October 30, 2013 3:53 a.m.

I have been placed in solitary confinement again for biting Angry Cat.

I still contend that the only reason Woman Who Feeds Me freaked out about this is that Angry Cat is white, and therefore the blood that was all over her was much more visible. When it comes to biting, Woman Who Feeds Me is so racist. I guess it will take time before the violence between the white cats and the Irish cats is finally eradicated. I plan to squeeze in as much violence as possible toward Angry Cat until that happens.

I just can't help it. Angry Cat irritates me. First, they call her "Snowball." What kind of stupid name is that? For a long time, I was utterly perplexed at this choice of name for Angry Cat. But then I remembered that when snowballs hit me, they do make me very angry. So I guess it might be a good name for her. Though it's a fairly labored metaphor. I doubt Woman Who Feeds Me is smart enough to have figured it out.

Then, she is constantly crying for food, even though she is rapidly approaching the size of Darth Fatty Fat Fatterson. And she always wants into the living room. Her method of attempting to access said room is to somersault her huge body into the door. This has never, ever worked. Though it does succeed in freaking out Woman Who Feeds Me. She thinks someone is in the house, knocking at the door. She watches too many horror movies. Just the other night she watched one called "Hotel for Dogs." It was terrifying and gave me nightmares.

I can't believe she let the children watch it. I guess there's a reason they call her The Wicked Step-Mother. As I have been locked in "the tower," I think I shall start calling her that, too. If she gives me an apple, please remind me not to eat it.

-Tink

October 22, 2013 5:12 a.m.

Dear Tink -

I wish to put you on official notice that my vanilla-scented Chapstick is for my benefit - not yours.

Attempting to lick it off my lips in the middle of the night is not acceptable.  Chewing on my earlobes is also forbidden.

Please stop.

-Woman Who Feeds You

P.S.  Hugh Jackman - as you surely read this blog, please note that these rules do not apply to you.

October 20, 2013 3:19 p.m.

Welcome to this week's issue of The KnockOver Report.

This week's KnockOver activity far surpassed any I have ever achieved.  KnockOvers included:

 - One large stack of video games that clearly should have been put away by the children

-  One phone, sadly undamaged

-  One large, metal lunch box (what a delightful sound!)

- One bottle of pills, which I'm proud to say, I knocked directly out of the hands of Woman Who Feeds Me.  She screeched, and pills went everywhere.  I had a great time scattering them further out of her reach.  Unfortunately, she was able to rescue them all before I had a chance to sample any.

I'm sorry to report that the large cat called Pumpkin (Darth Fatty Fat Fatterson) still exceeds me in KnockOver ability.  Yesterday, she successfully knocked the silver candlesticks off the mantel without even using her paws.  She simply tried to walk behind them.  I can learn much from this one.

October 16, 2013 10:35 p.m.

Dear Loyal Followers:

I was a fool ever to return to this place.  I do not know what I was thinking. I have begun planning my next escape attempt.

While watching television through the pocket doors last night, I got an idea.  It will require a small rock hammer and a poster of Rita Hayworth.  I just need to find a cat who "knows how to get things."

I will keep you posted on my efforts.

-Tink

October 14, 2013 2:27 p.m.

Dear Loyal Followers:

I am overjoyed (mostly) to report that yesterday, my escape attempts finally proved successful!!  I cannot thank you enough for your support in this endeavor.

Unfortunately, things did not go exactly as I had hoped.

I wish I could say I carefully planned my escape.  But in truth, I merely seized upon a sudden and unexpected opportunity:  the open door.

Woman Who Feeds Me got sloppy and made a mistake.  I suspected this might happen, but I had no idea how stupid she would be.  While opening the front door to the prison, she left it wide upon for a fraction of a second.  I wasted no time.  Sprinting through the open door and darting past her feet, I ran as fast as my little paws would go.  Then I smelled the sweet scent of freedom.  And car exhaust.

I coughed heavily as I ran through the cloud of toxic fumes coming out of the metal menace, but I was determined to find a hiding place. I quickly dashed under a bush and then through a fence.  I could hear Woman Who Feeds Me screaming my name, but I soon left the highly irritating sound of her voice behind, and it was then that I knew - I was truly free.

