The Benefits of Human Slavery

I haven't posted in a while, so allow me to explain. Meem and Peem don't seem to understand something - they are my slaves and they have to do what I want. So in that vein, I am making them post about what every cat needs - human slaves.


Every cat man needs human slaves to do the menial things in life - dispensing our treats, scratching our necks, cleaning our eyes out and scooping our litter. After feeding us exactly what we want and when we want, scooping out our litter is the most important chore for human slaves.

A cat man needs to make sure that his slaves understand the importance of this job. Like all royalty, we get very peeved when we don't get our way.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Remove my waste product, slave!"

In order to train your human slaves appropriately, you must begin training them at an early stage in your relationship. As in the first day:

Your new monarch has assumed his place.

A kingly cat man must have a throne. Here I am claiming my throne shortly after my slaves brought me to my palace. Notice that I am not concerned about the size of the throne. I know that I will soon grow into a strong and healthy cat man and the size of my royal throne will be of no concern.


You must also teach your servants the proper way to prepare your meals.

As you can see, I am asserting my dominance early in the relationship. I am letting my human slave know that while I may permit them to eat dairy products undisturbed from time to time, their pudding or yogurt belongs to me. As it should be.

Here I'm teaching my human slave the correct way to feed me pudding.

Not only do their dairy products belong to the kingly cat man of the house, but in fact their entire house as well. Their recliner? Yours to appropriate and take over. Their couch? Your personal scratching post. Their shoes? Yours for vomit disposal. Their carpet? Yours to deposit your winter fur. Any corded electrical device? Yours for chewing while you are teething or merely need to get your human slave's attention.


An important point to remember for all cat royalty- Do not feel guilty about any of this.


You are a cat man, and human slaves and their property are you due. You must not only expect deference, you must always act imperious. Why? Because you are a cat man.

According to the Feline Laws of the Universe, cat men are never to feel guilt about anything. At all. Guilt is bullshit. Did you puke all over their tax returns or thesis? Knock over their precious china? Almost burn down the apartment? Destroy the only remaining map to the Ark of the Covenant?

Do you know what your response should be?


"Nope, wasn't me. I'm a cat - we don't make mistakes."

Remember this, as it is the very essence of our Royal Feline mentality: We are cats and we don't make mistakes. Period. No arguments. No exceptions.

The sooner our human slaves understand this simple universal truth, the easier their lives will be. Remember: Start young. Be assertive. Claim your royal dues. If you follow my advice, soon your human slaves will be assuming the position:

That's right. Bow down, slave.

I am UNIQUE

That's U-N-I-Q-U-E. According to my Peem, I'm a "Special Guy." That's right. I am special. Yeah. I am. Meem keeps saying that she's glad there's only one of me. Please. This world would be a much better place if populated by Special Cat Men. All Cat Men are Special, but I'm Super-Special. Do you want to know how Super-Special I am? Of course you do. So I'll provide some photographic evidence. Just in case you have any questions. But of course you won't. Why argue with me?

I am a work of art. My handsomeness cannot be defined in a few words, so I'll leave it to your imagination. Gaze upon my handsomeness and let poetry enter your soul:

I am super handsome.

I can't be boxed in. I will not be a slave to boundaries. I make my own rules. And this picture shows how 20 pound Healthy and Strong Cat Men can fit into my Meem's size 7 shoe box. Don't let boundaries win.

Boundaries? What boundaries?

I am the soul of kindness. Need I say more? Rainbows and butterflies soar through my veins. From my eyes all of the joy of the world shines. (*Editor's note: Um, what? You can't be serious. No, really. You can't). Shut up! This is my blog! I'm a prince, no, KING among cats. When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it.

Kindness is me. I am kindness.

I am an artistic genius. I am one of the greatest feline opera singers in the world. The power of my voice rattles the walls of our apartment. I should be one of the Three Tenors. I don't know why I'm not. Probably because my Peem and Meem are lazy. Someone should tell them to get me an agent. Now. I said NOW!

I have a velvety singing voice.

My Eye rival Sauron's. No further comment required. Just be careful, I'm watching you. (Editor's note: Run Frodo, run.)

"I see you."

I have kingly dignity and therefore wear a crown (on my collar). I'm still waiting for Meem to pick up my royal purple and gold fleur-de-lis collar. But I don't need a collar to prove my Kinglyness. I am King of the family. King of the food bowl. King of the world. King of the universe. King. Period.

Don't argue with the King.

