A couple of weeks ago, Rufus came to visit me in the bedroom. Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. In truth, I lured him into exploring with copious quantities of petting.
But the point is, he made it into the bedroom.
Barely.
As you can see, he was under close observation* by Watanuki, who considers the entire house to be his territory.
* If you’ve never seen cats playing the “I’m not looking at you, so you damn well better not move a muscle” game, I pity you. It’s hilarious.
Eventually Rufus retreated to his familiar territory upstairs, and he hasn’t been back downstairs since. But it’s still progress.
His new den has been rather more successful. It took him about half a day to decide it was a great hangout.
Mind you, we had intended him to sit on top of it so he could look out the window, but so far he’s not interested.
Which may be a good thing, as someone else is.
Surprisingly, their interactions have been peaceful.
Mostly.
‘Nuki occasionally tries to figure out what’s going on underneath him.
Fortunately, he’s a bit unclear on the concept.
I don’t think Rufus even noticed Mr. Knuckles’ investigation.
It was one year ago today that we took the feline formerly known as GT to the vet to have his abscess treated, an act which led, nearly inevitably, to his becoming a member of the family.
He’s still finding his place–he and Kokoro are bopping each other on the head as I write this–but on the whole, he’s doing well and seems happy.
Yes, even Watanuki. (All joking aside, he spends hours in positions like that. I know when they want to be, cats are, for all practical purposes, boneless. But how can he possibly be comfortable?)
It’s all because of the political implications of Rufus joining the gang.
Truth to tell, he’s doing very well. Negotiations rarely come to violence in the halls–at least not of the sort that requires human intervention with leather gloves and/or squirt bottles.
Clashes, yes. But for every moment when somebody gets a paw-slap to the forehead or a cold nose up the ass,
A quick note on yesterday’s Mariners’ game: apparently the kid, better known as Andrew Moore, doesn’t have a problem with pressure. Seven innings, six hits, three runs, four strikeouts, and no walks. Not bad. Not bad at all. Welcome to the big leagues.
Not so much so for Max Povse who also made his MLB debut last night, coming on in relief for Moore: two-thirds of an inning, four hits, three runs, one strikeout. At least he didn’t walk anyone either. Hopefully he’s got that out of his system and he’ll settle down in his next appearance.
Anyway, the Ms are a game over .500 for the first time this season, in sole possession of second place in the AL West–12.5 games behind Houston.
The Mariners had excellent baseball weather. Really. IMNSO, a high in the low seventies and clear skies is just about perfect.
It wasn’t that nice here. Our high was 99. That was outside. Inside, upstairs where I hang out–because that’s where my computer is–it was hotter.
You know who else hangs out upstairs? Rufus.
Do you know what happens to cats when it’s hot?
Their bones turn into jelly, and you wind up with furry puddles of feline scattered around the floor.
Rufus, he’s no dummy. He found a spot directly in front of the air conditioner, and he spent the day like this:
Yes, I made sure he was breathing before I took the picture. Just to be certain.
He’s still not really comfortable with any of the other cats, but as long as they’re not openly antagonistic, he’s willing to live, let live, and sniff butts.
* Yes, my office floor does need vacuuming. That’s one bit of auctorial procrastination I’ve been procrastinating on.
Which means he’s mostly getting along with everyone but Watanuki, who continues to earn the epithet “Mr. Thunk”* every day. Even there, however, relations are improving. ‘Nuki mostly confines himself to chasing Rufus up the stairs and then polishing the already-empty food bowl. Rufus, for his part, regards ‘Nuki with caution, but little fear.
* A portmanteau of “thug” and “punk”.
And not everything is going ‘Nuki’s way. Sachiko has taken over his traditional role as “Lurker Under the Covers”.
She’s been remarkably resistant to his efforts to chase her off the bed. But then, she’s never been especially intimidated by him. She’s been trying to chew his ears off since she was a kitten.
Watanuki’s response to the disarrangement of his routine has been to declare his intention to run away to sea and become a pirate.
I pointed out that cats aboard ship are expected to work. His response, delivered with impressively lofty tones and deep snottiness?
