Ah, the Agony Column. Who among us has never indulged the guilty pleasure of perusing it? And that goes for our furry friends as well. Last week our readers sent in their thorniest problems; THIS week, everyone’s favorite advice columnist will make short work of them.
Dear Tabby: My mom puts my Pootie Tree toy up at night. Why won’t she let me carry it through the house singing to it all night long? Signed, Mouse – aka Bereft.
Dear Bereft: Sounds to me like jealousy, pure and simple. Listening to you shower endless affection on someone else is more than she can endure. And really — how long HAS it been since you’ve shown her the kind of attention you show the toy? Try singing to HER all night long for a change. Don’t be shy, climb right up on the bed and belt out some Whitney Houston. Give it all you’ve got and don’t let up. You may be surprised at how quickly this reassures her. I give it no more than ten minutes before she leaps out of bed, hands you your toy, and slams the door (appreciatively!) behind you.
Dear Tabby: I would like to be included in family holidays. Last Thanksgiving I kept the green bean casserole warm while my humans got dressed. I was left at home and no leftovers were brought home for me. How do I get them to remember me this next turkey day? Inquiringly, Sad and starving to death
Dear Starving: A possible tactic might be to exhibit extreme lassitude and pickiness for a few meals just preceding Thanksgiving: Crawl toward your bowl but collapse with a faint “mew” before reaching it. You will scare them into pleading with you to eat. Take a few bites, but just nibble. Do this for a couple days. (You can fill up on a mouse or two after they have retired). Your apparent growing weakness will terrify them and they will probably leave Thanksgiving dinner early and bring home the whole carcass to tempt you.
Dear Tabby: My humans just won’t shut up about my age and my supposed lack of grooming (I do not have mats, I’m trying out dreads), and all this nonsense talk is making me kind of cranky. How do I get them to treat me with the respect I’m due?
Dear Disrespected: Lack of grooming ? Well isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black! I’ve never known a single one of them to bother to lick themselves, no matter how desperately they needed it. There was one four-year-old boy who’d occasionally put his thumb in his mouth. He got no encouragement from his parents, of course. I myself tried to mentor him by demonstrating the correct position for reaching the back of the thighs, but the little heathen just shrieked with laughter and seized my tail. And they wonder why we’re cranky.
Dear Tabby:
Izzit okay fer me to wear mah lederhosen to teh opera?
Signed Jupiter, aka All Dresst Up But…
Dear All-Dressed-Up:
No dear, not unless it's Wagner and you are actually planning to sing.
Unfortunately, there are few operatic pieces among Wagner’s (or anybody’s) works suitable for the feline vocal apparatus. The only thing that comes to mind is the brief yet poignant and earsplitting aria sung by Sigfried's cat GottVerdammtKatze when Brunnhilde accidentally steps on his tail.
Dear Tabby: When we let our woozle outside, he doesn’t always do his doo-doo thing. My wife tells me that I have to look at him and watch or he won’t go. I say we should just let him explode. Who’s right? Signed, GrumpyOldGeek
Dear Grumpy: You hoomins are such introverts. I myself never pass a bathroom door without dropping in for a social call. It’s the perfect time to bond! Your dog probably feels the same way, so please try to show a little bonhomie. But if, on consideration, you choose to let him explode instead, please – I beg you – post a gif on your twitter feed. I’m dying to see that.
Dear Tabby: Why does my Meowmy not play with the mice I sometimes catch in the house? She seems really happy that I catch them, but she won't play with them! And then she makes them disappear, too! Signed Ummie, aka Befuddled
Dear Befuddled: It is possible that your Meowmy had a very strict upbringing in which play was discouraged. Unfortunately, such early training can make a deep impression that lasts well into adulthood, severely limiting the amount of fun your Meowmy will allow herself to have. You could render her a great service by gently coaxing out her inner child. Mice seem to be a bridge too far at the moment, but have you tried less challenging games like “Hide the Hairball”? I recommend placing one inside her shoe or atop a library book or favorite chair. Let the laughter ring out!
