For some time naow I have been tweeting on the Internets with a number of other animals of my acquaintance; this is an enjoyable pastime whilst the monkeys are away for their mysterious daily absences.

You may follow me at a href=http://www.twitter.com/mrrileycat_esq@MrRileycat_Esq/a, if so inclined.

Today is #MeowMonday, when all animals attempt to follow each other on Twitter. It is not limited to cats, as I currently follow a capybara, a toy giraffe, a ferret, and sundry dogs.

Speaking of dogs, we twits of the animal kingdom are wondering if our new President-Canine, Bo Diddly Obama, will soon be tweeting.

We will understand if there are security issues regarding the use of an iPaw or BlackLabBerry to join us on the Internets.

UPDATE: Please welcome @bothe1stdog to the Internets…

This is almost exactly like my beloved BOINGY THING, except the color is different. It has a springy string that makes it go BOING in the air and so forth, and my monkeylady is careful to put the toy away so that I don’t chew on it and make the yak noise. Previously, the BOINGY THING had beads on it which would have tasted interesting but it stopped being boingy and so soon there was new one, heigh ho.

She should put the plant away, if you ask me. I’m frequently making the yak noise after investigating the plant.

I catch a lot of air when I really lose my dignity, but eventually I signal my boredom by pouncing decisively on the fishy and lying on it. Sadly, I have no front-knives and so catching it can be rather frustrating; thus it is quite satisfying when I do capture it. Fortunately the monkeys have not figured out how to capture ME with their camera-boxes mid-flight.

I have added a new CATegory as this post is related to my new pastime, tweeting. I am hoping that where there are tweets, birdies soon follow.

In my perusal of the Interwebs, I ran across this excellent guide for catpersons such as myself:

Toys
Any small item is a potential toy. If a human tries to confiscate it, this means that it is a good toy. Run with it under the bed. Look suitably outraged when the human grabs you and takes it away. Always watch where it is put so you can steal it later. Two reliable sources of toys are dresser tops and wastebaskets. There are several types of cat toys.

• Bright shiny things like keys, brooches, or coins should be hidden so that the other cat(s) or humans can’t play with them. They are generally good for playing hockey with on uncarpeted floors.
• Dangly and/or string-like things such as shoelaces, cords, gold chains, and dental floss (& Q-tips) also make excellent toys. They are favorites of humans who like to drag them across the floor for us to pounce on.
• When a string is dragged under a newspaper or throw rug, it magically becomes the Paper/Rug Mouse and should be killed at all costs. Take care, though. Humans are sneaky and will try to make you lose your dignity.

I had a sad lapse in dignity earlier this evening, as my monkeyman brought out the BOINGY THING!!1! and of course I had to humiliate myself leaping and capering about like a wackycat. Fortunately, it was rather dark and no photographic evidence exists of this failure to maintain my composure.

After my monkeys returned from their mysterious absence in far-away, fishy-smelling places, I proved my usefulness to the cavehold by stalking and securing a small intruder during those dark hours when they are unconscious. I brought it to my monkeylady, chattering a warning to her as I came up the stairs to the sleeping lair, and she promptly woke up, although clearly her grasp of the niceties of prize-accepting etiquette was not strong. She’s not the keenest knife in the paw, although loveable in her way… in any case she reached down to stroke my head while I tried to tell her of my triumph, and apparently the discovery of the intruder’s little feet (I held him quite securely) startled here.

There was a brief pause as she turned on lights, et cetera, and awakened the monkeyman (who is considerably less keen a blade on sudden wakefulness). She kept moving away from me, my monkeylady, and I followed closely so that I could lay the prize down for her approval.

Finally, she seemed ready to accept the gift, although she held one of her heavy feet-boot things ready to smack the thing as soon as I released it… I see there’s much room for improvement in her training there. For of course the intruder scampered away quite quickly, forcing me to chase after it (not unenjoyable in itself). The monkeys hooted and chattered to themselves as I captured and then released my prey a time or two, and then the little thing found refuge under a big wooden thing. The monkeyman fussed with a little piece of sticky cardboard under there, which I promptly investigated.

He actually shooed me away when the sticky pad-thing got stuck on my paw, but I forgave him eventually.

