The Insidious Submissive Fluffy Belly Enticement Snare- or- Pavlov's Human

"Gotcha!" The claws and fangs coming at my poor, slow fingers proved once again that felis domesticus was the far, far superior intellect in this situation.

For years, the fluffy black neighbor cat-- dubbed by me, without a molecule of creativity whatsoever, as "Miss Kitty" -- had been coming over to visit, and "help" me garden. In addition to sitting on my back porch and making herself really comfortable on my cushions (as captured in-the-act here), her other modus operandi was rubbing up against my legs, purring like a Craftsman chainsaw, and then rolling over at my feet...

There, she would begin her nefarious ploy.

Upturned to me would be this very furry and soft-looking stomach, her paws tilted demurely, compliant, waiting for an affectionate scratch from the human-type-person who I genuinely like to believe she called "friend."

And despite my better judgment-- despite consequences that had occurred time and time again-- despite the howling pain and sense of deep mortal shame-- despite all this....

I would find my hand unable to resist the tractor-beam pull of this insidious trap-- reaching with blind, renewed optimism each time, to give an affectionate scratch to that fur and--



Miss Kitty would go all ninja on me-- whip out the kind of claws Freddy Krueger would be totally showing off to the other serial killers, latch on to my limb and try to sink her teeth into my loving hand.

In the time of our acquaintance I would say this whole scene happened, oh....

More times than Gary Coleman has said, "Whatchu talkin' 'bout, Willis?"

I would withdraw my hand in dumb shock and scold her, and Miss Kitty would look with wide yellow-green eyes, surprised that I hadn't been as overjoyed as she was with this particular portion of our visit. Then proceed to purr all over me again.

This was our friendship, and I took it. If I ever get married, apparently just chalk me up as a terrific candidate for future spousal abuse. I don't get it.

But over the winter some time, Miss Kitty (who I believe was a rather old dame, though a true lady never tells her age) seems to have passed away. No more did I hear her familiar greeting. No more did I get a bat of the pantleg while I pruned the roses. I missed her presence-- even the part of it with the nasty, big, pointy teeth.

So as I was out gardening this year, along came Gray Cat.

(I spent HOURS thinking up that name, I hope you all appreciate my efforts!)

And Gray Cat likes to help me garden...

(read: lay directly in any dirt I just raked)...

She likes to help me weed...

(read: stalks any vine I pull up and attacks it like she's a tiger, and it's a boa constrictor)

And Gray Cat also likes to lay down on the ground at my feet, exposing her furry belly.

What's more, SHE has a fully-operational tractor beam stomach, as well!

So, the first time she does this, I am at least AWARE of this very familiar and potentially painful experience. But, see, the tractor beam's on, and I am powerless--POWERLESS, I tell you!-- to stop myself.

So I reach down, twiddle my fingers in her velvety gray fur and... She grabs my hand with the soft pads of her paws...

And begins to lick my fingers.

I hadn't even been touching food or anything before this.

It's baffling.

And here's the thing-- while I certainly do miss Miss Kitty, Gray Cat is pretty quickly winning me over. I mean, sandpapery cat-tongue and all, I still think it's an upgrade on my past Human-Feline relations. At least from an injury standpoint.

Of course, she could just be luring me in with the gentle, loving pet routine, in preparation for something really big.

I imagine by the end of the month, Gray Cat and an entire feline hoard will have taken over the yard and I'll merely be a bipedal puppet in their devilish quest to take over the world.

This is how it starts, you know. So, um, in the coming weeks... if the blog begins to dwell overly on say, reviews of Meow Mix? Fund-raising for the ASPCA? And has a new streaming audio soundtrack from "Cats"? Please do me a favor and call the local cops to come check on me...

Tell them they're going to need catnip bombs and string.

Lots of string.

Humor-blogs almost never needs a lint brush for all the shedding.


Alice said...

Aw...I'm a cat person so I like your newest visitor. It seems most of the cats I've had through my life have just magically appeared at our door needing a home. Enjoy Grey Cat (which I love because a cat at my Mom's house, they call 'Grey' too!)

ThriftShopRomantic said...

Alice-- yeah, I really like her, too. I hope to spend some good time outside with Gray Cat, if she happens to come around. She greeted me one morning for work and delayed me ten minutes by laying her head on my foot and purring.

It's impossible to leave with a cat on your foot.

