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Inertia! That’s Frankie sitting in that chair, she’s the queen of inertia.   Here’s a picture of her at a party recently, she looked so dead that even the party people were taking photos of her and she never woke up once.     Inertia can kill a cat! But I’m Ringo, ROAR,    I think on my feet unlike Frankie there.  She still has all her lives left and she’s an ancient,  but she’s a risk taker, I like that, She sits on a chair and dares that male crane to come and peck the crap out of her, and does she look worried, no –

She’s lazy and will avoid moving unless motivated,  a hurricane would have to blow her away to get her off that chair, or a good meal.  But what does she know of a really good meal? She thinks bagged, dry cat food is gourmet – HA!

I’m Ringo, ROAR, I have been run over and had a couple other brushes with death,  just call me Kryptonite Kat – I have enough lives left to kick some cat ass when I feel like it!

Getting back to those cranes, they are tall and fully block the sun when they stand near me. I have had a number of run ins with those birds, they think they can put one over on me, but I’m just too stealthy  for those bird brains.  Here’s some past moments of cat/crane encounters:

my old buddy Church, cool in the face of grave danger!    Here’s my tete d’ tete.   

I should have jumped on his back and taken a ride!  

That just looks like they had me cornered, I slipped out from behind.     I have had more crane encounters than I care to count,  and I have never ever tried to go after one of their babies either, I have standards. ROAR – I’M RINGO!

As for inertia – I am guilty from time to time, but Frankie is so much better at it… 

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ROAR – I’M RINGO AND I’LL BITE!   My person has been away 9 days, like I care! Her son Adam has been feeding me, even tries to pet me, I love biting him, his scrunched up face upon teeth impact makes it all  worth while!  I miss Abbe not being here to fish, so tonight when she got out the tackle box and came to the lake.  I was right there waiting. She took out that Glove thing and gave me a nice massage,   I have to admit, that  rubdown felt great, my winter hair is shedding.  Then I sat down near her rod and watched the bobber.  Not much happening and then the bobber sunk and she caught a turtle, a big soft shell. She pulled it in and took the hook out, the slimy oaf looked funny and  stayed on his back till he finally figured out he was free to go.   Those reptiles are worthless, if I get near one, the head hides inside the shell, what fun is it to tease something that won’t even look at you?    It took a while till she landed a shiner,  damn she is slow,  her other kid, Aaron, now he knows how to throw a cast net and then I don’t have to wait for anything!   I don’t think Abbe even holds her rod right, Aaron says she holds it upside down.
Luckily the herons weren’t around.  I grabbed the fish and walked away in case one of those big birds decided to claim it. I might be, RINGO, but I know better than to mess with a beak a foot long!  –I impaled that shiner and ate every last bone except the ugly head,  it was a personal rather ironic statement to leave that vacant eyed, staring fish face looking at the water, ha ha, ROAR – I’M RINGO!
Abbe caught a bream too, but threw it back, what a dumbass, she could have given me a second helping!  Why does she fish anyway? She never  eats anything she catches, it makes no sense, or as stated by Edgar Watson Howe,
Fishing seems to be the favorite form of loafing.”  I’ll give her that! – Hey, I know these things because she quotes them out loud to herself at the lake.
Why do humans talk to themselves like that anyway?
Later that night I admit, I did go inside, but only to eat and get a few pets, I hate being caged and being inside is like that, so I only stay a few hours to give Abbe some cat-is-faction! Because ROAR – I’M RINGO.

Okay, she did take pictures of me,     but you throw me a fish, and I’ll let you take pictures of me too.   ROAR- I’M RINGO…

