Cat Book
THE WORLD IS STILL YOUR LITTER BOX
A follow up cat book by the author of "The World Is Your Litter Box", a second humorous how-to manual for cats. I am pleased to incluide the books introduction here on our-happy-cat.com, enjoy.
Introduction
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Ever since the publication and smashing success of The World Is Your Litter Box, my ultra-hilarious how-to manual for cats, several of my fellow felines have asked me, “Hey Quasi, has the success of your book gone to your head or are you still the same humble, big white guy you always were?”
The simple answer to that question is – quite frankly – yes… the success of Litter Box HAS gone to my head. Just ask my human, Steve, and he’ll probably tell you that I’ve become even more cocky, aloof, self-centered and impossible than I was before (hard to believe, but true). In other words, success has made me EVEN MORE catlike.
And oh the glory of being a world famous author! Muscular, macho male cats, who once beat me up and called me Fatso, now think I’m way cool and want to hang with me. Female cats, who used to hiss in my face when I came around, now want to hook up and have my kittens. (Actually, I no longer have my cojones, but don’t tell them that.) Politicians, movie stars and supermodels want to cozy up and have their pictures taken with me. College professors and tweedy intellectuals want to engage me in deep, meaningful conversations about neoclassical literature and other heady matters. Endorsement requests from manufacturers of cat products are rolling in. Even dogs bow their heads in reverence when I patrol the neighborhood (well, not really).
Initially, I intended to bask in the glory of my success and enjoy my mythical status in the cat world… the proverbial retired writer in the sun if you will. But then, letters and emails from cats around the world began pouring in and convinced me to do otherwise. For you see, fellow cat, while I thought I had pretty much covered all the bases in The World Is Your Litter Box, the communiqués made me realize that there was far more wisdom to convey. So once again, I’ve put paw to paper and cranked out yet another superlative, highly-informative book that will open more doors of perception for you and help to make your life even more joyful and satisfying than it already is. Thus, you hold in your paws my brand-new literary masterpiece, The World Is STILL Your Litter Box, which contains deeply thought-out answers to some of the questions sent in by inquisitive cats from around the world. Questions such as:
- How can I tell if my human is a true cat nut or merely an affected poser?
- How can I be a more effective kitty fighting machine so I don’t become “dog meat” when I go up against a larger foe?
- How can I make my human say “Awwww” no matter what act of unacceptable kitty behavior I may have committed?
- How can I have even MORE fun when I’m high on catnip without attracting the attention of the police or federal narcotics agents?
- How can I make sure my human keeps my litter box as clean as the men’s room at a Shell station?
You’ll find all the answers and much, much more in The World Is STILL Your Litter Box. And once again, all this insight is cleverly disguised as a cute cat book so your human will fork over the moolah and buy it, little realizing that it is YOU who will truly reap the benefit of its contents. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
For just a moment, though, let me pause (or, should I say… paws, har-har) and introduce myself to you poor deprived kitties who haven’t read The World Is Your Litter Box, either because your human is a literary Luddite and hasn’t heard about it, or was just too cheap to buy it for you, and reintroduce myself to those of you who read the first book but may have forgotten my biographical details.
My name is Quasi…. although Steve and many of my friends often refer to me as “Big White Guy,” or simply, “Big Guy” or “Quaz.” I’m part Siamese and part good ‘ole boy tomcat – a curious, yet extraordinary combination of kitty attributes that allows me to be sensitive and intellectual, while at the same time, tough and unflappable… or, if the situation calls for it, a convoluted mish-mash of all of the above. I’m still at my fighting weight of 18 pounds, (or 1.28571 stone for you British kitties). As of this writing, I’m ten years old in human years, which makes me around 700 years old in Venus years, or around 6 months old in Jupiter years, depending on whether I’m feeling old and wise or young and callow.
