26 posts categorized "Oliver"




I don’t care what you might say about my ancestors coming from the seering savannahs of Africa, it’s been too damned hot for too long around here. Ronni doesn’t like air conditioning and she hardly ever turns it on. I know it’s my job to keep the birds from breaking through the screen door to attack Ronni, but too bad, she's on her own. The best I can do in this heat is lie here and hope.

It was hot last week, too, when Ronni unceremoniously dropped me off at David Baird’s place and then left for six whole days. I was so mad, I sat on David’s cowboy boots in the back of his closet for the first two days and wouldn’t come out.

After the second night, David grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and dragged me out. I was really hungry by then, so I had some crunchies in the kitchen and then I found some of my favorite toys from home scattered around the living room and it felt good to stretch my muscles in a good romp chasing a few mousies and some cellophane.


Then the heat got to me, so I settled down on David’s excellent, black sofa that nicely shows off my spots. If I’d realized how good I look there the first day, I wouldn’t have hidden in the closet for so long.

Something big is going on around here and I don’t like it. For two weeks before my trip to David’s house, there was this guy, Jimmy Flynn, who scattered all kinds of tools and equipment around the house. I had to guess where my litter box might be every day because Ronni kept moving it to different places while Jimmy pounded and banged and painted and stuff. Geez – it was so noisy around here, I couldn’t have a decent afternoon nap.

And now that she’s home, Ronni has stuffed me in my carrier (Note to Ronni: I need a new carrier – I’ve almost outgrown this one) three times and taken me out for a couple of hours to someone else’s house. She says it’s because people are looking at our home to see if they want to buy it, but don’t you think the house would be a lot more attractive if there were a cat as beautiful as I am showing them all the good places there are to stash their toys?


I'm not very clear yet what all this "selling the house" means for me, but the way life is going around here lately, it probably won't be to my liking. The only positive thing I can say about it all is that both Jimmy and David are good guys. They know how to appreciate a cat like me and snoozing on David’s sofa is almost as comfy as the pillows on Ronni’s bed.

But basically, I’m one pissed off cat. Strangers poking their noses in all my nooks and crannies, too much noise, too much heat. And worse, Ronni says she’s going away again at the end of July.

When will it all end…

Backyard Excitement


Watchingtree Big doings at my house last week. Some men arrived with a chain saw and spent the morning taking down a big tree in the back yard. I liked watching them climb way up to the top (I could do that easy if Ronni would let me go outside) and cut off one branch at a time until it was all gone, down to the ground.

Ronni says this is the first time she’s had light in the apartment without the lamps on, even when the sun is shining, in more than ten years. She’s very happy about that.

Standingkitchen I seem to be looking up a lot in these photos. There’s some interesting stuff on top of the cabinets in the kitchen that I’d like to investigate, but every time I try, Ronni says no. Sometimes she’s not any fun at all. She could at least let me check it out once, don’t you think?

Cisco_winie I want to show you a picture of two friends. Well, I’ve never met them in person, but I feel like I know them because Ronni’s friend, Heather, talks about them when she visits us. The big one is Cisco – she’s a Bengal cat. And the little one, Winie - you can tell she's a Siamese - is from the same cat breeder in Philadelphia where I came from. She was born just about the time I left there to come to Big Apple.

Ronni reads a lot and I’m getting a good education watching over her shoulder. President Bush just won’t quit gnawing on that Social Security bone, will he? Even when the meat's all gone. You’d think he’d get the picture by now – no one wants his private accounts.

Which reminds me, how is it that you humans elected that guy? Cats would never make a mistake like that. As soon as there’s online voting, I’m going to register. I’ve got a perfectly good, human name – Oliver Bennett. And it’s like that old New Yorker cartoon, “Nobody knows you’re a dog on the internet,” so who would know I’m a cat when you can vote by pushing a mouse (oh yeah! – mouse) button.

Kitchencellophane But it’s not all politics with me. There are a lot of other things to keep me busy and cellophane is still my favorite toy. It's that crinkly noise I can't get enough of.

Oh, I almost forgot. Thank you for all your suggestions about my biting problem. Ronni and I both read them carefully and we've worked it out now. Or maybe I just outgrew it.

Your blogging cat friend,

Body and Mind

category_bug_oliver Next Sunday, I’ll be six months old and I still have a lot of growing to do, but you can see here how tall I am already.

