Cat Week funny humor

This week, last year, was CAT WEEK!!!

Does anyone else remember cat week? This week, last year, was CAT WEEK!


A week filled with all things CAT ‘cos God knows, there’s nothing the internet loves more than cats.

And David Hasselhoff.

No, I don’t get it either.

Last year, I had no cat. Now I have a cat and every day is like frikkin cat week. He’s recently learned how to sleep in the bedroom at night-time without waking me up, paws on either side of my face, licking my lip and meowing at me.

Now, when I saw recently, I mean Friday. The Friday just gone. Today is Monday.

It was weird but he’s past the face licking, hair chomping, random pouncing stage and onto the scaring the s*&t out of me stage.

The other night, I was home alone and the house was quiet. I walked into the bathroom and felt something caress my hand. I screamed and then turned to see Louie, sitting on the edge of the sink in the darkness, reaching out a paw to touch me.

Argh! Anyway, here he is doin‘ his cat stuff:

Playing with his favorite toy, the printer. He'll run from the other side of the house when he hears it!
Playing with his favorite toy, the printer. He’ll run from the other side of the house when he hears it!
Getting in on The Canadian One's birthday celebration. One popped. It was HILARIOUS!
Getting in on The Canadian One’s birthday celebration. One popped. It was HILARIOUS!
Hiding in the shopping
Hiding in the shopping
Inspecting the bathtub after a shower. His daily routine. Sometimes he comes in the shower with me. It's weird.
Inspecting the bathtub after a shower. His daily routine. Sometimes he comes in the shower with me. It’s weird.
Balancing above my head
Balancing above my head
Helping me write a novel
Helping me write a novel

Most Saturdays,  I get up before The Canadian One, open the bedroom door to let the cat in while I go make a smoothie and watch Castle and The Mentalist. When I come back, I’m always faced with this:

Morning One

Morning Two

We put a collar on him once...just once....
We put a collar on him once…just once….

He sleeps like a person and snores. Loudly.

IMG_9228 IMG_9099 IMG_8862

Doing what he does best...Sleep
Doing what he does best … sleep
Cat Week comedy funny humor internet random

Cat Week: What the CAT?!

***Welcome to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, a week of all things CAT.***

And finally, Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier 2012 comes to an end! Here’s a round-up of all the things we didn’t get to this week:


THIS cat, Tuxedo Stan, is running for mayor of Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada….Oh Canada!

(via Facebook)


Man in North Korea claims his dog gave birth to a kitten!


The Gothamist has some fantastic coverage of this year’s Cat Fashion Show at the Algonquin Hotel.


There’s a book out there in the world (and on-sale at Amazon) called ‘Why Paint Cats’…Why indeed…


Yep, there’s a site out there called catsthatlooklikepinupgirls


Meanwhile, on, they’re showcaseing a range of famous paintings that would look so much better with a cat in them!


Cat are evil:






Man in 1827 uses beard as cat nest:



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Cat Week: Why Cats Rule

***Welcome to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, a week of all things CAT.***

Submitted by Pamila Florea:

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Cat Week: Minus the Cat

***Welcome to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, a week of all things CAT.***

‘Some of the strips were slappers: ‘Oh, I could have left that out.’ It would have been funnier’.’ – Jim Davis, creator of Garfield (via The Washington Post)

And that’s just what Garfield minus Garfield creator, Dan Walsh did. He left out the cat. Hailing from my hometown of Dublin (YAY!), Walsh is quick to point out that he wasn’t the first to come up with the premise of minus Garfield but he was the first to make it as popular as it is today. The haliarious and often pointent adventures of Jon Arbuckle without his beloved cat are at times filled with deep sadness and loneliness you kinda just wanna give him a hug. Or just give him his cat back.

See Garfield as you’ve never seen him before.

Buy the book or submit your own to garfieldminusgarfield (at)

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Cat Week: Cats That Look Like Hitler

***Welcome to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, a week of all things CAT.***

Dolfern owned by Tine

Started as a collaboration between Dutchman Koos Plegt and Brit Paul Neve and now run solely by Neve, CatsThatLookLikeHitler is weird, wonderful and….well, hilarious. Having been featured on The Colbert Report and CNN, this site has seen submissions worldwide from people who think their cat looks like a Kitten Hilter…or Kitler as the site calls them. Featuring gems such as the ‘bestest Kitler’, ‘We Love Kilter’ – an area where people who love the site sound off, and ‘We hate Kitler’ – the opposite, the site boasts over 7,700 submissions of cats that do look eerily like Hitler.

Here’s a selection of our favorites from the ‘Bestest Kitlers’:

Wowbagger (no comment on the name) owned by Chris Lonkers
Waffles owned by Laura K.
Snowball owed by Form
Pitsiriki owned by Suzy Eisenhauer
Groucho owned by Van
Thai Kitler owned by Heiko

For details on how to submit your own Kitler, click here.

Also on the site, they’re appealing to anyone in the New York area who wants to adopt a lil Kitler:

‘Kitler on death row (10th Sep): Anyone in the New York area who can make room in their homes for a little dictator, check out this link. If they can’t find a home for this Kitler, it’s curtains for her. (As an aside, I’ve never understood how Animal “Care” across the pond essentially entails “kidnapping them off the streets and then killing them”, but what do I know, I’m just a dumb Brit’ – Paul Neve,

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Cat Week: Meet Maya

***Welcome to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, a week of all things CAT.***

Meet Maya, our wonderful, cute and adorable Cat Week Cat. Owned by Admir Idrizi Aljabak in Southern Kosovo, this little cat very quickly became a favorite of mine and hence, she was chosen to represent the first ever ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’.

Found in a stable sleeping with the cows when she was just a few weeks old, Aljabak adopted her and she quickly became a member of his family. Aljabak says, ‘After that, we began to feed it regularly and it is beginning to get used to people.
It is interesting that she loves to pose during a photo shoot.’

Last year she had four healthy kittens, one of which Aljabak kept and the rest were given away to friends. This year brought them five new kittens which are currently being looked after until they’re big enough to be rehomed.

This semi-tame cat is now 3 years old and as you can see from the photos below, she really does love the camera.

Maya playing with friends


And before our wonderful ad shot, here are some others from the same set-up:

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Cat Week: Cats do the weirdest things!