The next morning, the sticky thing had disappeared, and the intruder was gone from under the wooden thing. I surmise that it has been rather stealthily disposed in a refuse bin.

How rude, but then the monkeys are oddly squeamish about some matters of little or no consequence to seasoned hunters such as myself. I have already forgiven them, of course, and return their affection (but always in a dignified way).

Usually, these intruders work in pairs… and so I await developments with relish (and a nice Merlot).

@sockington May I enlist in your army? I do hope an officer’s commission is available. My compliments to Miss @pennycat.

Hello, world of monkeys. Is this where the internets birdies may be found? Yes, please.

… but I’m not quite sure what it is.

They keep talking funny … spelling words out (I’m not a great speeler) so I can’t tell what they are saying).

It seems to have something to do with the books they’ve been reading … one of which has some very yummy looking fish on the cover.

They also seem to be spending a bit more time in “No No Riley” room.

They did mention the name of that nice lady who used to visit me when they went away for a while.

You don’t think???

No, they wouldn’t. They couldn’t.

I sure hope not.

I’m going to have to investigate.

Do you know, it is very difficult to have the self-discipline to write one’s online journal when one is compltely thumbless and dependent on monkeys leaving their computers unguarded?

Yes, I, Riley, have not been able to keep up with my literary pursuits. A review of the previous entries reveals, moreover, that there is very little “action” in my life of leisure. I still, indeed, search out the warmest spots in the square cave in an ongoing research project. I also monitor nefarious dried leaves and bizarre un-catlike creatures which scurry about just outside the windows in the front and back of the cave. And I still enjoy sleeping on my monkeys’ feet, head-bumping them, and being held, petted, and adored.

Most disturbingly, they continue to go away periodically, leaving me at the mercy of a rather nice visiting cat lady. These absences are always preceded by a disturbance in the Forts, that is, in the “no no Riley” rooms where they store the big rolling wheelie boxes that they put their clothes in before they go away, and also in the secret underlair where the rumpus machines make their clothes smell better.

Yes, you can’t fool me, my monkeys: I always know when you are plotting an escape. But you are under my control, and you always come back.

One time they went away just a short time, and came back very sad. My monkeylady came back after my monkeyman. I don’t know why. But she brought back a lot of stuff with her that smelled of the old monkeylady she must have visited that one time. And some more stuff showed up later. I’m afraid I showed undue interest in some of it and I have been prevented from “seasoning” it. The less said about that, the better. I was merely claiming it, however.

Another time, they went away a long time, but they apparently drove their noisy box rather than being taken away in somebody else’s. I think they were talking about a “rode trip” that time. They brought back more stuff from that other place they went. They were REALLY happy when they got back. Well, I should hope so, I greeted them cordially enough.

Yet another time, they went away to one of those fishy-smelling places, but I don’t think they had a good time. They were both sick and making a barking sound when they left, and they were still barking (but smelled of old fish) when they got back. Serves them right.

More recently, they went away someplace far enough away that they gathered a lot of fancy gadgets. They both have become sadly addicted to gadgets, in my opinion, and both have the kind that they either attach to their ears with little white strings, or they talk into them, or they spend hours looking and and swiping at with their paws.  Anyway, they bought new backbags to carry all their gadgets in, and packed up their wheelie-rollers and off they went.

The bizarre thing is they both talked slightly differently when they came back, FINALLY. They must have been someplace where the appawling monkeybabble is subtly different from what it is around here.

My bawoingy-thing has lost all its bawoingy, and so I do hope that they will rectify this situation. Also, I’ve hidden all the fuzzy mice again. Drat the lack of front-knivesI I can’t hook them out from under the… never you mind where.

Life is still good. I am still King of this square cave.  The monkeys are still my adoring subjects and give me offerings of my preferred herbal indulgence, skritches, and GREENIES!!! Oh, how I love my GREENIES, they make me absolutely go into a tizzy.

I suppose I shall have to update my Facebook page now that I’ve gotten back into being a Felinis Bloggaricus. Now wondering if I should also hunt for tweets or Twitters or online birdies as the monkeys currently do, too.

