This book has nothing to do with cats. Or mice. Or self-motivation. This book is 100% 50% finished. But don’t worry, I finished the good half. But don’t be mistaken—the good half isn’t good at all. In fact, it’s remarkably terrible. It’s only good in relation to the half I didn’t get around to writing. After all, the worst writing is the writing that couldn’t be bothered to be written down.
The kitten I got is black and white and has long hair. Really long hair (think Willie Nelson). I decided to call him Cap’n because his markings make him look like a pirate. The majority of his face is white, except over his left eye is a black patch of fur, like an eye patch, and under his chin he has black hair that’s long and comes to a point like a goatee. Also, when I got him he had a parrot on his shoulder and a wooden leg.
The kitten was six weeks old. It was enchanting, a delicate fairy-tale cat, whose Siamese genes showed in the shape of the face, ears, tail, and the subtle lines of its body. [...] She sat, a tiny thing, in the middle of a yellow carpet, surrounded by five worshipppers, not at all afraid of us. Then she stalked around that floor of the house, inspecting every inch of it, climbed up on to my bed, crept under the fold of a sheet, and was at home.
I thought of Bobby, of the last look he had given me, and at that moment I understood one of the differences between man and cat: man knows he's going to die, so he can get ready and be willing, even eager, to go. A cat knows the end is near, but that's all. He can't accept death: he can't trust in it; cats are perhaps too metaphysical an entity to need to believe in the idea of a beyond; a cat is his own god and man his creation.
I close my eyes for a moment and open my inner eye. I stare at Pete, and the thing in his arms. Human. Cat. Human. Cat. No doubled vision: it's a cat, singular. A solitary diurnal ambush hunter with good hearing and binocular vision, and a predilection for biting the neck of its prey in half while disemboweling it with the scythe-like claws on its hind legs. Basically it's a velociraptor with a fur coat and an outsize sense of entitlement.
But above and beyond there's still one name left over,And that is the name that you never will guess;The name that no human research can discover--But the cat himself knows, and will never confess.When you notice a cat in profound meditation,The reason, I tell you, is always the same:His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplationOf the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:His ineffable effableEffanineffableDeep and inscrutable singular Name.
Cats are true carnivores. While you may choose a vegetarian lifestyle, don't assume it's healthier for your cat also. Cats aren't able to convert beta-carotene into vitamin A the way we can. They must get vitamin A from animal tissue (called preformed A). Cats are also unable to convert linoleic acid (an essential fatty acid) to arachidonic acid the way dogs can so they must get preformed arachidonic acid from its only source—animal tissue.
If my love for cats were hydrogen, there’d be enough of it to give you skin cancer if you didn’t wear suntan lotion. The only sad part for me about getting a cat from the pound is that I can only choose one. If I could, I’d take home all of them. Actually, my view is why take them home? Why not just move in to an animal shelter? But my future wife wouldn’t go for that. Though I’m pretty sure she could move into a shoe store no problem.
The Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat:If you offer him pheasant he would rather have grouse.If you put him in a house he would much prefer a flat,If you put him in a flat then he'd rather have a house.If you set him on a mouse then he only wants a rat,If you set him on a rat then he'd rather chase a mouse.Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat -And there isn't any call for me to shout it:For he will doAs he do doAnd there's no doing anything about it!
With Cats, some say, one rule is true:Don’t speak till you are spoken to.Myself, I do not hold with that —I say, you should ad-dress a Cat.But always keep in mind that heResents familiarity.I bow, and taking off my hat,Ad-dress him in this form: O Cat!But if he is the Cat next door,Whom I have often met before(He comes to see me in my flat)I greet him with an oopsa Cat!I think I've heard them call him James —But we've not got so far as names.
If we stay with animal analogies for a moment, owners of dogs will have noticed that, if you provide them with food and water and shelter and affection, they will think you are god. Whereas owners of cats are compelled to realize that, if you provide them with food and water and shelter and affection, they draw the conclusion that they are god. (Cats may sometimes share the cold entrails of a kill with you, but this is just what a god might do if he was in a good mood.)
I like to search for class struggle in strange domains. For example it is clear that in classical Hollywood, the couple of vampires and zombies designates class struggle. Vampires are rich, they live among us. Zombies are the poor, living dead, ugly, stupid, attacking from outside. And it's the same with cats and dogs. Cats are lazy, evil, exploitative, dogs are faithful, they work hard, so if I were to be in government, I would tax having a cat, tax it really heavy.
Die Nähe der Katze ist gut für den Menschen von ruhiger, betrachtender Lebensart. Dem musischen Menschen leistet die Katze besser Gesellschaft als der Hund. Sie stört die Gedanken, Traüme, Phantasien nicht. Sie ist ihnen sogar günstig durch eine sphinxhafte Ausstrahlung – sie sind dämonenfeindlich. Die Katze hängt nicht an der Person; sie ist treu wie der Hund. Die Katze ist nicht erwähnt in der Bibel.GES. WERKE. Band 11. 422.
Jenny lacked any sense of property - she was constantly apologising to Yevgenia and asking for her permission to open the small upper window in order to let in her elderly tabby cat. Her main interests and worries centered around this cat and how to protect it from her neighbors... She fed her own rations to the cat, whom she called 'my dear, silver child' The cat adored her; he was a rough sullen beast, but would become suddenly animated and affectionate when he saw her.
So, what’s the issue with Unicorns?”“Imagine a cat,” Rose said. “Not just a cat, but a cat that is such a cat, other cats come to it for cat lessons. Take a thousand cats, refine them down to a single drop of pure essence of cat, and make a whole cat out of the stuff.”I shivered. “Ewww. And that’s a Unicorn?”“No,” she said. “That’s an Elf. A Unicorn is a thousand times worse. An Elf you can reason with.