***Welcome to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, a week of all things CAT.***


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Cat Week: Haaaaave you met Daisy, the cutest cat EVER?!

***Welcome to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, a week of all things CAT.***

When Ben Torode and his girlfriend wandered into a pet store just to look around, they had no idea they would be leaving with the world’s cutest kitten. Named Daisy, after Torode’s nickname for his wife, this little kitten has quickly caught the internet’s eye, with her being featured on a variety of sites.

Working from home as a Japanese to English translator, Torode has ample time to play, spoil and photograph Daisy all day long.

Torode explains it’s not as easy as it seems to shoot a kitten and he’s learned that nearly impossible to make a kitten do something it just doesn’t want to do, a feeling I think all kitten owners can agree with.

When asked what advice he’d give new kitten owners, Torode told The Ketchup War, ‘I think it is important for owners to remember that the kitten-stage is over before you know it, so I recommend taking as many pictures as possible so you have something to remember throughout the cat’s life. Also, expose the kitten to different types of pet food and different experiences (brushing, bathing, etc.) early-on or you’ll have a tough time later.’

See more pictures of Daisy and Ben Torode’s work here. All photos copyright Ben Torode. All Rights Reserved.

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Cat Week: ‘Cat in the Tree’ – Cat Fiction

***Welcome to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, a week of all things CAT.***

Cat in the Tree

by CRF Sanders

English: A cat on the tree. Italiano: Gatto su...

Jase had never seen the cat stuck in the tree before. The cat’s meowing had woken him a few minutes earlier than his alarm would have, continued through his push-ups and sit-ups and lunges, cut through the traffic updates and morning show banter on the radio as he got dressed and checked his email; some grumpy political rant from his friend Thatcher, no reply to messages he’d sent on the dating site the night before. Getting into his car to drive to work, he wondered if he should try to get it down. If it could get up there, it could get down, he decided.

When he came home at lunch that day, the cat was still there, loud and incessant.

“Here, kitty kitty kitty,” he called from the base of the tree, feeling terribly foolish. Cats, he was pretty certain, were like women: they rarely came when you asked them directly. At least in his experience. You had to lure them. He then went into the kitchen and ran the can opener. That had always brought the cats at his grandma’s place running when he stayed with her while his parents divided their lives in half. The cat did not so much as look his direction. He tried again with the window open. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought the cat’s ears twitched.

“Playing hard to get, huh?” From the cabinet, he took out a can of tuna and plopped it onto the can opener, scooped out a few forkfuls onto a paper plate and carried it out to the tree.

“Here you go, kitty,” he said, holding the plate up as high as he could, hoping the smell would reach. He set the plate down at the base of the tree and went inside to have lunch before heading back to work. Sitting down at his computer with a bowl of cereal and a slice of pizza leftover from football night a couple days earlier, he found a reply from blueeyesss1981.

Hello Jason,

Thank you for the nice message. It is very good to wake up to compliments 🙂

No, I am not Russian. Actually am from ukraina. Similar but different, and my father family is from Russia, so my name sounds like Russian. I forgive you for making mistake about it. 😉

I live here in Tulsa for only 1 year. Moved from Virginia for work. I came to USA 3 years ago, long story.

Too much to say. Maybe I should take your offer of the drink later to tell you a whole story 😉

Katya Volskaya

Jase thought for a moment before replying. Her message had come in at eight twenty-six;

she’d probably read his message from the dating site right after getting to work. Was sending one back at lunch too fast? He wondered what his more experienced friends would do. Would Charles

reply immediately after getting a message like that? Jase doubted he would. That guy really had a gift for getting women to throw themselves at him like he was a rock star walking into the Tokyo airport.

Jase closed the browser and took his plate to the kitchen. The cat’s mewing was just as loud as it had been, maybe even louder. He looked out the window. Another cat – it looked like Mrs. Rafferty’s orange ball of fat – was hunched over the plate of tuna.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he muttered, pulling the screen open on the window. “Shoo, scram. Get lost.”

Neither cat replied. Looking around the kitchen for something to throw, he settled on the tin foil roll which was so comically long that it couldn’t fit in any of the drawers. He made a ball of the stuff and tossed it out the window at the cat. It sliced to the right and landed several feet from the Rafferty interloper, who glanced up at the distraction, then went back to stealing the tuna. Jase made another foil ball and threw it. This one hit the orange cat in the rump. The cat leapt up a good foot, impressive for such a corpulent fur pile.

As happy as he was to get rid of the thief, he knew it was an impotent victory. Rafferty’s cat or someone else’s would be back as soon as he left. Or rats, possums, raccoons. He didn’t actually know if possums or raccoons would eat tuna, but he suspected that the adage ‘beggars can’t be choosers’ applied equally in the vermin community as it did among people.

“Screw Charles.” Jase jogged back to the spare-room-slash-office and sent a reply to Katya Volskaya. Beautiful name, apologies for guessing the wrong country, very curious about why you came to the States; what did she think of Tulsa; drinks would be lovely, he knew a great, quiet place that had a serious wine selection, many of them available by the glass.

“You better be gone by the time I get home.” The tabby in the tree looked down at him and stopped crying for a beat or two. Jase hoped that meant it was getting the idea.

The cat was still there when he got home. He checked his email every twenty minutes; the cat mewed. Watching a game he’d TiVo’ed, the cat’s cries were worse than vuvuzelas. News, mews. Jon Stewart and The Cat Report. He considered Googling up some porn, but the desperate cries of the stupid tabby ruined the mood. Around eleven he went into the backyard and looked at the cat.

“Come on, kitty. You got up there. Surely you can get down. Please?” The cat looked at him, but the mew, mew, mew continued as shrilly as ever. He tried shaking the tree but the trunk was just too thick to really move much at all.

“Seriously, cat. You gotta be hungry, right? If you come down I’ll give you the rest of the tuna. It’s really good.”

Mew, mew, mew.

With a heavy sigh, he went back into the house, took a melatonin, then another, crammed his head under a pillow and dreamt of Russian cats eating Mrs. Rafferty.

Katya replied again just before eight-thirty. Red wine was her favorite, but a bottle might be a better choice, or didn’t he know that Eastern European women were expert drinkers? She would be free the next night, so it would be good if he were too.

