Sunday, August 26, 2012


In response to our friend
Katnip Lounge's question
about us changing the name
of our blog, just because of Marmalade, we say

I, Pişi, am still the queen of this blog


I, Squeak, will leave home if she even tries to do that!

This is our blog, that's final.

We'll continue to write on it, too,
whenever she (our Big Two Legged One) sits down long enough
and gives us a chance!

We love our blogging friends, and we hope you're all doing well --

You'll be seeing more of us, too
(though she keeps grumbling about classes starting . .  .)

with love from

Pişi and Squeak

Friday, August 10, 2012


Hello friends,

We are really still here.

Our human has been thinking way too much lately  --

She's a teacher, you know, and getting ready to go back to school.

Also, she spends a lot of time in the gardens.

It appears there's another cat hanging out in the garden --

here he is.

His name is Marmalade:

We think he's kind of handsome,
but we sure hope mom doesn't bring him inside.

There's a neighbor who feeds him --

but he sure likes our house --
What will happen in winter???

Hope everyone's having a good August

with love
from Pisi and Squeak

Saturday, August 4, 2012

Cooked Meat

Why is Pisi saying
when she follows me around,
even after she has eaten?

Is she asking me to feed her again?

I beg to differ; she's actually asking me to feed
myself.  She is, after all,
domesticated.  And
in the cat world, "domesticated" means
to prefer ones meat
especially over an open fire.

Because that's how it was cooked
aeons ago when
the first brave feline took the step -- 
or should I say,
the first hungry feline took that step 
into that huddle of men,
that circle of fire,
and chose to not attack
but rather accepted
                                          the rules, and in accepting
                             the rules, received
Cooked Meat.  

Cooked Meat? the first brave cat or two meowed
and then ate some more
and liked it.
And once into cooked
meat, there was no
turning back.

My cat, Pisi, might I note, is a 
frontier cat, a border 
not content with mice 
or just one street corner.
That's why she's with me.

Now, that primitive connoisseur cat invited other cats
like itself to dine with her, and gradually,
they all joined the human coterie,
and in joining
-- and surviving -- 
developed an innate sense memory to find
Cooked Meat.  Smell
sense and sound sense and 
sight sense and sixth sense, the cat 
knows the meat is cooking and awaits
its arrival, patiently.  Obediently.  After
a few generations, the cats become
programmed to believe that
Cooked Meat is the only ticket
to survival.  So

my meowing evening cat, following me
from every task to every task except 
cooking meat, is not demanding more
cat food, but rather expects that since I give her
meat even when she doesn't ask for
Meat, she'd much prefer I just
Cook Meat.   Cook Meat! is what she says, not
"cat food."  She wants
Cooked Meat.  And once I
Cook Meat, and Share Meat,
she is replete, and if I'm 
good, she might even let me
pet her,
brush her,
tame her.

My cat Pisi, plucked early in life
from Ankara's cat-killing streets,
learned fast.  Domestication appealed
when she knew the wild would 
turn her into
Raw Meat.  So she said, pass the
Cooked Meat, and keep it coming!  And she has traveled for miles
with me because I give it
to her,
even when she doesn't ask.

The domestic cat, like any
domesticated creature
requires consistency.  She
wants the meat everyday,  or else
she'll eat your ankle.

Take heed:
the cats