“Well, that’s a very sad story, and I feel for you, but it isn’t time for your lunch.”

“Get down. Get down. No, no, no — down on the floor. The desk is for humans. The floor is for cats.”

“You’ve got a whole apartment full of things to sit on. Would you care to explain why you’ve chosen my foot? Because I have to stir the sauce, and I can’t reach it with a cat on my foot. Well, no, you don’t have to care, but you do have to get off my foot and sit someplace else. Okay, see, while my other foot technically qualifies as ‘someplace else,’ I think you may have missed my point. ‘Get off my foot’ is my point. I feel it’s a strong one. So get off. Now. Please. Thank you.”

“Please stop pawing at that picture. Yes, I understand that, but I think the picture is straight already, so I don’t think you need to sit on the bookcase and paw at it. So please stop pawing at it, because it makes that awful screechy noise when the frame scrapes against the…could you stop that now? Please?”

“Don’t give me that look.”

“Oh, I agree that your imminent starvation is a tragedy from which the world would never recover. However, you’ll notice the presence of kibble in your bowl. Yes, ‘that.’ Yeeees, I know you ‘don’t want that,’ but it isn’t time for your lunch. No, it isn’t. No, it isn’t!”

“Stop it.”

“Look, it’s not like I didn’t tell you I needed my chair back. In fact, I believe that I asked you quite nicely if you would mind moving to the bed, which is much softer and better for napping anyw– ohhh, you did NOT just flatten your ears at me. Don’t you dare flatten your ears at me! Pick those ears up RIGHT NOW, you little ingrate!”

“Look at the clock. Look at the clock, please. Oh, don’t give me that ‘I can’t tell time’ crap. You know what a two looks like, fat boy. Do you see a two on that clock? No. No, you certainly don’t. So do you get lunch now? No, you certainly don’t. No two, no lunch.”

“Seriously. You have to get off my foot now. No, now — ‘now,’ like ‘right now’ now! Please. Thank you.”

“Okay, look. I want you to watch me while I cover up the poo, because it’s really quite simple to learn, and I think that once get in the habit, you’ll — hey. Hey! Get back here! Excuse me — excuse me! Do you think I enjoy having to come in here and fight a current of cartoon stink-waves and flip kitty litter over your poo, which you should know how to do yourself in the first place, especially since you spent a good ten minutes digging around and here and spraying litter all over the floor? Hello?”

“Let’s go over it again. Human? Desk. Cat? Floor. Now get on the floor and stay there or I will give you away to a very mean family.”

“What is the bathmat doing out here? No, the other two cats who live in the air conditioner — yes, ‘you.’ What is it doing — get back here, mister!”

“I want you to stop chewing on that phone cord right now. I want you to stop — okay, stop chewing on the — I saaaaaid STOP! Also, you do not belong on my desk! So get down!”

“The truth of the matter is that my hand is not a toy. Okay? This — this is a toy. It’s mouse-shaped, and it contains catnip. You’ll notice upon closer observation that my hand is neither of those th– OW! Jesus! What did I just say?”

“Hobey…please. It is not two o’clock. Therefore, it is not lunchtime. Also, get off my foot.”

“All right, here’s the deal. Everyone who hasn’t gotten up on my desk and shoved important pieces of paperwork into the trash one by one over the course of the last fifteen minutes may spend the night out here instead of in the bathroom. Not so fast, Little Joe.”

“Could you…not…step on my face? I don’t think that’s a lot to ask for, I really don’t.”

“Good job — goooood job! Except I think you might have left a liiiiittle bit of stuffing in the arm of the couch, so you should probably claw it again and — oh, brother. It’s called sarcasm, cats. Look it up. Also, STOP THAT!”

“Interesting human-behavior factoid for you guys — we usually sleep at this hour. The hour in question, since you insist on pretending that you can’t tell time, is three-thirty in the morning. You can tell because it’s dark outside. Now lie down and go to sleep or it’s seven all-expenses-paid hours in the Bathroom Hilton.”

“I hate you. No, don’t bother. I hate you.”

“Do you think I can’t hear you futzing around on the table? I can hear you. Would you like to know why I can hear you? I can hear you because the table is only eight feet away, and because you meowed, loudly, and because when you sit your fat ass down in my jewelry box and start stirring my necklaces with your paw, the hinges of the box make a sad groaning sound, so get your hairy grey butt down from there RIGHT THIS INSTANT or I will rig up a catapult and fire you hiiiigh into the air, and then I will laugh the laugh of sweet freedom as you get sucked into the engine of A PASSING JET PLANE.”

“I realize that this is a foreign concept to you, but try to follow me here. I need to work, and I cannot work in a barrage of yowling, particularly when said yowling takes place over an hour before regulation lunchtime.”

“Oh, please don’t yawn, please don’t yawn in my face, please d– eccccch.”

“No no no no no, I just lint-rolled these p– yeah. Hi. Yep, I love you too. Uhhhh huh. Can we move it along, please? Nice cat. Now get off me.”

“Please stop humping the Hobe.”

“You know, you have a water bowl. You’ve had a water bowl for almost seven years now. Just in case, you know, you ever wanted to stop licking moisture off the shower curtain. The bowl’s right in the kitchen. No? Okay, carry on.”

“If you don’t get off the TV this VERY minute, I will kill you and bake you into a pie, and I assure you, nutmeg BURNS.”

“Drinking out of my water glass is one thing. Sticking your paws into my water glass and flicking droplets into my eye? Another thing entirely. So stop doing it. And get down. And don’t give me that look. And go away. And shut up.”

“I heard a crash in here, and I want answers, so don’t think you can — cats? Cats! Come here right now and — cats?”

“When you sleep on my towel and I dry my face later, I get cat hair all over my face. So could you sleep on something that’s not my towel, please? Something that’s not my towel and is also in Beijing, very far away, because I hate you?”