Ollie Standing at the Computer

A cat's body, you know, is a finely tuned machine and I've been putting in a lot of time developing mine. My eye-paw coordination is excellent; I’m as good as any hockey player at getting a “puck” from one end of the house to the other without ever missing a slap. And I hardly ever misjudge a jump anymore when I want to explore top shelves or speak eye-to-eye with Ronni.

I’ve learned that the computer is a cat’s good friend. Besides writing these online notes about my life, I read email with Ronni and I read all your blogs. Jeanne at Cook Sister: thanks for asking about me in your Comment a few days ago. Kimberly at Music and Cats, I really like checking out the pictures of Lyra, Sasha and Sergei every Friday. Give them a lick behind the ear for me. And a special hello to Mike, Andy and Dorey at Ranablog.

Ollie Playing Computer Game There's a lot of other good reading around the World Wide Web too: information on anything a cat could want to know and newspapers from every country – even in Africa where some of my ancestors come from. When my brain gets tired from all that input, I’ve got a special website I go to where I can play Catch the Balloon. It clears the mind of all the bad news.

But as I try to tell Ronni, no matter how much interesting stuff there is to do online, it’s not good to spend too much time on the computer. You gotta stretch those muscles. See, there’s this twine that’s wrapped around bundles of wood Ronni gets for the fire. It’s full of earthy, nature smells which makes it a better toy than those plastic things from the store.

Ollie Jumping So I got Ronni to tie a few knots in them to give the twine some heft and then she throws them way up high so I can practice my jumps. You never know, even in an apartment in the big city, when you’ll need to get away from an enemy - fast.

And that’s it for this time. I think I’ll have a bath and take a nap.

Your blogging friend,

Ollie the Sheet Surfer


Oliver and the Globe

Wow. Look at me! Don't you think I'm handsome?

That cellophane I'm carrying is the good stuff I was telling you about last time. The crinkly sound makes it more fun that some silly, soft store-bought toy. Like I said before, if you've never chased cellophane around your house, you should try it some time - you'll like it.

I can jump really high now. Two days ago, I knocked everything off the top of the refrigerator. I didn't actually mean to do that - it just turned out that way when I landed up there. Ronni wasn't happy about it, but I sure was. It made a great crashing noise and I got watch all the stuff roll around on the floor from the top of the refrigerator. Then I jumped down to chase it around the house. I stashed a vitamin bottle under the bed that Ronni didn't find until two days later. Heh, heh, heh. It's fun to tease her.

Oliver2005_01_10_05bedxtrasm That reminds me - yesterday Ronni and I changed the bed. There's nothing like sheet surfing, skidding along under the sheet and popping up for a peekaboo and back down under, then up and out again. Whoo-ee. The sheet gets all wound up and snarled and that gets me all giddy and silly and feeling so good. Why don't humans like to do that, I wonder.

Hey, did you notice I can use the Shift Key now? I watched Ronni very carefully and it's not hard at all. I hope that makes it easier for you read my imortant updates.

On Thursday, I'll be a whole five months old and that's the day Ronni says I get to go see Dr. Mary for my surgery. I like Dr. Mary a lot. She's a nice lady and she takes good care of me, but I don't know what this word "surgery" means...

Olliebath2005_01_04sm Here's a picture of me taking a bath on the sofa. It's a cozy spot because even though you can't see it in this photo, I'm right next to the warm fire - perfect place for bath. Don't you think my belly spots are beautiful?

Your blogging friend,

Update By Oliver



that’s me up there on the desk – oliver the savannah cat trying to catch a nap a couple of days ago. ronni woke me up to take this picture and i don’t like to be disturbed when i’m sleeping. you can probably tell that from the look on my face.

if i leave these updates to ronni, she’ll mess them up...what does she know about what i think...so i’m taking over. here goes.

first, apologies to archie the cockroach who used don marquis’s typewriter back in the 1930s to write prose poems about his life with mehitabel the cat. he got published in a real newspaper and books, and i’m stuck with this blogosphere stuff. but as archie used to say, wotthehell, wotthehell.

like that little bugger... he wouldn’t last long around me; bugs are yummy...i have trouble with the shift key so i’ll do this in lower case and leave it on the computer for ronni to mark up the html. she seems to like doing that. she spends way too much time at the computer, but she is such a sucker. all i have to do to get her to stop is hop up on the desk and pat her cheek softly with my paw.