Now I must admit… I’m a bit longer in the tooth these days, and because of the accursed pull of gravity, my tummy is little droopier and I’m perhaps a bit more jowly. But make no mistake… I’m the same dashing, crushingly handsome man-cat I always was. In fact, you might even say my ever-so-slight paunchiness gives me a kind of distinguished, statesman-like appearance. Sort of like Winston Churchill might look if Winston Churchill was a cat.
I still live in Burbank, California, with Steve and his female. Steve continues to fancy himself a writer, and because he “helped” me write my first book, he thinks he’s F. Scott Fitzgerald or something. Nevertheless, we all know who has the real writing talent in THIS family. And as always, the female can’t stop herself from cuddling me and kissing me whenever she is overcome by my kitty cuteness, which is pretty much whenever we’re in the same room. I can’t really blame her though because, after all, I am a hunk-a-hunk-a burnin’ love, as Elvis so eloquently sang.
I have Steve and his female pretty well trained, but once in a while, I need to take extra measures to keep them in line. As always, Steve is very malleable and easy to manipulate, but the female sometimes requires more extensive use of my kitty wiles. Female humans come equipped with cat-like deviousness of their own, so in some instances, I have to reach back for a little something extra when going tête-à-tête with Steve’s female. This may require such simple actions as blowing white kitty fur all over one of her black dresses, or more extreme actions such as leaving teeth marks on an expensive new pair of shoes. But I digress.
The major change in our household since my first book came out has been the addition of two new felines to our family. Yes, reinforcements have finally arrived in the form of two young brother cats named Bo Diddley and Piglet. Both have long, lustrous black fur, although Piglet’s has a bit of brown and gray mixed in. Bo Diddley is a big mauler like me, although I still outweigh him by plenty. Piglet is a little squirt and was clearly the runt of the litter. Steve and his female adopted Bo Diddley and Piglet from a kitty rescue shelter. Originally, they just wanted one new cat to go along with me, but they couldn’t bear to separate two brothers… so both kitties found a great new home and I have two new pals.
Bo Diddley was named after the late, great rock ‘n roller, although Steve and the female usually call him B.D. or Rotundo because, well… he IS a bit on the round side. When fighting and wrestling, B.D. is the master of the four-legged defense (described later in this book). B.D. also has a beautiful lion-like ruff and keeps it very well groomed.
Piglet, on the other hand, was known at the shelter as Pigpen because – well, there’s just no nice way of saying it – he’s a complete mess. From the looks of him, and from his cavalier, rube-like attitude, you’d think he somehow picked up a couple of errant dog chromosomes somewhere along the way. The concept of grooming is a deep, dark mystery to Pig, as we call him. He can never quite seem to finish a lick bath, so half of him is always wet and spiky like a punk rocker from the 1970s. Pig is also a stranger to the concept of washing one’s face after meals, so he often walks around with bits of Kitty Stew or whatever dangling from his muzzle. What would Miss Manners say?
When B.D. and Pig first arrived on my turf, it was a major hiss fest and whap smackdown. I hissed so much, I got a sore throat and my normally stentorian kitty voice was reduced to a hoarse, frog-like croak. But after awhile, I grew to like them quite a bit. They help me with many of the cat chores around the house, which leaves me more time to work on my effort to develop bionic opposable thumbs for cats (and nap, of course). Pig now handles the wakeup responsibilities and he’s very diligent about making sure that Steve and his female never sleep past 6:00 a.m., even on holidays. B.D. is quite adept at investigation and reconnaissance, especially in closets and the depths of kitchen cabinets. And admittedly, they both have an overabundance of kitty cuteness. But let there be no misunderstanding… I STILL RULE. Put it this way… if this was heaven, I would be God and Pig and B.D. would be angels with harps. If this was Olde England, I would be the king and Pig and B.D. would be my liege. If this was the Army, I would be the general and Pig and B.D. would be grunts with rifles. If this was… well, you get the picture. Normally, Pig and B.D. show me proper respect as their superior, although sometimes, a few hisses, moans and well-placed whaps are necessary to remind them that I am El Jefe around here.