Jase didn’t go home for lunch, figuring the cat would just annoy him. When he got home that evening, the cat was still in the tree.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Thirty minutes later, the crying of the cat drove him out of the house. He called a couple of old college buddies and talked them into some Thursday night beer and pool. Pulling out of the driveway, he noticed Mrs. Rafferty staring at him from her front window.

“Ukrainian chick, huh?” Thatcher shook his head as Jase racked the table for a game of cut-throat. He was alternating between long swigs of beer and nicotine gum. The kids at the next table were smoking some sort of acrid clove things. Every time the smoke wafted towards Thatcher, he’d blow it away and scowl aggressively.

“Better be careful, man. I heard this story on like Sixty Minutes or some shit, really successful dot-cot genius programmer dude bought a Russian bride on the internet. He ended up murdering her, allegedly,” Will offered, coming back from the bar with a bucket of domestic bottles.

“In that scenario, shouldn’t you be warning Katya to be careful of me?” Jase asked.

“No way, man. ‘Cause one, she’s not a mail-order bride. Two, you said she’s Ukrainian, not Russian. And three, you’re neither successful nor a genius. So really, that case doesn’t apply here at all.”

“Thanks for clearing that up, douche. You’re up.”

Jase scratched on his turn, lost a couple of his balls to Will and one to Thatcher, knocked one each of theirs in but scratched again and they returned their lost balls to the table.

“Christ on a stick, man. Get your head in the game,” Thatcher barked after Jase table scratched, an impressive feat considering how many balls were still on the felt. A loud thwack: the cue ball from the next table over flew off and rolled between Thatcher’s legs.

“Hey! Assholes! Watch what you’re doing!” He grabbed the ball from the floor and raised it up like he was going the pitch it across the room. Will plucked the cue from Thatcher’s hand and tossed it underhand back to one of the young men playing next to them.

Thatcher popped another piece of nicotine gum in his mouth and struck the cue so hard on his next play that it popped up and crashed into a clump of solids and stripes at the other end of the table, sinking nothing. Will put one of Thatcher’s and two more of Jase’s down before missing an easy shot, eliciting amusing if sharp mockery from Thatcher. Jase knocked Will’s 12 in, but the cue betrayed him and bumped another of his own into the pocket. He was out on Will’s turn.

“Dude, what’s up? I think we can all agree that you suck donkey cock when it comes to pool, but tonight, that’s a whole new level of suck you’re working with,” Thatcher said after the game. Jase shrugged.

“Yeah, man. Something going on? You worried about the Russkie?” from Will.

“Nah, I’m not going to let myself get too excited about her,” he said, barely trying to hide the lie. “It’s this fucking cat.”

“You got another girl?” Will asked, suddenly wide-eyed and leaning forward, his beard twitching as he chewed on a swizzle stick.

“What? No. People haven’t referred to girls as cats in like three decades. A real cat. It’s stuck in my tree.”

Thatched snorted.

“So, just shake the pussy out.”

“You think I didn’t try that?”

Thatcher tossed out some more ideas, all of which Jase had either tried or found ludicrous. Thatcher pushed his stool back from the table with a hard shove, popped another piece of nicotine gum in his mouth, and said that Jase was fucking impossible.

Will was still leaning forward, a serious look on his face.

“Show me.”

“Show you what?” Jase asked while Thatcher shook his head.

“Show me the cat.”

Back at Jase’s house, the men took some beers from the fridge into the backyard despite the mid-autumn chill of the night. The cat’s crying had grown hoarse and quieter. Jase, Will, and Thatcher stood a few feet from the tree and stared up at the pitiful animal without saying anything for several minutes.

“What is this, oak?” Will broke the silence, reaching out and running his fingers on the bark. Thatcher shook his head.

“Don’t be dense, man. It’s an elm.”

Will nodded and seemed to consider this information carefully.

“So, why exactly did you want to see that cat?” Jase asked after another moment of somber beer sipping. Thatcher shrugged and tilted his head to Will.

“I don’t, you know, I guess it just felt like we should do something.” He scratched at his beard.

“So, then, any ideas?” Jase looked first at Will and then at Thatcher. Thatcher pulled out his smartphone and started typing. Will looked down at kicked his toe at a protruding tree root.

“He, she, it is starting to sound bad. I’m glad it’s a little quieter, but I hope it doesn’t…” Jase didn’t really want to say die, but he wasn’t sure why not. Will nodded thoughtfully. Thatcher grimaced at the bright screen bathing him in a sickly blue light.

“Well, it looks like putting food out is a pretty common idea. Idiots always say to call the fire department but in most cities they won’t do it. A rain storm could work, if you could call in a favor from god,” Thatcher told them, not looking up from the screen.

“Yeah, well, I already got God to cover the spread on the OU-Nebraska game, so I don’t think I can ask for anything else right now,” Jase replied. Will’s eyes suddenly brightened and he dashed off to the side of the house. He returned a moment later with the coil of garden hose Jase had not yet put in the garage for the season.

“Let’s make a rain storm.”

It sounded like a good idea to Thatcher; Jase found the idea a little unsettling but not enough to object. With the adjustable nozzle from the garage, they figured they could get a spray of water to reach the three stories or so up where the cat was perched. Will handed the nozzle to Thatcher – he was the best shot of the three of them at darts – and went back to turn the rusty wheel on the faucet. The hose filled and jerked like a snake choking on a fat mouse. Jase looked that the nozzle in Thatcher’s hand and up to the cat in the tree.

“Do we really want to do this?” He asked.

“Yeah, we do,” Thatcher said simply. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“Well, I’m no PETA nut, but striking a cat forty feet up in the air with a hard blast of water seems a little cruel.”

“By the time the water gets there, it won’t be nearly as strong as it is out of the nozzle. And would you rather it starve or dehydrate up there?”

Jase shook his head.

“Good, then we’re a go,” he raised the nozzle towards the cat. “Stand back, gentlemen.”

Jase and Will took several steps away from the tree.

“Three, two.” Thatcher paused for a second. “One.”

He pulled the trigger on the nozzle head. It made a sharp whishing sound, the branches and dead leaves hit by the water creaked and rustled. The cat hissed and growled at the unexpected attack, but Jase could see that Thatcher wasn’t hitting the tabby.

“Up a little, and left like just a bit.”

The stream of water cut through a clump of desiccated leaves that fluttered slowly to ground. The water was now hitting the branch the cat was clinging to. The cat made a loud, angry wail but did not move.

