three names, her first given by the woman who rescued her. “Bad Ass” she acquired at Dr. Beth’s; I asked if “that kitten that just came in” was feral or aggressive, and Beth answered, “Yeah, not so much. But she’d like to think she is.” Then posted these photos.nike 3 Nike 1

I bet you’ve already worked out how she got “The Moth”.

So Nike Bad Ass The Moth awaits her furever fiefdom. Other dogs or cats are a bonus; she loves to play. Laptops are a must; she’s reformatted Jack’s twice this week. We don’t recommend her for small children. Nike loves to cuddle, but she’s so tiny, she could be squeezed to death.

We realize that people are reading this in Korea, Canada, and other cool places very far away from Big Stone, so we encourage you to get your next pet from a shelter or rescue. If anyone nearby is interested in Nike – or any of her foster siblings – come down to the bookstore and have a chat with her.

nike overlordShe’ll keep an ear out for you.