Shh. I am not ready to be let out of the bag just yet.

My monkeys don’t know that there’s a new version of this bloggy thing out, and as I’ve always been an early adopted kitty, I am the first with the goods. The man monkey has disappeared somewhere, and the monkey lady is totally without a clue.

Apparently I have lots of new abilities and tools and tricks for writing things. The lack of a thumb will be less of an inconvenience naow.

Hrrrmph. ‘Now.’

I do apologize for the lapse. Although I rejoice that we cats have claimed our own dialect of Monkeytalk, I am a personcat of confirmed habits and try not to backslide.

It is difficult, however, as my monkeys have both acquired some fluency with the lingo, though their accents are aPAWlling. Sometimes it is hard work maintaining my usual unflappable dignity. They do sound so funny.

In other news of note, my life here in the big square cave is blissfully happy and I am constantly petted and adored, WHEN the monkeys happen to come back from where ever it is they go.

I make sure of that.

The monkey lady continues to make that “schmip-schmip” noise all over my head and ears, but I’ve learned to live with it and actually enjoy it. They have brought me several new toys, one of which is a rather terrifying thing that I think is called a “hedge-ogg.” It buzzes when the monkeys pull its tail out and then it runs around a little and stops. Perhaps the tail-pulling part hurts?

Most intriguing. I enjoy experimenting with it to see if it likes being tossed up in the air.

Also, the monkeys replaced my boingy thing, which had gotten less and less boingy.  Now the stick part is a different color and the treat on the string is like a fishy, but the boingy part is satisfactory. The other day I pulled it off of the window (sometimes it is stuck there with a thing like a sticky paw) and brought it to the monkey lady for her review.

She is rather bright for a monkey; she caught on eventually that I wanted her to hold the stick and make the boingy thing go.

Must dash, as the birdies are outside the window and I am compelled to return to my observations of them. These particular birdies are red-nosed berry-pickers and rose-bellied rain whistlers. Last week, there were some of the ones I call “long-necked rilly big honkers” out there. No sign of any of the smaller “short-necked Mr-and-Mrs Quackers” that seem to travel in pairs and investigate bushes that are ju-u-u-u-st out of sight around the outer corner of the cave.

Oh! And earlier today, a very tiny little plain grey cheeper landed just outside the entrance to the cave and seemed to be looking for a place to live. That would be interesting as little cheepers have lived out there before, AND THEY HAD BAYBEES, which flew away after a few weeks. I hope that happens again.

I shall enjoy keeping a journal. So many interesting things to report on that happen outside the safety of my cave.

Since it seems to be all the rage, I figure it’s time for me to make the plunge…

I’m very pleased to announce the formation of a Presidential Exploratory Committee for the 2008 campaign season. I’ve asked my monkeys, Ginny and David, to co-chair the committee.

Although I have yet to confirm her interest, I will probably be asking Polly Levinthal-Soskin to be my running(dog)-mate.

I promise to establish bipetisan coalitions, eliminate the taxes on pet toys, and ensure there is a can of Iams in every bowl. I will also work hard to enact the “Sunny Spot on the Rug” act, to ensure there is always a comfy place to take a nap.

And, for the record, I’d like to make it clear that while I did try the catnip … I did not inhale.
[tags]president, campaign, 2008[/tags]

Naptime, playtime, dinner time and bedtime seem to have rolled along for quite a while now. My monkeys and I have established a comfortable routine; they feed me and pet me and take care of my simple needs a la toilette, and I give them head-bumps, twine around their legs affectionately, sleep on their feet when it’s cold, and on those happy snuggly mornings when they don’t go away for the day, I occasionally creep between them for petting and generally being adored.

A few mornings ago, this routine was a little different: the monkeys brought boxes upstairs and opened them on the bed and laughed. We snuggled and of course there was much Adoration of the Kiti (me). Then my male monkey brought me something wrapped up in crinkle stuff that jingled and smelled intriguing. It was a NEW TOY that I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE. It is a fuzzy jingle thing on a string, but the weird thing is that it bounces in the air when they wiggle the little stick that it hangs from. When I grabbed
the jingle thing and went to take it away to my lair, it snapped back to the stick with an audible “ba-woingg!” noise. This noise seemed to amuse them greatly. They kept imitating it: “ba-woingg!!” I played and played with it thoroughly, until I signalled that I was fatigued. They laughed and laughed.