“Okay, maybe that’s enough, Thatcher,” Jase suggested. The water, though, continued to flow. Thatcher moved the stream in a small arc.

“Enough, Thatcher! The cat’s not moving.”

“Just gotta give the bastard a reason to come down.”

“It’s not working, Jesus. Stop it.” Jase ordered.

“Yeah, man, it’s like, not coming down,” Will said quietly. He was rocking back and forth on his heels and tugging on his beard.

“It’s pussies like you that didn’t want us to go into Iraq. That made us lose Vietnam. You can’t handle it when things get the least bit rough.”

Jase looked at his buddy.

“Seriously? Iraq? Vietnam? This is your excuse for torturing a cat?”

Thatcher turned his gaze from the treetop to Jase. They locked eyes for a moment. Then, with a quick jerk, he swung the nozzle directly at Jase, striking him square in the chest.

“Fucking asshole!” Jase charged into the man, knocking the larger Thatcher back a few feet but not to the ground. Thatcher dropped the hose as the two men began scuffling. Will yelled at them to stop. Jase got in a blow or two, but Thatcher was stronger and had more experience fighting. Will grabbed Thatcher from behind, looping his arms under Thatcher’s shoulders and clasping his finger behind the man’s head. Jase, winded and dizzy, bent over with his hands on his knees. The light at Mrs. Rafferty’s back door turned on and the screech of a sliding door in bad need of WD40 announced the widow’s annoyance.

“What’s going on over there?” The old woman yelled.

“Sorry, ma’am.” Jase said swallowing a cough.

“Keep it down or I’m going to call the police!” Mrs. Rafferty punctuated her sentence with a loud hhmphf, and screeched the door closed. Jase took a few wheezy deep breaths and started to say something to the still-headlocked Thatcher. His phone began to ring. An unknown number.

“Hello?” He said after clearing his throat. He was freezing cold in wet clothes outside in early November.

“Oh, Jason, you not yet sleeping?” A woman’s voice, an accent from a James Bond movie. It took a second or two for Jase to put together what that meant. He’d forgotten that he’d put his number in his last message to Katya.


“Yes, it is Katya.” She replied. Jase wanted to lay his head of the chest of anyone that could make such beautiful words and sleep forever. “Is not a bad time to call?”

“Uh, no, not at all. I was just, um, doing some late night yard work.”

The Ukrainian woman laughed the way he thought high class call girls might at their clients’ stupid jokes, with shocking sincerity and a little condescension.

“You’re silly. So, we can meet tomorrow night, no? Would be good for me. You too?”

It would indeed. They made the arrangements and said sweet dreams to each other.

By this time, Will had let his prisoner go. Thatcher was sitting with his back against the tree, smoking a cigarette.

“I thought you quit?” Jase asked as he put the phone back in his pocket. Thatcher looked off into the dark corners of the yard.

“I think I need to start again.”

The next morning, Jase woke to the sound of the cat calling from the tree top, louder than ever. When he’d gone to bed, after looking up the warning signs of hypothermia, he had been pretty certain the cat would freeze to death, and had resigned himself to that fate when Thatcher had soaked the poor thing thoroughly. But in morning, in the stunning clarity of November mornings in Oklahoma, it looked like the cat was as healthy as ever.

“I don’t have time for this,” he said to the cat. He ran through the house, tidying up as quickly as he could before showering and heading to work. He didn’t think there was much chance Katya would end up back at his place, but stranger things had happened. He recalled that Charles had once told him that the more you prepare for a girl to come over, the less likely it was to occur. Call it Murphy’s law, call it karma, maybe they can just sense your desperation or expectation: cleanliness is next to loneliness. Besides, women want a guy that needs mothering. If your place is too clean, there’s less for them to fix.

In the afternoon, Jase’s phone rang. So rarely did anyone call him on his extension at the office, he first grabbed his cell phone and stared at it for a second before his brain put together which one he needed.

“Hello?” He asked, then added more professionally “This is Jason Fuller.”

“You got a cat in your tree!” A raspy woman’s voice quavered on the phone line.

“Mrs. Rafferty?” That was the only person it could be. She must have remembered that he worked at McLellan and called the operator asking for him. Jase rolled his eyes and sighed softly.

“You got a cat in your tree!”

“Yes, Mrs. Rafferty. I know. I’ve been trying –“

“You got a cat in your tree! It’s crying and upsetting my Mimi.”

“I’m really sorry, I’ve tried to –“

“Get rid of it!” She cut him off again.

“I’ve tried to get –“ He tried again.

“Get that cat down! Mimi can’t even eat with all that noise, and I’m missing my stories!”

He held back a laugh – Mimi had never missed a meal – and attempted to promise several times to do just that, then finally put the phone down for a moment with her grating shrieks still pouring from the receiver. When it became clear she wouldn’t stop haranguing him, he picked it back up.

“I’ve got to go, Mrs. Rafferty,” he talked over her. “My boss is here.”

And with that he hung up the phone and started rubbing his temples. The phone rang again. He groaned and reached for the receiver, then realized it was actually his cell phone this time.

“Christ, I am losing it,” he muttered and promptly knocked over his coffee directly onto his keyboard and indirectly onto his shirt and lap.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed as loudly as he could get away with in the cubicle farm. With one hand he turned the keyboard upside down and with the other grabbed his phone.

“Yes?” he snapped.

“Oh, it is bad time?” The breathy voice of Katya Volskaya. Yeah, really bad time, woman of my dreams.

“Oh, Katya! No, not bad time, just, you know.” He paused. She didn’t say anything.

“Just work stuff.”

“Yes. I call now to ensure our engagement. It is okay tonight?”

Jase scraped his muffler coming into his driveway and didn’t bother pulling into the garage. In a second he was in the kitchen, undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt as he ran to the bedroom to change. Now that a coffee stain had established a sizable colony on his best shirt, he had to resort to plan B. Maybe it was for the best; he’d been told the black and white pattern on his back-up shirt was funky, in a good way. He ditched his slacks for a pair of jeans Charles had recommended; they’d cost a little less than a car payment.

The mirror showed that his five o’clock shadow had come in nicely; Charles had taught him that it was usually best to shave the night before going out so he could have a solid, even growth. A couple of splashes of water, checked teeth, no rogue hairs around his eyebrows, nostrils, ears. He uncapped a bottle of cologne, spritzed a cloud of scent into the air in front of him and stepped into it. Another hint from the master, Charles. Much better distribution, not overwhelming, more like a constant hint.

