NO NAME CHANGE TO THIS BLOG!

In response to our friend

Katnip Lounge's question

about us changing the name

of our blog, just because of Marmalade, we say

NO WAY!!!

I, Pişi, am still the queen of this blog

and 

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

Marmalade

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

Cooked Meat

Why is Pisi saying

when she follows me around,

              miaowing,

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

cooked,

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 

cat,

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:

FEED

the cats