Dear Tabby: Inoze dat murdurin sumwun iz a sin, butt wot abowt juss thinkin abowt et? Signed, Just Curious
Dear Curious: It’s a free country. What goes on between your two ears is nobody’s business but yours – unless, like me, you like to give people an occasional brief glimpse by slowly unsheathing a single, scimitar-like claw, or perhaps baring your teeth menacingly before turning it into an innocent yawn.
Dear Tabby: Why do I have to suppress my natural behavior around humans? This was a perfectly clean kill. “In the tub!” they said. “Eeek!” they said. Any thoughts would be welcomed. Sincerely, Disgruntled
Dear Disgruntled: So many misunderstandings arise between cats and their hoomins surrounding this bizarre ritual of theirs called “the bath”. It turns out that things must be done in a certain order, and timing is everything! For example, you’re not supposed to place anything in the dry vessel. Wait until it’s full of warm, sudsy water and your hoomin has immersed him or herself and has settled back. You’ll know the time is right when they utter a sigh of contentment – THAT is when you should spring lithely to the rim and drop in the dead mouse.
Dear Tabby: Auntie keeps these feathery squeaky toys all over the farm, and they run so enticingly. Later she cooks them, and some go in my food, but if I try to eat one not cooked i am a Bad Dog. Can you explain this illogical prohibition? Signed, Lady
Dear Lady: It’s impossible to explain. As you so rightly pointed out, it’s completely unreasonable! But long years of experience have taught me that you can’t get a hoomin to listen to sense, so you are going to have to come up with a way to channel your feathery-toy-hunting impulses into an activity that won’t attract her attention. Perhaps yodeling? I hear Riverdance is popular these days.
Dear Tabby: Why won’t my hoomin allow me in this closet all the time? All my favorite quilts are in here. Who knew that is where she hid them? Signed Marvin, aka Shut Out
Dear Shut Out: That is one magnificent cat bed! If she isn’t giving you access, could it be that she intends the closet to be a guest room or perhaps is even thinking of renting it through HairB&B? A bud of catnip placed invitingly on the top quilt would be a clue, as would a stack of brochures depicting local attractions like that place in the living room that gets the afternoon sunbeams, the spot under the couch where you hide your toys and – for outdoorsy types – the downspout where the salamanders congregate or that stretch of picket fence where you can taunt the neighbor’s dog.
Dear Tabby: Why does my hoomin get annoyed with me when I paw at the bedcovers to wake her up at 5am? I only want to be petted. For all I know she might be dead. I’m just checking on her welfare. You would think she’d be more grateful. Signed Rico — Call me Frustrated!
Dear Frustrated: You are to be commended for providing her with the close monitoring that hoomins need in order to function at even a minimal level. Don’t think she isn’t aware of and grateful for your efforts! But semi-conscious hoomins lack the full complement of faculties required to properly express these positive feelings. Instead they appear cranky and inattentive. You need to try something more vigorous than pawing to help your hoomin become fully awake and responsive. If you have under-cover access, try lightly biting a toe.
Dear Tabby: I have an issue with Mom. I want to go out after dark, but Mom says, “No, there are coyotes in the neighborhood.” I’m not afraid of the mangy critters. What to do? Thx, Mittens
Dear Mittens: There are exceedingly rare instances in which a hoomin is in the right, and I am afraid this is one of them. You really shouldn’t go out at night if there are coyotes about. (But that doesn’t mean you can’t paw the back door incessantly all night long until everyone is on their last nerve. Silver linings! )
Dear Tabby: Sometimes I feel I must walk around the house singing the song of my people. The hoomins talk at me but never understand the depth of my feeling. What more can a cat do? Signed, Misunderstood Diva
Dear Diva: The cultural insensitivity of hoomins is astounding. What does it take to penetrate those thick skulls and impress upon them the solemnity of the occasion? Perhaps you could try a little more pageantry. A few eye-catching dingles on the backside might be all it takes to get them to jump straight into the procession, hot on your heels, singing along at the top of their lungs and waving those white prayer flags (what are they called? Oh yes – paper towels). PS: Head for the best furniture.
Dear Tabby: What can a cat wear after a lion cut so Andy doesn’t make fun of her for not wearing any pants? Asking for a friend…
Dear Asking:
Ha ha ha! Oh… oh...
I know what! Here...
Wear this! WEAR THIS!!!!
*snort*
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