Scooter: I'm famous.

Me: You're what??

Scooter: I'm famous. Thousands read about my glorious self yesterday.

Me: Well, we know at least three people did.

Scooter: Three, thousands, it doesn't matter. I'm famous and now I am universally adored.

Me: Don't you consider yourself a little vain over all this??

Scooter: Vain is such a harsh word. I'm wounded.

Me: You're not wounded. (I roll my eyes.)

Scooter: Do you think this picture shows my sweet and innocent side??

Me: Absolutely Scooter, and I won't even mention the time you tried to drag the roast chicken off the table.

Scooter: That hurts. Oh my fifth rib.

~~~~~

There's been no living with Scooter since his debut into the Thursday Thirteens. He had so much more that he wanted to share. He kept trying to sit on the keyboard. I have no idea what his tushie would have typed out. If he just had thumbs though...look out world; he'd be one furry little journalist.

He celebrated his brush with greatness by sleeping on the sofa. He doesn't normally do this as he prefers the coziness of the feather bed in our room. I think he snoozes on the sofa for special occasions. Maybe it's like going on a little vacation. You know the kind. The bed isn't quite as comfy as yours at home, but the room is different and the excitement of just being there is enough to counterbalance that "harder than home" bed. Who knows.

Is it even possible to get into the mind of a cat?? There's an open question. They go from one end of the realm to the other. Cats play stupid so well...when in reality they're planning world domination. Hey...I saw Logan's Run. Don't tell me they can't outlast us!!

I think Scooter is part of some great underground network of Intellicats. Even now, he's trying to put a halt to this publication. 22 lbs of fur just walked across the keyboard. No wonder the last one just gave out. It was crushed under the weight. I digress.

For now I will watch out for those sea-green eyes and their wiley ways, the purr of his internal Evinrude motor and the velvet softness of his caramel colored tummy. They get me everytime.

Our furry companions. Where would we be without them??

And now without further delay. World, meet Scooter. Scooter, your adoring fans await.

13

Thirteen Things about SCOOTER!! 1. Chicken is the center of the universe as I know it. 2. Napping is an artform. It should be worked at until perfect. 3. I weigh over 22 lbs. Mommy said she would make me into a toilet seat cover if I listed her weight. 4. I sit up and beg like a dog. 5. Hairballs rule. 6. Blapping is not only useful but it's recreational as well. Never worry about where you throw up either. 7. If I only had thumbs... 8. I'm old enough to drive...but I can't reach the pedals. 9. I have no front claws. How did I let THAT happen?? 10. I have back claws but they're covered with Soft Claws. I'll figure how to get them off if it's the last thing I ever do. 11. My Mommy loves it when the clock says 11:11. Strange woman. 12. I am an indoor cat. They need me to be the heavy in case of intruders. 13. I hate all things BUG!! I knock them down, catch them, and then gnaw them until their lifeless bodies are at my mercy...then I bat them around the floor. So sue me, I'm a cat. Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. Suz 2. mama b 3. marv 4. katherine (leave your link in comments, I’ll add you here!)

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The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

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Scooter: It's dark outside. I should sleep.

Me: You sleep all the time.

Scooter: See??

Me: Why don't you do something meaningful??

Scooter: What, like blog??

~~~~~

Ok, so here's the question. Is he right??

This could be one of the great mysteries of life. Of course, it could be that I simply own a lazy cat. A big lazy cat.

Scooter knows when I don't feel well. He knows it better than anyone. Having lupus as I do is an everyday adventure and a real pain.

When I'm down and sick Scooter is my shadow and he stays by me in bed. I was down today and have been for a couple of days. Between us, we've made dents in the feather bed from just laying around. Scooter doesn't mind losing these days. I mean he'd be sleeping somewhere anyhow, but I on the other hand feel cheated by all of it.

I wanted to catch the story on the TODAY show this morning about the sale of their 2005 Green Room Book. There are over 400 signatures in the book collected over the year and right now it's up for sale on eBay. 100% of the proceeds will benefit The Lupus Foundation of America (http://www.lupus.org). Of course I was sick with the lupus this morning and slept right through it. There is something strangely ironic about that.

Somewhere this afternoon, I managed to get up and going again. Scooter is worn out from looking after me. He's decided to stay in bed a little longer. No doubt he'll wake up in time to eat something, just in time to go to bed. I wish I had his stamina.

Scooter: "Why are you taking my tree away??"

Me: "It's January. It has to go."