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   Roar I’m Ringo, non-domesticated cat, handle me wrong, pet me one stroke too long and I won’t think twice about biting you.  Despite what Abbe says, she’s NOT my owner, that’s a hairballed lie, I’m my own cat — she is just an old lady who thinks because she has me vaccinated and feeds me that I am one of her possessions, one of her other domesticated, dust collecting cats bending to her will. She could not be more wrongo! I use her for food and a dry place to sleep when I feel like it.  Call me what you want, I’m ionocat-clastic, breaking down stereotypes of what a domesticated house cat is ‘spose to be– it ain’t me babe, no no no, it ain’t me babe, it ain’t me you’re looking for babe, thank you Bobcat  Dylan.     
    Those two old house cats of hers aren’t even worth bothering with, first of all they’re both cat-a-tonic. Frankie’s 17 in human years, which makes her ga-zillion in cat years. She sleeps most of the time and when she’s awake she bitches, (no insult to the canine readers out there.)  If I’m within ten feet of her, she ‘s a damn banshee, she screams like she’s going to kick my butt,  but it’s quite the ruse, she’s all noise and no action,  like those cat nip toys with the squeakers – gotta press em before they do anything, ya might say I’m a ‘presser’.  Frankie’s fast with her paws, tries to scratch my face when I tease, but she has no claws and no one has bothered to tell her that. When she smacks me, it’s all I can do to keep a straight face, it’s just my sarcastic side that makes me fall to the floor my side and pretend that she has drop kicked me with the force of a  steel-toed boot.     She thinks she got the best of me and  I let her think it, what the Hell’s wrong with that – she’s old? Her and that stupid stuffed chicken always keeping secrets – can you imagine confiding in a stuffed chicken? I’m telling you, both the cats and Abbe have brains like that stuffed bird.
    And then there’s stinky Sealy, she’s the same old age, a ga-zillion-plus. She walks like something alien or maybe more like the vet left a thermometer up her ass. She smells like a sulphur cloud — she is one pathetic looking feline. Maybe she was a real shiny pussy in her day, but her prime is way past – she screams louder than Frankie.  Luckily I don’t have to see her much, she’s reclusive, keeps her cat hairs and furballs and stink in the back bedroom.      
       I did have a kin spirit when Abbe moved in here about 6 years ago, Flip was the boss cat where I was brought to live next door with Kristi , Andy and Drew. Flip was older and would put me in my place, but he passed away years ago. Then I met Church when Abbe moved in, he did look exactly like the cat in Pet Cemetery! Church was a cat’s cat!  I had his back, he had mine. We would spend hours on Abbe’s back porch swapping cat tales. I had respect for old Church, but last year the dude-cat kept losing weight   and one day, he was gone– never saw him again.  He was like me, born feral, though he was adopted years before I was born. He kept showing up to eat the cat food with Sealy and Frankie in the mid 1990’s before they moved here and Abbe took him in. I was much younger when Kristi found me hanging around the building where she worked, point is, me and Church were not born in a cushy home for peoples entertainment, we were woods raised and then adopted by people who think they own us. Why are humans so possessive?
    Church would stand up to dogs, raccoons and was a fine rat-ter. We both might have been technically ‘clipped’, but we both remembered what it feels like to have real balls! He was a fine representative of our species.  RIP Church brother-cat!  
    So what’s the need for a catblog? Maybe u need to see what life for a REAL cat is like, I’m not one of these indoor, spoiled, pampered puss types, not those cats you see on leashes or even worse, in strollers! No, I’m 17 pounds of Hell, a bad ass, the neighbors call me Psycho Kitty.  This is one cat who wants to give it to u straight, telling u the cat-tales that are my life.  
     We’ll start with this morning. I decided to come in just because I can.  I sucked up for a while and let Abbe pet me, then I     vegged out in the middle of the rug — I do it because it bugs the owner, it puts her into a psychological tizzy trying to figure out why I never sleep on the plain part of the rug, I do it just to stump her mind with questions of the arcane.  She gets a charge of of it, thinks it means something, talks about it on her Facebook page, but it doesn’t mean jack, I just happen to like sleeping where I choose and I choose the center of the rug, so what?  
       That stupid fox was running around like a maniac out there – I opened my eye when I heard him on the porch crunching down my cat food.  Hell, Frankie was just feet from him,  that fox looks emaciated, he could have run away with that old dame, Frankie. She could have died with a legend attached to her instead of a stuffed chicken- it  would have been epic, but guess what – the fox could smell  spoiled meat when he got near her, that must be why he thought the cat food would taste better.      The owner took that mangy fox’s picture, she’s always taking pictures, she takes mine too, have you seen any of them yet?
She’s always trying to bug me with props to make me into her art – I mean look at some of these photos she takes – does it look like I’m excited? Hell no, I’m trying to     sleep!  One day, I was sound asleep dreaming about chasing that shepard mutt down the road when she put a butterfly net over my head and I wake up and she’s snapping away! She purposely waits till I’m in a slug state before she unleashes these stupid stuffed animals and Kewpies, characters,      and worse, butterfly nets,  all over me.        And if that’s not bad enough, she has these photos hanging in public places!      She’s even got a website.  Thank cat-dom only service dogs go to such places and they are too busy guiding people or this could ruin my reputation, ROAR I’m Ringo!  
      I put up with it because she’s old and she’s just one of those meddling humans with all that raging human emotion that needs a domesticated animal to help tame her brain.  In fact, she’s way too emotional with that camera of hers,  I have seen her paw that thing like it’s real, creeps me out.  I hate hate hate that flash and so did the fox, he saw her camera flash and took off like a bullet was shooting at it instead of light. Dumb animal! Smart like a fox? I hardly thinks so from what I’ve seen. He’s come in the yard when I’m standing there and totally ignores me. I watch him too and let the nasty animal keep moving. I bet I out weigh him by about 8pounds – he knows better than to mess with me, I’m a cat, king of beast, that’s much better than a lowly little fox, I have lions blood in these veins – ROAR I’m Ringo! 
    After a morning and afternoon catnap, I wandered out and chased the new ducks to the lake, those mallards are wimps, kind of like Sealy and Frankie except they quack and like to swim and aren’t as gamey smelling.  I don’t bother going after ducks, but give me a bird or fish and that’s a banquet!        I thought I saw a frog in the grass, ever try froglegs? I’m not a fan of eating those reptiles, but I love to kill them justcauseIcan, Roar I’m Ringo!  
After that I just catwalked all over, now it’s time to go fishing, that’s the best time of day because I love fish, especially shiners! Tuna in a can? That industrial crap? That’s what my cousins, the preppy persians on the other side of the lake eat. Canned food sucks compared with fresh fish. This owner of mine fishes almost every day, even if the rain isn’t too heavy, I’m right by her side in case she catches something, then I have competition as sometimes that damn heron flies down for her fill too.    

             Have you ever seen a schizophrenic tackle box? Take a look,     along with the torture devices like hooks and pliers are cat treats and “The Glove”-  what the Hell – what does it all mean? Welcome to her life  http://abbesworld.wordpress.com! Maybe she can explain it- 
       I know what they say about feral  cats that live on the loose,  they don’t live as long as “home’mesticated cats, they get runover, large animals bite or kill them, but so what?  Domesticated cats don’t know what real living is – oh sure they find the occasional lizard on the porch, whoop tee do, I can do that all day long if I want. Those homey cats have had the wildlife bred out of them. Hey, if a car plugs me, well then, you can say I deserved it for finding that nice warm pavement comforting. Hey, it’s my life and I’m in charge not u.   Got a rod with my name on it waiting at the lake – Roar I’m Ringo – catch ya later …  

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