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Firecracker Day comes but once a year.  Or so you would think.  Here in Canada, we have Victoria Day in May and Canada Day, the 1st of July.  Both holidays culminate in filling the night time sky with loud booms and flashes of colour.

We cats, of course, care nothing for an old Queen’s birthday nor when the country was enacted into the Dominion (now country) called Canada.  All we know is, come sunset, a cacophony of thunderous, scary noises saturates the evening with raucous commotion.

You would think that human beings ought to have enough sense not to allow us felines outside on such terrifying nights.  But no.  Out we go.  (Not to point the finger or paw, but they should be immune to the pathetic meowing at the door.)

The whirls, the whistles and crashes send us scurrying for our lives (all nine of them).  And as if this were not horrendous enough, we then have to endure copious abuse for running away and being too frightened to come back inside.  Sometimes, a cat’s life is filled with pandemonium.


Loving The View: The Cleo And Tibbs Story

Dedicated to Tibbs’ Grandma

Chapter 1

And So It Begins

I remember it like it was yesterday.  3 June 2017, the day Cleopatra came into my life for good.  My world changed forever that sunny, summer’s day and is indelibly etched on my heart.

I knew about the Queen, as my sisfur, Patches had had conversations, in the past, with the lovely almond-eyed, grey British Short Hair.  I thought Cleo was an angel.

She graciously swooned over the exploits of Patches and her snake obsession. (Must admit Patches’ daring deeds leaves me reacting in the same way.)  That’s why I knew our two hearts would beat as one.  We were the perfect match.  We are the perfect match.

For those who do not know me, I will disclose a closely guarded secret; I like to flirt.  Some Toms have the gift of cute, fluffiness (Basil; darn him) and some have the British Blue Short Hair thing going on.  Albeit with marshmallow cheeks and a title that adds to the appeal. (Lord Graydon; ‘Big City Tom’)  My particular talent lies in the flattery I lavish on the female felines.  I have to admit, I enjoy dallying with the lady cats.

On the 3rd of June this year, I commenced such behaviour with SassyCassyCat.  She’s a sweet thing and I proceeded to inform her of such.  Just my luck, after numerous attempts to trifle with the kitty, she communicated to me the existence of a fiancé Tomcat.  Not that, that stopped me.  I continued to compliment the lovely Sassy.

This, of course, caught the eye of my Cleo.  She jumped in with, ‘Meow such a smoothy Mr. Tibbs’

How could I resist?  I answered, ‘I be a silver-tongued devil when I choose to be, Cleo, light of my life.  Mr. Tibbs.  *eyes twinkling impishly*.  Then I sent a photo of my hefty self in a loaf pose.  I beguiled her and she in turn stole my heart

As the lovely Sassy was not seriously interested in my patter, Cleo became my main focus.  Although, still flirting with the others such as; Holly Purr and Basil’s cat friend, the lovely Moët.  All these felines (and more every day, I might add) are subject to Tibbs’ piffle.

It cannot be denied though, my Queen is the one for me.  She has indicated that I must continue to sweet-talk any cat that takes my fancy.  How can a Tom not be spellbound by such a creature?

Why, she has set her sights on me, I shall never know?  But make no mistake about it, our destinies are forever intertwined.  The greatest romance, in history, had just begun and like another Cleopatra, a snake played a major role.  This story will not end so tragically as you will see in the subsequent chapters.

Stay tuned.

A Furry Good Book


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Whenever one sits down to read, without fail, as soon as a book is picked up, a cat will appear at the feet, looking up all innocently.  Do not be fooled by the cunning behaviour.

To ignore the animal is futile.  As soon as the story (text) has begun to get interesting a feline will leap onto the lap, making its presence hard to disregard.  Switching the novel from one hand to the other does no good as a cat-head is forever in the way.  They want you to know, you have made the wrong choice in not focusing on them.

Moving the paperback closer only ends up being an object for the feline to rub its head and/or face against.  This is never conducive to a soothing perusal.  One must get used to reading a moving target.

Their attention is endearing but just once, it would be nice to finish a book without it being covered in cat fur.

Thump! Thump!


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Any cat poised at a window is a joy to watch.  From the Wimbledon-like head movements; back and forth, back and forth, to their sounds of chirping at the jeering birds

Feline ears begin twitching and moving like a periscope looking for the enemy.  And if the human’s are not paying attention there may be a noticeable ‘Thump! Thump!

Assuming it is some foolish young kid in their car outside, with the music turned up far too loud, you feel about 100 years old.  Then you look at the cat and its tail is rhythmically hitting the carpet.

A Present? For Me?


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Cats are a generous animal.  They allow you to pet and stroke them.  On their terms, of course.  And they will kindly rub against moving legs as you attempt to walk across the room (usually when carrying something fragile).