A knock at the door. Jase jerked his head in the direction of the sound. The doorbell rang a second later. Then it rang again, and the knocking started up and did not stop. Jase was pretty certain who it was before he got to the front hall. For a fleeting second, he wished he had a shotgun.

“Mrs. Raf –“

“You got a cat in your tree.” Mrs. Rafferty stood an inch from the door frame, at least a foot shorter than Jase, wagging a needle-y finger at him. Despite the chill in the air, she was wearing a thread-bare sweater she’d probably owned since the Nixon administration, he thought. And house slippers. That adage about people looking like their pets after awhile apparently didn’t apply to his neighbor. Whereas her Mimi was a rotund ball of orange fur and larceny, the woman was thin to the point of worry, and almost dainty. If she wasn’t so angry at him, and generally an unappealing human to spend time with from his few encounters with her, she’d be a cute little grandmother type.

“I know, but I can’t do anything,” he said plaintively. The woman pursed her lips together and narrowed her eyes at him. They locked gazes for a moment. Jase broke away first.

“I don’t know what else I can do. I’m sure he’ll come down as soon as he’s hungry.”

Mrs. Rafferty made a clucking sound, turned and stomped back to her property. He watched her depart for a few seconds, then closed the door and continued his rushed preparations. Something had changed. Jase stopped moving, looked around the bedroom. Nothing was amiss. The cat! It had stopped mewing.

“Finally!” He ran to the kitchen window to see if the cat had actually left. His smile fell into a flat line of exasperation. That turned into a scowl a second later. Thatcher was climbing the tree, a long pool-cleaning net strapped to his back. Jase slammed his fist on the kitchen sink and yelled an incomprehensible string of sounds before running outside.

“Thatcher! What the fuck?!”

The man was already up to where the three main branches diverged. He looked over at Jase, waved and smiled through his beard.

“Oh, hey Jase. I didn’t want to bother you before your date. I’m getting that cat out of the tree!” A proud grin sliced across his face.

“You’re going to get yourself killed, you crazy fuck!”

Thatcher laughed a single dismissive ha and started pulling himself up the branch that eventually tapered off to the cat’s perch. Very quickly the net got caught on the smaller branches above him. He struggled with it for a moment, got it undone and then unthreaded it from the strap he’d buckled across his torso. Stretching as far as he could, he wedged the net into the branches and continued inching up the tree.

“I don’t have time for this!” Jase yelled up at his ostensible friend.

“So go. This is a one man operation!”

“There’s no way you don’t fall out of the tree! Setting aside the fact that you’d probably be paralyzed or dead, think what that would do to my homeowner’s insurance!” Jase couldn’t keep a straight face; Thatcher made another single laugh.

“Take it out of my estate. That ’69 Mustang should cover it.”

Jase shook his head, sighed and left. One last check in the mirror and he was ready to go. Before he got into his car, he walked over to the fence and yelled to Thatcher.

“If you get the cat down without killing yourself, help yourself to some beer. But get the hell out of here by 10!”

“Roger that.”

Before Jase was out of the driveway, he saw Mrs. Rafferty coming out of her garage with an electric chainsaw in her hand, the thick orange extension cord trailing behind her like her stupid Mimi’s tail. Comically oversized ear-protectors and safety goggles covered almost her entire head. An urge to laugh welled up in his chest. He threw the car back into park and stepped out. His phone started ringing.

“Hey! Hey!” He yelled at Mrs. Rafferty. She didn’t even look over at him; because she couldn’t hear him through the ear-muffs or because she was ignoring him, neither would have surprised him.

He pulled his phone out and ran in front of the old woman.

“Stop right there, Mrs. Rafferty!” He yelled loudly to overcome the sound barrier on her ears. She glowered at him and moved to go around him, he moved to intercept her.

“You’re trespassing! Get off my property!”

She continued trying to get around him and he moved in front of her, giving a half foot or so with each move. The phone in his hand was still ringing, the caller ID read Katya.

“Oh come on!” He yelled at the sky and clicked the answer button.

“Hi, Katya,” He said, trying to keep the stress out of his voice and still waltzing with his villainous neighbor.

“I arrived to the restaurant early. You will be here soon, yes?” Her breezy voice calmed the deluge of hormones pouring out of his amygdala for a second, time enough for Mrs. Rafferty to run – as fast as a sixty-something widow in house slipper could – past him.

“Uh, Katya, I’m actually having a really weird problem here at my house right this second.”

“Oh, you are having diarrhea?” She asked, concerned.

“What? No. No. It’s, um -” Mrs. Rafferty turned the electric chainsaw on. Thatcher, startled by the sound, turned to see what was happening and slipped off the narrow web of branches high up in the tree. He fell halfway off those branches, managing to keep his leg hooked around one and grab on to a thicker one a foot or so lower. Mrs. Rafferty looked up at the man dangling twenty feet in the air then girded her stance and leveled the chainsaw parallel to the ground.

“It’s hard to explain. My neighbor…there’s a cat…an idiot…I don’t know, just. Can you wait for me, please? I’ll get there as fast as I can.” He was walk-running to the unfolding debacle as he spoke. Even though the chainsaw was electric, she was still having a hard time pushing it into the thick tree bark. Her tiny frame was shaking violently, her arms vibrating into a blur.

On the phone, Katya made a clicking sound with her tongue, not exactly the kind of disapproval click moms and nuns make, but more of a processing information sound.

“Of course. I get a glass of house wine maybe wait for Jason.” She said; he said thanks and promised to hurry. As he shoved the phone into his pocket, panic surged. Yeah, Thatcher was about to fall from the tree; Mrs. Rafferty was about to destroy his house and probably kill herself in the process. And perhaps worse, Katya’s sentence… was she saying she will maybe wait for him, or will she maybe have a glass of wine? Staring at the scene before him, imaging the gorgeous, exotic Katya sipping a glass of merlot, deepening the already-luscious red of her czarina lips, some oilman or telecom exec catching her eye with his Italian suit and expensive watch, sorry, timepiece and forgetting that she’d ever considered slumming it with someone several integers lower than her on the hotness scale.