I stopped and looked around, taking in the view of beautiful grass and flowers, trees and shrubs.  And then - a squirrel!  My instincts took over, and I darted after it - chasing it for what must have been miles. To my dismay, it averted me by climbing a tree.  I tried to follow, but my tree climbing skills have suffered since my incarceration.  I sat for what felt like an eternity waiting for it to come back down, but it must have sensed my superiority and resigned itself to stay put.  I grew bored, and decided to reward myself for my brilliant escape with a well-deserved nap.

I found a sunny spot and closed my eyes.  It was heavenly.  I awakened some time later to find a large bug staring at me.  Terror!  Its eyes were enormous!  I bolted away and quickly felt something damp on my paws.  A mud puddle!  Oh glorious fun!  I played and played - splashing and pouncing in the puddle.  It was wet and filthy and wonderful! 

When I had finally exhausted all the joy from the mud, I realized I was soaking wet. And quite cold.  I began to shiver.  Oh no!  How would I ever get warm again?  Where would I go? I wandered and wandered - looking for any place safe and warm where I could recover.  But there was no shelter in sight.  I began to miss the warmth of my cell.  The soft padded cushions on which I had slept felt miles away. 

My stomach growled in protest.  Oh no!  Freezing AND hungry?  I would surely be dead in minutes.  I thought of Woman Who Feeds Me.  Or Fed me, at least.  She would never bring me food again.  Oh, how I longed to see her feet as she poured that delectable substance into my bowl.   And then cradled me in her arms and stroked my head.  I actually missed her.

I knew instantly.  I had to return.   But where was she? How could I ever find her? I looked around for something familiar.  I closed my eyes and tried to smell her.  Nothing. I perked up my ears for the grating sound of her voice.  I began to hear my name.  "Tinker!  TINK!"  But from which direction??  She could be anywhere.

It was then that I felt the small tug inside me.  Instinct.  The same feeling I had experienced when I first saw the squirrel.  But this was different.  It carried with it a single word.  Home.  I began to follow it. 

I must have wandered for hundreds of miles, but eventually, I saw the familiar porch from which I had so foolishly run.  Exhausted and near starvation, I crawled up the steps, crying furiously for someone to rescue me.  Hours later, Woman Who Feeds Me appeared at the door.  She seemed so relieved.  She quickly scooped me up and carried me inside.

"Oh Tink!" she exclaimed.  "Thank goodness you're okay!  It's dangerous out there!"

I was too tired to agree, so I simply purred to let her know I was happy to see her.

"I was so worried about you!  You were gone for almost 10 minutes!"

October 9, 2013 7:44 p.m.

Dear Tinker:


There is no monster stalking you.  That is your tail.


And you aren't Irish.


-Woman Who Feeds You

Tinkertainment 7.0

Tink vs. Doctor Whoot

Tink attempts to secure protection from the United States Marine Corps.
Or at least their shirts.

October 8, 2013 4:49 p.m.

Dear Loyal Followers:

I am told there has been much lamenting about the recent lack of posts.  As a black cat nearing Halloween, I wish I had a less humiliating excuse; but the truth is, for the last few weeks, I have been frozen with terror.

I have suspected for some time now that I am not alone in the Library-Cell. My fears have proven to be well founded.  There is something here.  I must whisper to avoid waking it.

I have not seen the creature directly.  I have only caught glimpses off it out of the corner of my eye. It stalks me from the shadows.  Watching.  Waiting. Planning its attack at the moment I least expect - often as I am drifting off to sleep.  Then - it strikes!  In my peripheral vision, I spot it.  It is black and wispy and terrifying.  It hovers behind me - gripping me with fear - until finally, it vanishes.  In a moment of shear desperation, I attempted to pounce on it once.  Despite my exemplary pouncing skills, I was unable to catch it.  I confess, I am grateful for that now.

I have been unable to close my eyes for more than a few moments. Thankfully, Woman Who Feeds Me must have sensed my fear.  She was kind enough to sleep in the room with me last night.  I waited for her to lie down, and then stretched myself across her throat.  I determined that this was the ideal position, as I would be able to quickly wake her if the beast attacked.  I must confess, also, that my new found affection for her prompted me to protect her from possible strangulation.  Plus, if the beast eats her, she will be unable to protect me.

Somehow, we survived the night.  For now, the hideous monster seems content to bask in the delightful glow of my terror.  I fear it will eventually grow tired of toying with me.  This may be my last post.

-Tink