And finally, I glow. I am a Super-Special Cat Man who is a King, an all-knowing Eye, an Artistic Genius whose Kindness and Handsomeness knows no Boundaries. Now you know exactly how UNIQUE I am.

Have you ever seen such perfection?

(Editor's note: Well, I guess this makes up for not posting for so long. The Wrath of Smeege is horrifying to endure. Of course, typing all of this modesty does make one want to vomit).

Yet again, my staff is Bullshit.

Complete and utter Bullshit. I've given my staff an ultimatum - post something about me this weekend or face my Wrath. My Wrath is something to be feared. It has a face, and its face is this:

Do as I say or face the consequences!

They have until this weekend. Or my Wrath will be unleashed. If you don't hear from them, that means they have suffered the Wrath.

(**Editor's note: Oh dear. Not the Wrath. Not again. We quiver before the mightiness of the Smeege. Or something).

Let's get something straight.

My favorite time of the day.

I keep hearing all of these comments about my "weight." Things like "fatboy," "moose," "chunk," "chubby-bubby," "tank," and "go-rilla." I don't just hear it from my Peem and Meem, but from total strangers. Like they have the right to comment on ME.

So, last week, I was sitting in the computer room window, enjoying the breeze and watching all of the human slaves driving by in their cars (in their daily drive-by parade in honor of me).

I love the daily honor parade. For ME.

Just then this old couple walked by and noticed me. Of course they noticed me, I'm very impressive and worthy of notice. Just when I thought they were going to discuss my regal demeanor, instead this is what I hear:


Old Lady: "Look at the size of him!"

Old Man: "Oh, he's a BIG one!!"

"Excuse ME??"

Peem, who witnessed this travesty, began to laugh, because he's insensitive. Still laughing, he ran into the living room to tell Meem, who also began to laugh. Instead of laughing at this insult to my dignity, they should have ran outside and told those rude jerks that I'm not "BIG" but Strong. And Healthy. But they didn't. Because they suck.

The next day, when Meem was unlocking the front door after she got home from work, she was stopped by two neighbor girls. The girls told Meem that they liked her cats. Meem asked which cat was their favorite (as if she had to ask, of course it's me), and both girls replied:

"We like the BIG, FAT one!!"

This. Is. Bullshit. Let's get something straight. There is a difference between "fat" and "Strong and Healthy." I am not fat. Cat men are never fat. We are all strong boys. We eat all the time so that we can defend our human families. Why don't you get this?!? Since humans seem to have difficulties with this concept, I will provide you with some visual representations of "Strong and Healthy" cat men:

STRONG.

HEALTHY.

HEALTHY and STRONG.

Of course, the most handsome of the "Strong and Healthy" cat men is last. The best always comes last:

And that's me.

Bath time does not equal bullshit.

Let me tell you why. I get dirty. Being a big, strong cat man I find it difficult to reach some places. When I get too dirty, I get in a really bad mood. *(From the Editors: Um, yeah. This is a bit different from his normal mood, but not by much). To get the attention of my staff, sometimes I have to resort to the Annoying Cat Stare. I have a special twist on this because I can make my eyes glow with anger. Peem, he tends to ignore me. So I directed my Annoying Cat Stare at Meem:

This is my Annoying Cat Stare. Beware.

When I add my Annoying Cat Yell to my Annoying Cat Stare, it always works. Today I got a bath. Now, being a Turkish Van Cat, I'm special. Not that you needed reminding of how special I am, but I'm super-special. Turkish Vans like water. This means that I like water. I like water in all its forms. Ice cubes. Snow. Especially snow. And baths.

Now. For a proper bath, there are certain tools that you need. First, you need a staff of humans. Next you need a tub with warm bath water. Cold water is bullshit. I'm a Turkish Van, not a polar bear. Next, the water must be filled to approximately chest level. This is important. Not too shallow. Not too deep. Are you taking notes? You should be.

Here's a picture of the most important tools. Note the gloves, cat shampoo and especially my purple and white striped bath towel. I'm royalty, therefore I must have purple. That's the rule.

These are important cat bath tools. Take notes.

Meem insists on the rubber gloves to wash my backside. She says I'm "skanky." I don't agree. She's wrong. **(Editor's note: Skanky doesn't need quotes around it. The feline is positively foul.) To better illustrate my invigorating bathing experience, my slaves, I mean, servants, will post some pictures.