“Jase! Fucking stop her!” Thatcher screamed, ripping him away from these dark images. Jase grabbed Mrs. Rafferty by the shoulder. With a sharp jerk, she slammed her head back hard into his chest, hitting right into his sternum, knocking the wind out of him. He staggered back, caught his breath, and started to grab at her arm again, this time with both hands. Suddenly the chainsaw was between him and Mrs. Rafferty. Like a crazed fencer, she thrust and riposted the very-much-on chainsaw towards him.

“Holy shit!” Thatcher yelled, far too much excitement in his voice and too little alarm for Jase’s preference.

“Are you fucking insane, lady!” Jase shouted, knowing she couldn’t hear him over the chainsaw and the ear protectors. Mrs. Rafferty forced Jase to give ground with every jab. Come on, just have a goddamn heart attack and die, you crone! A gruesome, murderous snarl made the crazy woman that much scarier, her teeth whittled sharp after decades of coffee, tea, and brushing. An idea popped into his head and he turned, running out of the yard. Thatched yelled for him to get back there. From in her garage, he yanked the extension cord out of its socket. The whirr of the chainsaw died just in time to hear the inevitable crashing of branches and moist thump of Thatcher falling out of the tree.

Jase ran back into his yard, colliding squarely with Mrs. Rafferty. Even without power, the chainsaw’s teeth hurt as he landed on them. Mrs. Rafferty started wailing and hitting him with her free arm.

“My hip! My shoulder!” She cried with the intensity and volume of a tornado siren. Jase rolled off the chainsaw and the old woman’s right arm. Patting his chest, he found the shirt, his second best, torn in several places. Blood was on his fingers, just a little though, so no gushing wounds. Thank god for small miracles. He pushed himself into a seated position while Mrs. Rafferty rolled on the ground sobbing like a naughty toddler trying to make her parents feel sorry instead of angry. Behind him, Thatcher moaned. Thatcher! With several winces, he stood up. His buddy did not look good. He’d landed on a shoulder; that arm lay splayed out at a nauseating angle. Though his eyes were open, one was just a solid red orb and the other was widely dilated. The tree had taken its pound of flesh from his face, hands, belly, anywhere it could find open flesh.

Jase pulled his phone out of his pocket. A missed call from Katya. After dialing 911 and explaining that two crazy people had gotten badly hurt and might need psych evals, he tried to call Katya back. It went directly to voice mail. He typed a message:

Accident at home; have to wait for ambulance. Please call.

Waiting for the paramedics to arrive, Jase noticed a silence that had descended on the yard. He looked up in the tree.

The cat was not there.

By CRF Sanders (

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Cat Week: My Cat Snowy

***Welcome to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, a week of all things CAT.***

Lemme tell you about my cat, Snowy.

Snowy came along after a long string of other cats from the same cat-lineage. At one point we owned the mother, a vicious cat named Muffin, who ran into our house one night and bore three kittens. We’d never owned a cat before and my mother, hating cats, eventually relented and let us keep her. Twelve kittens (all rehomed or kept) and several grandkittens (and a parental divorce on my part) later, my mother decided to get me a new cat. A different cat. One not connected to Muffin at all. At this point, Muffin was long gone and the only cat remaining was a cat from her first litter, a giant grey fluffy cat named Coco, who lived with my father.

I was perhaps 14 years old, sneaking down the stairs with my younger brother to see what Santa had brought us on Christmas morning, when I first laid eyes on Snowy. A tiny, screaming white kitten with black blotches and a squirrel-esque fluffy tail, I instantly fell in love with her. Out of her box, she darted up the Christmas tree where she hid for the majority of the day. A year later, recognising the tree, she’d get a huge shock when she was too big to climb it and almost toppled the tree over. I wanted to name her ‘Snowball’ but my mother said she was ‘not standing on the street calling ‘Snowball’ into the air trying to find the cat’. We settled on ‘Snowy’ in the end, as she was white…although as she grew she became more black on top than white.

Snowy survived longer than any other cat I’ve ever had and when I moved to England and then Korea she technically became my mother and brother’s cat.

My mother would call me to update me on what the cat was doing as it was doing it. One memorable time she calls me, laughing her ass off and says:

‘You’ll never guess what the cat just did. She was outsmarted by a bird!!  A bird!! She was standing on the back wall (of the garden) and a small bird landed next to her. Snowy got ready to pounce and the bird flew over Snowy and landed on the other side of her. Snowy spun around really quickly and got ready to pounce on the bird again. The little bird flew over Snowy again and Snowy spun around to pounce on it again. It did it again and again and again and then guess what happened?! The stupid cat fell off the wall!!’

And then she laughed for a full 30 seconds.

Snowy died after 11 years with us after refusing to come indoors during a snowstorm and succumbing to hypothermia. My mother found her in the morning, dead in the snow, and called me in Korea to tell me. I cried for an entire day, while back home in Ireland my brother was trying desperately to shovel the frozen earth in the garden to bury her.

Snowy was around in the days before people would take 15 pictures of their cat sitting in the garden over the course of two minutes and as a result I have maybe three or four pictures of her. She was my favorite cat and the friendliest cat in the world. So much so that we often feared someone would try to take her as she would just wander up to people thinking they were her friend. My mother has even said ‘she was the best cat ever’…and given that she dislikes cats, that’s a pretty big achievement on Snowy’s part.

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Cat Week: Black Cat Superstitions

***Welcome to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, a week of all things CAT.***

A lot of people fear black cats for a whole host of reasons. Personally I once owned a black cat. Her name was Concorde and her death was tragic and horrible and messy and involved her being stuck in a car engine…I’m 100% sure this had nothing to do with her fur color.

I took this picture of Lilith, a black cat fou...
Not my cat…

Moving on.

In the name of Halloween, we here at TKW, bring you a host of black cat superstitions from around the world!