They are bighearted enough to keep your seat warm once you vacate it.  So long as you no longer want to return to it.  And they will help with any paper work that must be done, by laying across the stationary.

But most of all, their abundant nature shows itself first thing in the morning when you leap out of bed and nearly step on the remains of a mouse they gave thoughtfully brought for your breakfast.

Could any creature be more charitable?

Mr. Tibbs’ Adventure


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For Cleo.  My heart aches.

As you know I went off in search of you, my Queen Cleopatra.  I believed you had forsaken me for some nefarious Julius Caesar and was prepared to fight for, my ladylove.

I headed for the woods and fearlessly forged a path through the underbrush.  You know how wide a space that would be.  Meowing ‘Cleo’ deep into the forest, nothing was going to put me off finding you.  Winning your hand was uppermost in my mind.  Yes, I was prepared to pop the question.

With only thoughts of true love, the time flew by and before I knew it, it had grown dark.  Stopping to get my bearings (and rest, you know exercise is not my forte) I meowed a few more time.  To my astonishment I heard a return call.  I lumbered towards the sound believing I had found my Queen.

Stomping over tree trunks, the noises grew louder.  There was a clearing and yes, a plump, odd looking stray lay there chewing some grass.  It was not you, my heart.  But as you know, it is my mission to make every female feel special so I, naturally, went into flirt mode.

“You look lovely this evening, my sweetheart,” I had not lost my smooth.

With it being cool and pitch black now, she suggested we huddle together for warmth.  I, foolishly, relented.

The next morning, with a grumbling tummy, I went in search of sustenance for the both of us.  Returning with an empty hand and stomach (I might add) yet prepared to continue my search for you, my damsel, to my utter shock there were three tiny, wriggling creatures next to her.

She told me, “I was a father!”

Staggering backwards, I nearly ran away.  Until feasting my eyes on those three white and ginger tykes.  How could I abandon them?  I took a sniff and gave them each a few licks and knew I would look after them.  Great sobs escaped me when I remembered you, Cleo.  I had brought shame and disgrace to our love.

After explaining all to my kitten Mama, she insisted we marry right away!

The wedding took place that night and now I am a married man-cat.  We must remain no more than friends.  Our love story has ended at Chapter 5.  It shall read, ‘Tibbs is a cad.’ The End.

I spent the second night away from home, sobbing uncontrollably. Is this how most grooms spend their wedding night?

With great sadness I journeyed home.  Thoughts of food were far from my mind.  That will tell you just how distraught I am over this whole affair.

So, now the story is told.  Cleo, my . . . (sniffs). Cleo, you cannot ever be mine and I shall not ever be yours.  I am a broken Tom.


                                                                                                                                                                                  Mark Antony Tibbs

The Cat’s Meow


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Have you ever had one of those nights when roaming through your own darkened home, you get a bit creeped out?  Knowing that there is no one about, every scary movie scene you have ever watched plays vividly before your eyes.

Is someone lurking behind that door?  Will you be attacked with your own knives while walking through the kitchen?  Can anyone be living in the walls?

Upon entering the shadowy bedroom and before a light can be turned on, a cat’s pathetic meow can scare the crap out of you!  Welcome to my world!



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Every once in a while the cats inside the house are pestered by the strays who like to visit.

It is usually in the early hours when the activity begins.  First off, there is constant traffic between bay window and glass doors.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.  Fur rises along the back and the tail puffs up like blimp.  Let me at ’em.  Let me at ’em.  Then the yowling commences.  All take heed, there is an intruder around.

This can be very amusing.  Until you remember it is 3:00 o’clock in the flipping morning.



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There seems to be this rule for all cats.  It is ‘to cause trouble when the mood takes’.  For the most part I have well-behaved pets.  It may have something to do with their age or the fact that they are all scaredy-cats.

Yet, every once in a while, curiosity gets the better of them and exploration of anything new or unusual is commenced. They sniff, they paw and they cautiously pull at items heretofore ignored.  Inevitably, something will go crashing before long.  This sends all of the felines scattering no matter where they are in the house.

It never fails, it is always the guilty party who returns to the scene of the crime.  Innocently looking at the human to see what all the fuss was about.

Explain That


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Anyone who owns a cat (or should I say, ‘who is owned by a feline’) becomes immune to the many scrapes and bruises that are an everyday occurrence.  Unless the cat is de-clawed (which is cruel) there will always be scars, scabs and bandage-covered wounds along arms, legs and other visible body parts.

As distressing as these marks can be, it is nothing in comparison to the more intimate places one finds themselves with lacerations.  At the time, it may be extremely cute and enjoyable when the feline nibbles at your ears or nips your neck.  But a lazy lounge across the chest can end terribly if loud noises suddenly burst forth.

Explaining these symbols of a panicking pet may be mortifying.  Cats being cats and with their aloof nature will abstain from any justification of their actions.

It is what, it is humans!  Deal with it.