First, I must get naked. That means remove my collar. By the way, Meem saw the perfect collar for me this weekend, but being a man, Peem wouldn't let her get it for me. Bullshit. It was purple with gold Fleur-de-Lis all around it. She better go back and get it for me. Anyway, you can tell from this picture that I need a bath. I'm in a bad mood.

Next, pour the water. Make sure my fur is completely saturated. The warm water being poured along my spine feels nice. I recommend it. However, Meem got too close to my eyes here. That's what happens when she doesn't listen to me.

I like this shampoo. It makes me all manly and clean. The one problem I have with it is that it makes me smell like an apple blossom. Peem likes to tease me for a couple days after every bath, like he thinks he's funny or something. He's not. Cats aren't supposed to smell like apple blossoms. Cat nip blossoms, maybe. Apple blossoms. No. Who thought of that? They need to be fired.




Meem gets me all sudsy and once again I have to tell her to be careful of my eyes. If she got shampoo in my eyes, I would make sure to shred her JCrew Italian suede ballet flats. I am very practiced at revenge. Soap in the eyes means the death of expensive shoes.




The only part of my bath that is bullshit is when my Meem washes by backside. Stay away from my behind. Period. It's not as dirty as you think it is. How would you like it if someone scrubbed your butt wearing rubber gloves? That's right, you wouldn't.




After I'm all rinsed off, Peem always has to laugh. He thinks I have a weight problem. Pleasantly plump is NOT a weight problem. Here I am, naked and vulnerable, and all he does is laugh and take pictures of my manly physique. He wishes he was a cat man. That's all.




Once my bath is finished, I get dried off in my royal towel. I demand that my servants towel dry me for at least 10 minutes.

Only I can get my fur just perfect. You must leave me alone until I'm properly coiffed.


This is me after I'm all clean and dry. Remember, baths are not bullshit. A bathed cat is a happy cat. That's what I think. That means it's true.

My Staff. Is. Bullshit.

Do I look like a cat man who expects a lot from his staff? No. I don't. Just the basics. Complete attention. At all times. So why haven't you posted on my blog in over a week? No excuses. I don't care if Meem has been teaching a lot. No excuse. I don't care if Peem is applying for jobs. No excuse. I'm the most important thing here. Remember that. Not posting to my blog. Is. Bullshit.

From the Editors: Alright already. Give us a break. We'll work on more posts this weekend. We've been taking loads of pics of you, haven't we? We've been discussing your post ideas, haven't we? Calm down, oh lordly one.

It's all a matter of perspective

From the Editors: Smeege isn't likely to admit it, but he actually has two siblings: Kate, who is reaching her senior years and is very mellow; and Clive, who is a Seal-Point Siamese and very British (elegant, urbane, witty).

Last eve, new neighbors parked their moving van in front of our kitchen window which prompted great curiosity on part of the kittos. Being kittos, they think it their duty to supervise (spy) on neighborly goings-on and share their views with others.

Kate: "Oh, how lovely. New neighbors. I wonder if they'll come visit me? They absolutely must."

Clive: "Neighbours? Oh, rawly? I'm afraid I'm absorbed elsewhere at the mo."



Smeege: "I'll eat them alive!"

The Unified Theory of Bullshit

I should have a PhD. in this stuff. I'll tell you why. I've developed a theory that explains how I see the world. It's called The Unified Theory of Bullshit. It sounds complicated, but it's not. Basically, anything that I don't approve of is bullshit. Since I'm a cat, the world revolves around me. If I don't like something, then it's bullshit and can be safely ignored. I consider lots of things to be bullshit; I'll give you some examples:

1. Not getting my neck scratched when exactly I want? Bullshit.



2. Not being fed according to my precise internal clock? Bullshit.



3. Commenting on my perceived girth? Insensitive bullshit. I am strong and healthy. Not obese.



4. Not cleaning my eyes out at precisely 8 a.m. and 8 p.m.? Bullshit.



5. Not giving me my petroleum jelly snacks anymore because the vet says it's not good for me? Bullshit. Who is the expert on me? That's right. ME.



6. My favorite treats are Greenies and they need to be on hand at all times. If they're not? Bullshit.



7. If I am getting sick of one flavor of Greenies and you don't immediately change to another flavor? Bullshit. You must be attuned to my every wish and desire.



8. Paying attention to another cat and not me? That's total bullshit.



9. Not changing the litter box when I demand you to? That's not only bullshit for me, but problems for you. I can't help it if I have the bladder of an Arabian racehorse. You need to buy a stronger scooper. Period. Cheap plastic ones break under the weight of my masculine waste. Metal works better. (*Editors note: Apologies for the uncouth details).