But then, they know that, don't they? :)

Outside My Brain said...

Great post. Great writing! My wife (Truthoughts) and I just love cats. I also am taken in by the lure... I was staying at a friends house once (extended stay) and they had a grey catlet (not a kitten, not yet a cat), named Wadsworth.

Well, he loved the game called the claw (played exactly like Jim Carry does in Liar Liar) but to my chagrin he would latch on to my arm and start kicking like he was a one legged man in a butt-kicking contest.

Holy Cow he would gash my forarm and the back of my hand up something fierce... but you know what? I kept playing the game because he liked it so much. He would crouch down and fly across the room two feet above the ground and latch on to my arm with laser guided precision.

The weird thing was... after I moved on, I really missed him even though I was finally able to wear short sleeves again so as to not be labled a junkie because of the tracks. lol.

Thanks again for the story. Just realized today that this was your blog. doh! My wife even has this site on her blogroll. I'll be back.

DeadRooster said...

Great post! I've been there many times. My cats are constantly setting this same trap for me. If only it wasn't so irresistible.

They use their fluffiness as a weapon. It isn't fair!

Jenn Thorson said...

OutsideMyBrain- Oh, what a great story! You must have looked like you were in some kind of car accident after a few sessions of that game. I just don't know how they manipulate us like that. I really don't.

I'll have to check out your wife's site. I've heard you mention her many times, but I'm not sure I've directly "met" her in the forums. I'll try to rectify that. And thanks for visiting and for the great tale of pain and fur. :)

Rooster- It's so true. To paraphrase Pat Benetar, "Fluff is a Battlefield." :)

Anonymous said...

Hey Jenn...
I have a big orange cat named Rajah who is a 20 lb pile of purr and love...wanting nothing more than affection. However...should you appear with your hair still wet from a shower (preferably short hair)...he becomes an instant Mayfield clamp (a large clamp used to hold the head still during brain surgery). Ten claws will immediately insert themselves on either side of your head and you will be rendered motionless while he methodically dries your entire head with that sandpaper tongue.
Escape is not recommended...he is not kidding around.
Amusing when I forget to tell overnight guests...

Susan H

Manictastic said...

Wait, wait, Miss Kitty came on to you, but then bit you? Well, that means she was either in denial about her sexual preferences, or she loved the kinky stuff. And this other one, Gray Cat, (s)he's more of a sensual lover I think. (S)He likes to take things slow and cuddle first.
Maybe you two love birds need to talk first about this. Oh, and wear rubber! It prevents the dirt from getting under your pwetty finger nails :D

Jenn Thorson said...

Sue- The Rajah story is really funny. Perhaps your guest room could include a sign, "WARNING: CAT-POWERED HAIR DRIER NOT OPTIONAL."

Mani- Ah, the first person to turn my G-rated blog into a PG-13... Now, I'm not precisely sure how you all treat your pets over there in Belgium, but I'm fairly sure it's not that different from us here in the US. Therefore, let me explain-- the kind of "cat house" you seem to be thinking of is probably not the same one I wrote about in the post. :) But thanks for chiming in. HAAAAA

Manictastic :d said...

I'm glad to have helped your blog evolve into new territory :D

Jenn Thorson said...

Mani- Heh, thanks. :)

Greg said...

Uh oh. It was, I believe, five years ago next week that a plaintive little kitty came wandering up my garden path and rolled over to expose his belly to my rubbings.

He's not little anymore, but he's all about lounging around with his tum exposed for anyone who cares to rub and stroke him. may end up with your very own Solstice Belly Kitty!! You're life will happily never be the same again!

Jenn Thorson said...

Greg- I've seen photos of your cat-- and a content-looking furball he is!

I suspect Gray Cat may actually have a home with the folks who owned Miss Kitty. But it's hard to tell.

Greg said...

Well, even better, a cat that comes to visit without the responsibility.

BTW, if you are a Gunsmoke fan, then the name "Miss Kitty" is not at all unimaginative.

Jenn Thorson said...

Greg- Yup, I was well-aware of Gunsmoke and Miss Kitty. A girly fluffy cat seemed appropriate to be called Miss Kitty because of it. But as far as cats go, it's not a landmark original sort of moniker.

I just don't want these cats getting confused because their name is actually "Mungo Jerry" or something at home, and I've given them elaborate personalized names.