“Nonsense. I shall be a figurehead.”
I had to admit that he’d be a good one. He’s got the attitude and the pose down. I asked him how he felt about the ship’s bow smashing into a wave while he was on duty.
His answer was largely unprintable, but hinted that he doesn’t believe the ocean would dare drench him.
Writers are justly famous for our ability to procrastinate.
But–do you want to hear a secret? Okay, come a little closer so I can whisper–the truth is we’re actually no better at it than anyone else. We just document it better. Because writing is what we do.
And we’ve been at it for a long time. How long? Well, Excuse for Not Writing Number 1 is “Sharpening my charred stick.”
Technology has made some changes. In many parts of the world, Number 2,745 (“Washing the dishes”) has been largely replaced by Number 68,117 and 68,118 (“Loading the dishwasher” and “Emptying the dishwasher”).
At this point, many writers do it more because it’s a tradition than because they feel any deep personal need to procrastinate.
There’s something of a thrill in extending a tradition.
I speak from experience. I’ve just been notified that I’ve had an excuse added to the list.
Official Excuse for Not Writing Number 237,630 is “Rufus demanded a tummy rub.”
I’m proud, honored, and humbled to have made such a significant contribution to my field.
Despite the traditional family humiliations heaped on him–see yesterday’s post for an example–and the continued misbehavior of Mr. AssholeWatanuki, Rufus is making longer forays around the house and looking more comfortable while he does it.
‘Nuki’s latest trick is to climb into Rufus’ bed.
Once firmly in possession, he glares through the holes at the rightful owner.
Who, for the most part, cheerfully ignores him. Rufus has figured out that if ‘Nuki is in the bed, he’s not in a position to prevent him from exploring.
Lately, he’s been hanging out at the top of the stairs. Yes, the stairs that are the nerve center of the entire house, and the spot where Rhubarb and Yuki generally hang out.
Now, granted, that top step is roughly four Rufus-lengths from his “safe space”–that’s the door at the left–but it’s unquestionably a sign of progress.
We’re almost there. The MLB preseason is just about over. Opening Day is Monday, though as usual, we’ve got Scheduled For TV games on Sunday–three of ’em this year.
As we all know, the beginning of the season means two things: cats are making predictions and this year’s baseball video games hit the shelves.
Let’s start with the bad news.
Check out this commercial for MLB The Show 17.
Assuming you haven’t fled, screaming in horror, let’s talk about what’s wrong with this.
For starters, did you notice that every single person in the commercial is “this guy” and “he”? I’m not sure whether Sony thinks that women don’t play video games or that there aren’t female baseball fans, but either way it’s a damned offensive assumption.
Then there’s the celebration of Manfred’s Kool-Aid. “Quick three inning games”? Are you kidding me?
And speaking of that guy–four jobs and twelve kids? Come on! As Groucho Marx once didn’t say, “I love my cigar, too, but I take it out of my mouth once in a while!” Maybe if the dude hadn’t dropped $300 on a PS4 and $60 on the game, he could afford to quit one of those jobs.
I don’t play video games–not even baseball games–but I’m tempted to buy a PS4 just so I can boycott MLB The Show 17. The only thing stopping me is that Sony makes the console too.
Moving on.
Of course we’ve begun indoctrinating Rufus into the household traditions. He’s seen some baseball on TV (about ten seconds worth of highlights), so we figured he was qualified to make predictions for the 2017 season.
On the other hand, he is new to the concept, so we decided to start him off with something straightforward: predicting the final standings for the American League West. We’ll keep working with him during the season, and if his predictions pan out, we’ll give him a shot at the playoffs.
He used a treat-based methodology to make his selections.
The final prediction:
Texas Rangers
Houston Astros
Seattle Mariners
Oakland Athletics
Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim
It’s not the order I’d have liked to see, but it’s not completely unreasonable, based on the preseason predictions. For comparison, FiveThirtyEight has Houston, Seattle, Texas, LA, and Oakland.
Rufus definitely enjoyed making his picks.
He was, however, rather less enthusiastic about the obligatory Wearing of the Cap that followed.
*
