The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and a soft spring zephyr gently caressed the new-borne leaves of the trees. The neighbours were soaking up the unseasonably warm weather, their carefree and happy laughter floating across upon the delicious smell from their barbeque. Fluffy was locked outside and was using all her doggy brain to figure out if there was any more possible damage to be done to my backyard. Joel was out on weekly “secret men’s business” afternoons with “the boys” (although allegedly “role playing” a serious, challenging game, I strongly suspect that most of their time is spent seeing who can spin the longest yarn. Dave Y, I'm sure you'd fit right in (Spinning yarn is Ozspeak for telling funny BS stories)). It was Shmogg and I, all by our lonesomes, enjoying the serenity and tranquility of a house without its two more, err, dignity challenged, occupants.

It was one of those days that just begged to be spent outside, taking sweet repose within nature’s glowing bosom. So of course I took the opportunity to catch up on my newsgroups. No point contaminating myself with all that fresh air and sunshine after all those years work has spent trying to wean me off it. Heck, if I got a taste of it, I may actually become addicted to it and then what would happen?

So, there I am, windows closed, blinds drawn over, staring at the monitor which is the only light in the room besides some really over enthusiastic sunlight trying to wiggle its way through the top of the blinds. Shmogg, seeing that this was prime attention time, leaped into my lap and told me, without hesitation, what I was expected to do.

Shmogg doesn't usually do this, as he has learnt that occupying my lap for any length of time usually attracts either a Joel, or even worse, a Fluffy (this was before Buddy turned up). Both of these wretched creatures have no real respect for Shmogg’s Royal Rights and will find a way of stealing my attention away before Shmogg can get a hold of much. But today, things were different. Shmogg knew it, I knew it, maybe even the whole world knew it, for it did not matter. Shmogg would get my full and uninterrupted attention, free from the marauding attention looters that seem to turn up just in time to rob poor Shmogg of his royal humbrage.

Trouble was, of course, that although I welcomed Shmogg upon my lap, and was even giving him a damn good scritching (even if I do say so myself), the mere fact that I was giving the monitor and mouse even a squidgen of my attention caused His Majesty great displeasure. After all, if I was going to give any attention to He Who Must Be Obeyed, then damn it, I must give it my all as is expected of a bonded cat- slave. Shmogg will not tolerate playing second fiddle to anything, especially a (perish the thought) a mouse!

Any of those behaviourist that say cats aren't self aware are wrong. Perhaps this is a quintessential piece of knowledge all cats must know before assuming the throne, but even if they are otherwise completely un-self aware, cats know damn well that although the sun shines *out* of bits of them, it doesn't shine *through* them. Nor, coincidentally, do the photons that bounce off books and magazines, tax returns and other critical bits of paper that cats like dumping their bum onto. Even those extra tenacious light rays that come directly from monitors can't penetrate the mysteries of Cat.

Recalling his basic kitty training, Shmogg carefully plucks each precisely placed claw from my hapless legs and plants himself on the keyboard, directly between my eyeballs and the monitor. He also mentions his distaste at not being fully worshipped for the majesty he is with a vaguely menacing “reow!”.

I pat his kitty head with reassurance, and, being the devoted cat-slave I am, decide that the “popping” noise that the computer is making because of Shmogg’s poor typist skills are something I'll put up with to satiate the beast. Basically, its easy than having another 10 holes ripped through my jeans and into my legs. Besides, most newsgroup reading is done via mouse anyway. I hope that he lies down on the keyboard so that I can see most of the monitor again.

Shmogg, of course has thought of this, and moves over slightly. This releases the L,O & P keys, and the horrible popping sound ceases, much to my relief. But the bloody minded critter has decided to step on the return key, and the Outlook Express is starting to resent the fact. Shmogg won't be tempted off, won't be shooed off, and won't even sit down.

Now, I know I'm no match for His Royal Highness King of the Bastard Cat trick, but sometimes my ego goes a little far. Sometimes I think I can best the beast. Which is proof that training humans must be damn hard work: I have never won when battle Sir Shmogg, but I still keep trying. Hmm, I think to myself, since he wants to stand up, perhaps I can push him along so he walks off the keyboard.

I place my right palm against his rear and push gently. Shmogg turns around and looks at this most uncouth hand touching his royal personage where even other royal personages fear to go. But although my hand got The Stare of Death, he didn't bite me. This should have been a great huge–flashing-neon-light-with-deafening-warning-bell sign to me that Something Was Up, but I never pay attention.

Shmogg’s head turned around to face front. A little kitty gleam came to his eye, a twitch of a smile played upon his whiskers. He waited for the inevitable second, slightly harder, push...

Which managed to express his incredibly full anal glands all over my hand, the keyboard, the mouse, some of music CDs and part of the computer desk.

I have never, not in all my years of working with foul and noxious chemicals, have ever encountered a smell such as this. This smell formed a fist and pegged me square between the eyes. I gagged, and spluttered and coughed and heaved. Even Saddam Hussein himself has chosen not to use cat anal gland in biological warfare - he needs some people to live! My God, it was literally *the* *worst* thing I have ever, ever, in my life, ever encountered, and I've been to sewage works!

The keybaord and mouse were replaced before Joel got home (much to his delight). I cleaned the desk top & mouse pad with disinfectant, and scrubbed my hand until it was almost raw. The only thing that has a trace of odour left are the paper CD booklets that got a spraying. I can therefore tell you honestly that I think Aqua really stinks!

Shmogg certainly won a few billion points from that round, although I think perhaps I got one. Although I quit paying attention to the monitor and the newsgroups, Shmogg also lost his attention rights as well. Although I didn't immediately answer it, Bastard Cat's need for attention was expressed very clearly. Ugh!

Copyright © Vicky Chapman
September 11, 2000