10. Reality, the very fabric of our existence which allows us to function in a cruel and random universe? You guessed it, bullshit. If reality doesn't conform to my exact wishes, then life itself is indeed bullshit.

I hope that clears things up. I tend to use the phrase bullshit quite a bit and didn't want to confuse my audience. Now you understand why I say it so much. If you don't understand, then I will just say that you are bullshit.

My Beginnings

Ok, so I have to tell you how I came to live with my Meem and Peem. When I was just a baby (about a month old, Meem thinks), some jerk dumped me and my siblings into a field outside Buffalo, NY. I don't remember much before that. (Peem thinks I hatched from an alien pod. I don't know. Maybe). I got separated from my siblings, but somehow I saw this guy standing by the side of the road. So I yelled at him and he picked me up. This was my Peem's brother-in-law, Scott. He was working on a road crew. He said he saw a hawk circling the field while a big mower was mowing it and he thinks my siblings got eaten by a hawk - or run over by the mower. He looked for them but all he found was me.


I made Scott take me back to his hotel room. He didn't have any food for me to eat, so I yelled at him. I kept yelling until he took me to Agway and asked the girl what to feed a kitten. I yelled at her too. She told him the right food to get, so I know she understood what I said, even though she was just a woman. I had to stay in Scott's truck during the week while he finished working, so I got used to vehicles - I like going for rides. Riding in cars is cool. I also like watching cars go by from my tower. Cars are cool. But back to my story.


Scott finally took me home that weekend. Scott had a big, dumb dog that almost ate me. He picked me up and I fit inside his mouth. Now that was real bullshit. I didn't come to planet Earth to get eaten by a dumb dog. I came to this planet to rule over dogs.


My future Meem and Peem were visiting their hometown that weekend. Peem's sister said she had a cute kitty that she wanted to show us and walked in with me:

This is my baby picture. I was very cute.

Meem and Peem took me back to the city that they lived in to see if they could find a home for me. They tried to keep me in a laundry basket for the ride home. I didn't like that. I jumped out and curled up on my Meem's lap in the front seat. She was a woman, so she had to do what I wanted. She even covered me with a towel. I slept like the baby I was for the entire two hour ride back to their city.


They couldn't find a home for me. I guess nobody wanted a cute kitten. I've always been misunderstood. I decided that I wanted to live with Meem and Peem, so I just yelled at them until they understood my command. Being humans, they did as they were told.

I was a sweet kitten.

I don't know why no one wanted me.*

That's how my Meem and Peem got stuck with me. My alien pod landed in a field in Buffalo, I was picked up by Peem's brother-in-law, sent to Peem's sister and then given to my Peem. I love my Peem. He's a man. Men rule. It was destiny. Even though she's a woman, Meem's o.k., especially when she remembers to feed me.

(*Editor's Note- The question is left as an exercise for the reader.)

Life = bullshit

That's my philosophy. I have a list of things that equal bullshit. Like baths. Any treats except for Greenies. When I don't have ice cubes in my water or when Peem* says I have coobs*. When the windowsill is too narrow and I can't jump onto it. All this is bullshit. And it needs to change. This is why I am having Meem* type all of this for me. Everyone needs to know what needs to change.

Cats don't need baths. We're clean. I'm clean. I don't know why they give me a bath once a month. It's bullshit. And I should always have ice cubes in my water. Ice cubes are cool. I like to hear them crackle. I like cold water. And I don't have coobs. I'm a cat man. I'm big boned and strong. Big strong cat men don't have coobs. Big strong cat men don't fall off windowsills. The windowsills need to be wider. That's all. The bullshit needs to end. Pay attention.


**Editor's note: Peem is the Smeege's male servant. Meem is his female servant. Coobs are cat boobs. The Smeege is, how shall we say...husky. He also has pink skin. Hence, when he sits a certain way, it looks as though he has boobs. Obviously, he doesn't share our views. All of the Smeege's views in this blog are his own. If you disagree with his sentiments, try living with him.

Also, the Smeege smells. He's rank. That is why he gets bathed once a month. If he'd take care of his posterior, we wouldn't gag when he passes by and he wouldn't have to have a bath. Besides, he likes to walk around the bathtub during his bath and is as happy as a clam for a week afterwards. Don't let him fool you.
-The Editors