1000022_img i’ve been living here now for seven weeks and let me tell you, it’s taking forever to train ronni. she went out and bought a whole lot of stupid cat toys – little foam balls, catnip mice, some silly balls with glitter stuff on them that tastes awful. dumb. dumb. dumb. anyone who likes a good chase around the house knows paper and cellophane and tinfoil are a lot more fun. plus, the rattling noise they make on the floor is really exciting. you should try it yourself.

i have my own doctor named mary xanthos and i’ve been to see her three times already. she gave me a shot and i didn’t even flinch. i’m tough. she also cleaned out some yukky earmites that made me itch, gave me medicine for a little cold i caught and some more medicine when one of my eyes got runny. i’m all better now and last time i was there, she said i weighed more than three pounds. heh, heh, heh. wait till dr. mary and ronni see how big i’m gonna get. savannah cats like me weigh 20 pounds or more when they grow up.

Ollieeating2004_12_06 i heard ronni tell someone on the telephone that when i’m bigger, she’s going to switch me to all dry food so she can leave me alone for up to two nights when she wants to go away. hah. that’s not ever gonna happen. i’ll go on a hunger strike when she tries and make her think i’m gonna die. i mean, would you wanna live only on crackers.

but even with all her mistakes, ronni is really cool. she plays with me every morning, every afternoon and every evening until i’m completely worn out and ready to snuggle up with her for a snooze. i love her very much and we’re gonna have a wonderful life together - once i finish training her.

your new blogging friend,

ps: there are some neat pictures of me here taken on the day after i moved in with ronni when i was really little. i think you can see i was kinda scared then, but i’m over that now.

Proof of My Old Womanhood

category_bug_journal2.gif Please welcome, friends and fellow bloggers, the latest addition to my household:

Oliver 2004_10_31

He arrived on Saturday, is 11 weeks old and his "sensible, everyday name" is Oliver - maybe called Ollie; we don't know yet. And, as he should, he is keeping secret unto himself his

"His ineffable effable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name."

- T.S. Eliot

For such a little guy, he knows a lot. He figured out the litter box right away without a single mistake. He knows where his food and water are and he made it clear the first night that a bed with a human in it is a lot more comfy than a box with a towel, so we've ditched the box already. He also has a strong voice. He complains loudly if I go into another room and he behaves, in general (as kittens are required to do by law), like the Energizer Bunny - with pretty much the same attitude.

Oliver is a Savannah, a hybrid, about 15 percent serval - a medium-sized wild cat native to central Africa - and the rest, Serengetti and Bengal, two relatively new domestic breeds. I don’t believe in keeping wild animals, nor in breeding them with domestics. But these grow up to be so damned beautiful and this little male became available when I was looking for a new feline friend. It is not the only contradiction in my life.

2004_10_31oplayingsmall Savannahs grow to be huge – twice the size of average housecats. They are friendly, active, talkative, but docile – that is, they complain loudly when irritated, but they don’t scratch or bite. Sort of like Crabby Old Lady. They love to play in water and they like to be walked outdoors on a leash. I haven’t decided yet if I will do that; there are a lot of big dogs in the neighborhood who don't even like each other.

Cats and old ladies seem to go together. There was, 20 years ago, an old woman who crept into the neighborhood at night to feed the strays in the empty lot across the street. She disappeared with the cats when an apartment house was built there and I choose to believe she moved on then to care for stray cats elsewhere. And we all know stories of old ladies who live with 27 cats.

It is my fear of becoming that crazy old cat woman everyone points at that has held my personal cat population to one-at-a-time over the years. The beauty of cats takes my breath away. The pleasure I gain from their appearance, grace and attitude - and watching their own pleasure at those same attributes - never wanes; it has never been easy to resist adding more.

Oliver 2004_10_31sittingupsmall_1 Some people say two cats are better than one, that they keep one another company when you are away, and I have in the distant past kept more than one. But none of my only-cats ever complained nor appeared to be lonely – after all, cats sleep 17 hours a day - and one died in my arms eight years ago at age 20, having hated every other cat he had occasion to encounter during his long life. So the Bennett household will remain at one cat, two humans – if you count Crabby Old Lady.

And now that I have, with the acquisition of Oliver, officially entered into the company of old womanhood, let us rejoice.