“Get off the toaster oven.”

“Shut up.”

“Aw, look at the Hobe. The Hobe, unlike SOME PEOPLE, is sleeping peacefully on the bed during the wee hours of the morning. He’s not hogging the covers. He’s not jumping around like a bushy caffeinated jumping bean with emotional problems. He’s not “mee”-ing, and he’s certainly…not…licking — why — all right, now, please stop licking my shoe. No, stop that. Because it’s disgusting, that’s why! Stop that! Why would you lick a sweaty — I SAID STOP THAT! God! Oh, great — now you’ve woken up the Hobe. Nice one.”

“Hobey, everyone else is going to sleep now. See? Lying down? Eyes closed? Not sitting by the front door? Not bawling and patting the deadbolt?”

“Get back here, you imp!”

“Please remove your tail from my nose.”

“Yeah, ‘starving to death.’ Riiiiight. Hey, guess what? It is NOT TIME for your LUNCH! So SHUT UP! Okay, fine, FINE, I will feed you now, but ONLY because I have a LOT of work to do and I cannot do ANY of it because YOU refuse to eat the deeeee-LICIOUS kibble which I have so thoughtfully provided, and I want to make it clear that you should NOT expect that hail of whining to work in the future, because this is a ONE-TIME THING. Also, if you want to eat, you need to get OUT of MY WAY so that I can GET to the CAT FOOD. Yeah, ‘thanks.’ Okay, OKAY, I have to open the can fir– get OFF my FOOT! Please! Thank you! God. Here. Are you happy n– oh, come on. It’s tuna and cheese! You LOVE tuna and cheese! Well, that’s too goddamn bad. If you don’t like it, you can hop up on the counter FOR THE FOURTEENTH TIME TODAY, get the menus, and order in. This isn’t a goddamn hotel. Okay, you can’t really hop up on the counter, so please get down. Yes, ‘now.’ NOW.”

“Ooh, a big tail. That’s sooooo scary. Not. Get off my desk.”

“You’ve got a choice here, tough guy. You can withdraw that fang from my ankle, or you can — you know what, just withdraw the fang. Okay? Get your — NO BITING!”

“It would kill you to sit somewhere else for five minutes? I just finished polishing my toen– oh, it’s MY fault you have Rum Raisin on your tail now? Yeah, I ain’t having that.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize I couldn’t turn over in my OWN BED. No, excuse ME. I wanted a smidgen of feeling in my right leg, but I can see now that that’s asking TOO MUCH of the CROWN PRINCE. Yeah, cry me a river. Okay, I didn’t mean that literally, because I’d like to get some sl– no, you may not go out! Go — somewhere besides the door! Silently! Or I will fold you up like a paper airplane and throw you out the wind– oh, great, now you’ve woken up Little Joe. Nice one.”

“I believe I just asked you politely not to walk around on my desk. Oh, that’s cute — that’s verrrrry cute. ‘Oh my, what’s this I see beneath my wicked little feet? The desk? Why, I just don’t know how I got up here!’ Nice try. Now get down, shut up, and shut up. Okay, start with ‘get down’ and then we’ll work on ‘shut up.'”

“Don’t do it. No, really. Don’t try to jump from the bookshelf to the — oh, dear. Did you hurt yourself? Come here. Come here so I can make sure you didn’t hurt yourself. No, never mind — hiss at me, then skulk behind a chair and hide. Good cat! Jesus Christ.”

“It’s awfully good of you to think of me, but actually, I already know what your butt looks like. No, I really do. I really, really — okay, ew, you need to get your butt out of my face. Get. Your butt. Out. Of my face. Geeeeet your buuuuuuutt out ooooooof my faaaaaace…pleeeeeease…because I do not liiiiiike to siiiing soooonnnngs…about your buuuuutt…that is iiiiin my faaaaaace…agaaaaaaain. Hey, who wants to sing the ‘Meet My Butt’ song? No one? Too bad, here we go. ‘Meet my butt, meet my butt, come! On! Out! And! Greet my butt!’ Okay, see you guys later.”

“I received that stuffed Powerpuff Girl as a gift. Now she’s mangled and dead. How do you live with yourselves?”

“I want you dead.”

“Actually, I don’t need to press the sine button just now. Thanks, though. Uh huh, thanks. THANKS. Now get down. DOWN. The other ‘down.’ Right. On the floor.”

“Could you enlighten me as to why you take a crap and then feel compelled to stampede around here like a crazed bull in a OH JEEZ WATCH OUT FOR THAT DIET COKE oh noooooo. You know, just once, I’d like to deposit a check without a brown footprint on it. Could I do that, just once? Okay, SLOW DOWN!”

“Aw.”

“Get out of my underwear drawer, please. How did you get in there, anyway? You know what, I don’t care, just get out.”

“Stop clawing my boob.”

“Get your foot out of my plate. Thanks. Get your other foot out of my plate. Thanks.”

“You already had catnip today. Do I look like a pimp to you?”

“‘Cats! Huah! What are they good for? Absolutely nothing, say it again!’ Oh, yeah? Well, I don’t think it’s funny either, buddy. Don’t like my singing? Pack a bag and get out.”

“Get away from my toothbrush.”

“You know, it’s just a desk. It’s not even that great. I don’t see why you insist on hopping up there — using my printer as a stepladder, might I add, which I must insist that you stop doing, because the printer does not have a ‘cat fur’ setting — and I really don’t see why you continue to hop up there when doing so will get you stuffed into a cannon and shot into a giant net in New Jersey. Oh, don’t think I won’t. I even bought you a tiny helmet with stars on the side. NOW GET DOWN, RINGLING BROTHER!”

“Kill me. Just…kill me now.”

August 12, 2002

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