  • If a black cat crosses your path, it’s said to be bad luck. (US, Europe)
  • Whereas in Ireland, if a black cat crosses your path, it’s said that you will die in some sort of epidemic.
  • In Japan, if a black cat crosses your path, it’s said to be good luck.
  • It’s also said in Japan, if a single woman owns a black cat, she will have many suitors.
  • A black cat on the porch is said to bring prosperity in Italy.
  • If a black cat looks out the window or washes its ears, it’s said that rain is coming. (that explains all the rain in Ireland, my cat was constantly looking out the window)
  • If a cat hears gossip, it’ll spread it around the town. In the Netherlands, cats aren’t allowed in rooms where private conversations are happening for this very reason.
  • To undo bad luck brought on by a black cat, you must walk in a circle, then walk backwards over the spot where the black cat sighting occurred and count to 13.
  • In Germany, it’s believed that if a black cat crosses your path right to left, it’s a bad omen. But left to right, you’re in for some good luck.
  • Meanwhile, back in Italy, if a black cat lies on a sick person’s bed, that person is soon to die.
  • A black cat in China signals famine and poverty.
English: A Black cat Italiano: Un gatto nero D...
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s interesting to note that 32% of all households in the US (in 2007) had a cat and a majority of cat owners had two cats. And no, I have no idea what color their cats were.

It’s also interesting to be aware that cats (of all colors) can scientifically make you crazy with a parasitic microbe known as Toxoplasma gondii.

‘Infection by a Toxoplasma gondii could make some individuals more prone to some forms of neuroticism and could lead to differences among cultures if enough people are infected’ – Kevin Lafferty, a U.S. Geological Survey scientist at the University of California, Santa Barbara. (source)

This Halloween, we’d like to remind everyone to keep their cat indoors. ‘Round my old neighborhood, cats were seen as objects for kids to throw into bonfires or tie fireworks to. In other neighborhoods, they’re used as live decorations or mock ritual kills. Black cats and Halloween are so prevalent that some shelters refuse to allow people to adopt black cats in October fearing the cat will be killed or abandoned once the holiday is over.

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Cat Week: From Korea to Canada: Frankie’s Story

Frankie the Cat, by Shauna Smith

***Welcome to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, a week of all things CAT.***

Turning my iPod up as loud as I can stand, I’m ignoring everyone else in the staffroom. Realizing that both of my coworkers are staring at me with wide eyes and raised eyebrows, I start in surprise.

“Sabrina,” Kyung-Ha says, “is there a cat?”

Looking from my co-teachers to the cardboard box under Shauna’s desk and back again, I realize that the jig is up.

* * *

“No, Sabrina,” my mom says on the phone. “Don’t do this to me. No. No. No.”

Watching me make my overseas phone call, Shauna’s eyes are round and worried. Not wanting to be involved, Maria and Clare have gone home early. It’s just Shauna, Asia, Emile and me shifting and pacing in a loose huddle. Strangers are barely looking at us as they run up and down the stairs, going in and out of the batting cages.

Just under the steps, someone has laid out a newspaper. There’s a carton of milk and a spoon with just a dribble in it. Not paying the least bit of attention to the spoon or the milk is a tiny orange kitten, no bigger than a ball of yarn, meowing as loud as it can. With distorted K-pop music blaring at each carnival ride, glaring lights flashing and cheap fireworks going off the side of the pier, most people find it easy to ignore.

Before leaving Canada, I promised my mom I wouldn’t acquire any pets. She already has two cats and a dog and she heard a story about a girl who spent hundreds of dollars bringing a dog home from China. Under no circumstances am I to bring this cat home.

“Mom, it’s so small,” I say. “And I’m not bringing it home to you. Shauna’s bringing it home to her mom.”

My mom once nurtured a kitten back from near-death when the mother abandoned it, so I’m sure she can recommend a strategy for saving this one. She says that if we absolutely can’t find the mother, we should check out a pet store and find something called “kitten milk” and feed it slowly with an eye-dropper.

A girl working at the 7-11 generously donates an empty box to our cause and we find a taxi to take us to HomePlus: it’s after nine on a Tuesday and most pet stores are already closed. The kitten mews all through the ride and Emile tries to cover the sound with his own mewing.

Wondering briefly what the taxi driver thinks of foreigners who meow, I remember that my friend Yuri once told me that many Koreans don’t want pet cats because they are considered bad luck. This makes me worry that we won’t be able to find what we want, so I call Chris to see if he can do a Google search on what to feed unweaned kittens. He gives us a short list of ingredients and we head inside.

We quickly learn that HomePlus is not equipped to deal with the rescue of abandoned street cats: there is no kitten milk. Buying the ingredients Chris suggests, Shauna and I wish our friends goodnight and head back to our apartment building. The kitten’s mews are frantic now, but this time neither of us bothers to try and cover the sound for the driver.

It turns out that taking care of a kitten this young isn’t that different from caring for a newborn baby. She needs to be fed every few hours and this presents both the challenge of uninterrupted sleep and going to work. We’ve never explicitly been told we can’t bring pets to school, but it doesn’t seem likely that the kitten, newly named Frankie, will be welcome.

Our office is a narrow room with desks lining the walls. Serving as an irritating obstacle course, a “craft” table and ten chairs fill the rest of the room, forcing seven teachers and the occasional student to navigate with flexibility and gentle pushing. Shauna brings Frankie in a cardboard box and tucks her under her desk without anyone noticing.

For the first part of the day, Shauna manages to time her feedings so that Frankie is asleep while she’s teaching. Once the kindergarteners go home though, she starts teaching her six hour stretch with no real break.

She tries to feed her in the short interval between classes, but it must not be enough because some time after I put my headphones on, Frankie wakes up hungry and probably unimpressed by her cardboard prison. When my coworkers ask if there’s a cat and I hear her mewing, I don’t see how I can deny it.

Kyung-Ha and Helena take turns holding and petting Frankie, who fits comfortably in one hand. When Shauna walks in between classes, she stops, but everyone else coos over the kitten: it’s hard to dislike something so adorable.

For all the problems I have with my hagwon, this is probably the moment when I most appreciate our lack of clear communication. They comment that there is a cat, but no one tells Shauna to take Frankie home. They simply accept Shauna as a working cat-mother, bringing her baby to work when she can’t get a sitter and we simply accept their weirdly progressive views on cat-mother workplace policy.

If you’re wondering how Frankie is doing, she’s all grown up and lives in Canada with Shauna!

Orignally posted on Mousecrackers.

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Cat Week: Cat Bounce, The Ultimate Timewaster

***Welcome to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, a week of all things CAT.***

There’s a site out there called ‘Cat-Bounce‘. It’s this.

Just this.



You control how much they bounce by dragging them around the screen and letting go. The more force you use, the bigger the bounce.

There’s also the option to ‘make it rain‘ cats.