I am happy that they are so amused and entertained by my attention to detail and my serious and quite deadly hunting instincts. I am king of this cave, after all.

Yesterday, however, was different. I was bundled uncerermoniously into the little box-thing that they use to transport me away from our cave, and we all got in the smelly box that moves. I called to them, disconsolate. They called back to me cheerfully. I decided to accept my fate.

Eventually, we arrived someplace that smelled of other! CATS! and of things I associate with being frightened and feeling odd. My Internet researches have taught me that this would be a good time to say “OH NOES!”

We sat for some time in a gathering area. My monkey walked over and casually petted ANOTHER CAT which was strolling around, obviously the king of the place. She skritched his ears and talked to him. He was orange, like the mysterious previous owner of our den, as I’ve discovered his or her hairs in my investigations and explorations. Other cats were there, but were being held (carefully) by their monkeys. None of them seemed happy to be there, either.

Heigh ho, we go into a little room, and it’s clear that I’m about to be tortured for information. You’ll never get it out of me, monkeys! You’ll never find all the furry mice.

A young female monkey came in and approached me respectfully, holding an implement in her paw. I allowed her to stroke me, hold my foot, and clip my rear knives, which I will admit had become rather long and scraggly. My monkeylady assisted her by holding me comfortably so the other foot-knives could be clipped. That wasn’t so bad. The young monkey went away and I thought “Here it comes.”

A monkey lady who smelled of other cats and odd things came in and made encouraging noises at me. I decided to hunker down in a cat-fu position that an adept would recognize as a defensive one, “Crouching Tabby, Airplane Ears.”

I steeled myself for the inevitable poking.

She looked in my ears while my monkeylady gabbled in their incomprehensible patois at her. The lady, who seemed to be a practitioner of the arts of cat torture, was surprisingly gentle, but authoritative: she stuck a stick in my ear. Well, it has been itching lately. And my knives had been catching on things, prompting me to try to trim them myself. She felt me all over, and then she waved a wand-thing over my back. It went “Beep!” and the torture-monkey made a pleased sound. My monkeys sounded pleased
too: they were given a folded paper.

I think alien monkeys must have put a “chimp” in my back so that I could be somehow identified or tracked from Mars or something!!

Before my monkeys ever came and got me, when I was still in cat durance vile, something was done to me back there, and when I was in the Lost Time and was arrested and brought to another cat torture place, they waved a wand over me. They seemed disappointed then – maybe it didn’t tell them all about my adventures, or about the First Monkeys who had torturers cut away my front-knives and some other prized parts of my person. Those First Monkeys… it’s probably best that I don’t really remember. I still get scared
in the dark at bedtime; I don’t know why, but I only like the foot of the bed-thing at night. However, I have come to enjoy cuddling and petting with the male monkey, and even allow him to curl me up in his arms and hold me. He finally learned how to do it properly, of course.

Also, I don’t like feet much. Feet with shoes, especially. I run away sometimes and have to remember “you’re safe, you’re safe.” And then, of course, I stroll back and pretend nonchalance. That is all I really can recall of my time “before,” really; a vague feeling of fear and an overpowering need to escape.

Fortunately, I now love and trust my dear monkeys, and they seem to understand that sometimes I get a little scared, but it goes away quickly. Even yesterday, I was never really that scared. I just stayed in my cat-fu defensive posture until it was clear that the worst was over and there would be no poking up one’s personal backside area. Eventually I was able to relax and purr for them a little as they petted me in the little torture room, just to show them there were no hard feelings.

Finally, finally, the torture monkey seemed to conclude her examination of me, and apparently I passed with flying colors, and I didn’t even have to tell them where even one fuzzy mouse is tucked under the… never mind. Back into the carrier-thing, more waiting out in the gathering room looking at other cats. One of them was rather hissy, so I ignored him. Bad form.

And back we came to our warm cave, where I received treats and some playtime with my favorite new ba-woingy jingle-thing. All is now right in the world.