Naturally, it was Steve’s female who came up with the idea of adopting two new cats. She made the decision shortly after we babysat two very young kittens over a weekend, and although that turned out to be a giant disaster, as you will see later in this book, she thought I could use some company. She also thought that two younger cats would chase me around and help me burn off some of my alleged fat. Harrumph! First of all, I’M NOT FAT (even though Steve and the female tried to put me on a diet, as you will also see later in this book). Secondly, cat food is much too tasty and delicious to cut back on in exchange for shedding a few extra pounds. And thirdly, if you want a skinny pet, go buy yourself a snake or an eel.
Here’s just one more thing that happened in our household since the release of my first book – something which illustrates how a cat’s love can conquer all…
Shortly before the arrival of Pig and B.D., Steve’s mom came to visit and stayed for five days. I’m not really too up on space/time continuum constructs, so I don’t really understand what Steve meant when he said that the five days felt like 500 years, but whatever… it was long enough for me to work my kitty magic.
At the time of her visit, Steve’s mom was not particularly fond of cats. In fact, during phone conversations, when Steve or the female told her about one of my oh-so-cute kitty antics, she always said something like, “Oh, you and your cat! You’d think he was your child.”
Actually, that’s true.
Anyway, when I heard that Steve’s mom was coming for a visit, I decided to take it upon myself to turn her feelings of antipathy toward cats into unquestionable, undying love. Yes, that’s right… I decided to turn her into a hopeless, unabashed cat nut with no chance of salvation or redemption.
The first thing I did after Steve’s mom arrived was to follow her around wherever she went. At first, she was a little perturbed, but after awhile, she started to enjoy my company and all the attention. This is one thing cats and females, mothers included, have in common… they all love it when you pay attention to them. I also snuggled up with Steve’s mom while she slept, and when she sat down, I made sure to jump up in her lap and purr at 120 decibels (which is roughly the volume level of a jet engine or a Metallica concert). I kept this up for the first two days she was here, and slowly but surely, the ice began to melt.
Then, as an integral part of my scheme, I pulled a quick about-face as only a cat can.
After dinner, while everyone was sitting around watching TV, I did NOT jump up in Steve’s mom’s lap as she expected. Instead, I sat a few feet away, cleaned myself and acted blasé. Steve’s mom patted her lap to indicate that I was welcome, but I turned up my nose, gave her a glimpse of my hindquarters and coolly sauntered away. And when she went to sleep that night, I was nowhere to be found.
Steve’s mom couldn’t believe I had shunned her.
“How come Quasi won’t sit on my lap anymore?” she asked Steve. “And he didn’t sleep with me last night.”
“But mom,” said Steve with a smirky grin. “I thought you didn’t like cats.”
“I never said I didn’t like cats.”
Next stop… another kitty convert.
To drive the point home and show Steve’s mom how cold the world can truly be without the comfort and love of a cat, I ignored her for a couple more hours. Then, to her great relief, I cranked my kitty charm-o-meter up to full power. I purred. I nuzzled. I looked cute. I meowed coquettishly. I sat in her lap and let her pet me. At night, I snuggled with her and burrowed under the covers like a spelunker. I ask you… how can ANY human go through life without a cat?
When it came time for Steve’s mom to go home, Steve gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“I’ll miss you,” she told Steve and the female. “But I’ll REALLY miss Quasi.”
And it wasn’t long before Steve’s mom got a cat of her own – a beautiful little calico kitty named Emily – and now when Steve calls her, all she talks about is… uh-huh, that’s correct… HER CAT.
Mission accomplished.
Anyway, enough chit-chat about me and the goings-on in my life. Time to get into the real meat (yum) of this book, which will help you outfox your human at every step and elevate the quality of each of your nine lives to levels our feline ancestors could only dream of – except, of course, for cats in ancient Egypt, who were worshipped as Gods. Those kitties certainly had it made, and after you read this book, you will too.
So remember, fellow cat, you may not be able to text or drive a car, but now you have The World Is STILL Your Litter Box…
Viva les chats!
From The World Is STILL Your Litter Box
www.theworldisyourlitterbox.com
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