This was submitted to us by CRF Sanders. Feel free to blame him on the 30 minutes of your life you’re about to waste.

Happy Timewasting!

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Cat Week: Tuesday Timewasters: The Internet Cat Video Awards – 10/30

***Welcome to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, a week of all things CAT.***

Above – ‘The Sick Kitten (1903)‘ by George Albert Smith, widely considered as the first kitten video ever made.

‘You know, cat videos are second only to porn as the most watched videos on the internet.’ – My Friend’s Boyfriend on a night out

And he has a point. On August 30th, thousands of cat-lovers gathered at the Walker Art Center to celebrate the phenomenon that is cat videos. With sponsor Animal Planet, the Walker Art Center had over 10,000 submissions to its Internet Cat Video Festival, submissions organiser Katie Hill sat down and watched, trying to narrow down to contestants.

Culled to 79 videos divided into several CATagories, Comedy, Drama, Foreign, Animated, Documentary, Musical, Art House, Lifetime Achievement, and People’s Choice, th videos were shown over the course of 90 minutes at the festival. The People’s Choice award was up for public vote prior to the event and the winner was Henri 2, Paw de Deux, a black and white noir take on the life of a cat in existential crisis.

Below are 10 of our favorite cat videos on the internet and don’t worry if you missed out on the cat film festival, all the films are online for you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home.


Maru, a Japanese kitty obsessed with boxes has been seen by over 8.5 million people worldwide.


This 17 second clip of a surprised kitten has been seen by over 65.5 million people. 65.5 MILLION PEOPLE!


‘So “Nyan Cat” is a looped animation with looped music. It’s this, just like this. It’s been viewed nearly 50 million times this year. And if you think that that is weird, you should know that there is a three-hour version of this that’s been viewed four million times. Even cats were watching this video. Cats were watching other cats watch this video.

But what’s important here is the creativity that it inspired amongst this techie, geeky Internet culture. There were remixes. Someone made an old timey version. And then it went international. An entire remix community sprouted up that brought it from being just a stupid joke to something that we can all actually be a part of. Because we don’t just enjoy now, we participate.’ – Kevin Allocca, YouTube Trends Manager on ‘TED TALKS: Why Vidoes Go Viral’

Incidentally, just to add to the insanity, there’s also a 10 hour version that’s been seen by over 18 million people.


This cat totally looks like Puss in Boots!


Teeny tiny kitten versus giant dog!


Momma cat hugs babby kitty having a nightmare…adding some awwwww to your Tuesday.


51 million people have checked out this video of two cats talking.


If my cat ever started doing this, well, needless to say I’d be scared video it and put it on YouTube, of course! With over 8 million views, this cat sounds like a toddlers refusing to eat his broccoli!


And finally, the winner of The Internet Cat Awards, ‘Hendri 2, Paw de Deux’, the black and white tale of a house cat in the midst of an existential crisis. Oh, and it’s in French.


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Cat Week: Cats Vrs Dogs: Bad Dog

***Welcome to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, a week of all things CAT.***

I think I already covered earlier today how much I prefer cats to dogs. In case you missed it, I. PREFER. CATS.

But even still, this is cute.


Now onto proving dogs are evil:



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Cat Week: Cats Vrs Dogs: In defense of cats

***Welcome to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, a week of all things CAT.***

Aaaaaand sleeping cats for the win!

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Cat Week: Cats Vrs Dogs

***Welcome to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, a week of all things CAT.***

To kick off ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, we’ll start with the age-old debate of cats vrs dogs. Today we’ll be bringing you a plethora of posts about cats and dogs and you decide which one you’d vote for.

In my household, The Canadian One is a dog-lover while I remain on the cat-side of the fence. Fortunately, we live in Korea so getting a pet is not an option anyway but once we hit the Land of the Maple Leaf, the argument will amp up and no doubt, within the year, The Canadian One will be living with one Irish girl, one cat and most probably also a dog. It’ll happen. Check back in one year!

Moving on.

First up, how I imagine The Canadian One sees all cats:

Proof that cats are more introvert and thoughtful…and perhaps paranoid but it that really bad quility…IS IT?!

Cats do things like this:

And this:

AND THIS!!! Helping to pick up the trash!!!

Whereas dogs do this: Create more trash:

And they STEAL coffee:

And they do THIS!!!


Wait…that’s quite cute…bad example…ummmm…

Cats can drive:


Whereas dogs can’t even use the stairs:


Cats will always laugh at your jokes, no matter how bad they are:

Dogs will look at you with the same expression I give my grade one students when they try to hand me a piece of unwrapped candy with their sticky hands:


Dogs are easily confused by cats:

And finally, Star Wars cat, for the win…I think I’ve proven my point.


For further proof that cats are better than dogs look no further than THIS awesome video explaining it:

Although sometimes they can be friends:


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A prelude to Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier

***Welcome to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, a week of all things CAT.***

To prelude tomorrow’s kick-off of ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, I wandered upon this online today. The Ketchup War is not affiliated with Shark Week or this video at all…In fact, I’ve never even watched Shark Week due to my fear of being eaten at sea. Other fears of mine include very small spiders, that shushing noise nylon makes when it’s rubbed together and wallpaper…although that may not be a fear so much as a hatred. It’s the flower patterns. I just don’t get it.

Enjoy this wonderful video from the folks at Revision 3, a very cool internet TV company.


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Click Click Clickity Click

In the run up to ‘Cat Week: Like Shark Week But Fluffier’, we’re urging people to click click clickity click over on The Animal Rescue Site’s ‘Click to give FREE FOOD and CARE’ program.

It’s free.


It’s costs you nothing. Zip! ZILCH! ABSOLUTELY ZERO!

Except time.

It’ll take about 15 seconds….so about the same about of time it’ll take to read this post and spot the spelling error.

You’ve reread the post to fine the spelling error, haven’t you?

To partake in the ‘Click to Give’ program all you gotta do is click on our lovely Cat Week Cat, Maya, and follow the instructions.

You’ll then be greeted with this:

And then THIS:

And boom, you’re done!

Alternately, you can also take part in any of these ‘Click to Give’ programs…also FREE:

Or pick a different one each day…then start again!

Did I mention it’s free? Cos it’s free!

‘We make a living by what we get. We make a life by what we give.’ – Winston Churchhill