Scooter: "I like sitting beneath it. It's warm and comfy."

Me: "You have a hundred places that are warm and comfy. Besides, the tree is as crisp as an apple."

Scooter: "I need a nap."

~~~~~

My poor Scooter Boy. Everything in life is stress for him. Cats seem to think that everything...every movement, every noise, everything is a personal threat to their lives. Scooter is no exception to this. He can be in a deep (snoring) sleep and if a spider walks across the ceiling it all breaks loose!! He's awake immediately and making those "Someone kill it...I can't reach it." noises.

Granted, Scooter is only 8 years old, but when he was a kitten he would climb anywhere and everywhere using whatever means necessary to get a spider or anything else "bug". These days however, he knows that if he "yowls" long enough someone will kill it for him and "tada", a free meal falls from heaven itself!!

I miss the kitten days. Well, I miss them a little. He was so tiny when I brought him home. He could sit on the palm of my hand and he would crawl onto my shoulder and fall asleep. He weighed practically nothing. These days he tips the scales at over 22 lbs. When he crawls up on your shoulder it's a little like having a large sack of flour strapped to you. I digress however.

The tree is what I meant to tell you about. Once I mention that it's coming down, Scooter disappears to the safety and extreme comfort of the lower bunk bed. Except for the occasional "cookie break" (his, not mine) he's not heard from.

It astounds me how many needles there are on a Christmas tree. They're endless too. I'm certain that for each needle that falls, 40 more sprout on the lifeless tree. It's alright, believe what you will but those needles are somewhat unnerving to me. Come next November I'll still be finding them despite the fact that I vacuum ALL of them up. There should be a study done to investigate this. There's something worthwhile to do with government funds. It's possible that pine needles could be the next neverending fuel source.

I'm wondering if I should go to the curb and haul that big green puppy back here. I could be in possession of a money maker!!

I won't tell Scooter. He won't care in the least.

"What??" he says.

"To be quite honest, I was wondering why you have to "blap" all the time," I respond.

I get a look that is half astonishment and all offended. He is, when all is said and done, a cat. Granted, the ability to hurl partly digested dry and/or canned food into varied and sundry shapes is a coveted talent, but c'mon...it's disgusting. Worse than that, it smells like a dead goat.

Cats really really have the life. We feed them, we clean up after them, we tote that barge and lift that bale for them and still they give us looks that say, "It's not quite good enough".

There are people that I'd like to give that look to. No, not anyone in particular...at least no one that I want to admit to in a public forum. Or think about. Gag...I feel a hairball coming on.

Maybe that's it. Scooter is hairballing for me. Maybe he senses the disgust I feel for a chosen few and he is blapping on my behalf. It's a great theory right up until that look I get from him. It's the smugness. It's the "I'm above you...please clean that up" look.

Perhaps if he were hairballing for me I could excuse it a little. ?? Ok...that's a stupid statement. Of course I couldn't excuse it. I'm nickel and diming myself to death on paper towels and Lysol cleaner...and all of that for a smug look and a switch of a tabby tail. Sigh.

He's napping again and I am looking at blap on the rug. I love my cat. I will clean it up and probably ask him if it's up to his standards. He'll roll and purr and tell me to bring him a snack.

Like a lemming...I will obey.

Scooter is a cat.

A huge cat...even by cat standards.

He's 22 lbs. and some odd ounces. I know...it scares me too.

Sometimes, he speaks...sometimes...if you're listening.

~~~~~

Today Scooter watched with some trepidation as Hazel the Roomba wound her way around the dining room. I know what he was thinking. He hates her. He's intimidated by Hazel, this much is certain. More than that though. He hates her. I know that in his cat dreams he pounces on her with all the ferocity of a mountain lion. As he throws her lifeless ragdoll form into the air, a sense of great pride wells up inside of him. The victorious and the prey.

This is, of course, the point in the dream where he wakes up. Foiled again, he is forced to co-exist with Hazel.

I think this is why he sleeps so much...just so he can have this dream over and over again.

Hazel is oblivious to Scooter's hatred for her. In fact she does everything in her power to cozy up to him. (This could be one of the reasons he hates her. It's just a hunch.) We've taken to telling him that "Hazel is going to make noise". He looks at me with "that big red round thing" is on the prowl eyes.

He hates her.

When Hazel turns left, Scooter runs for the safety and dreams of the bed. He pauses as he passes.

"I hate her," he says and off he goes.