Shaman on sit-down strike — I TOLD them I wanted FOOD in this bowl.
Hi. I’m George. I’m gorgeous, so they called me Gorgeous George. I also like to explore in woodsy places. So they called me George of the Jungle. And, being a cat, of course I’m curious. So . . . Curious George. They don’t speak cat, so I had to give them lots of hints that my name is George. Duh.
Find the cat in this picture.
Hi. I’m Jerry. You saw me in the other Catnips curled up in a basket. When I was just a kitten I had a brother Tom. It was while we were just tykes that sister Katie named us Tom and Jerry. She said our profiles matched the cartoon characters. We lost our mother early, so we had to be bottle fed. Being an orphan I became a little strange. I drooled a lot. Never did figure out the proper place to go . . . you know . . . go. I just hope this cardboard box doesn’t mean anyone’s shipping me out to Abu Dabi, you know, like Garfield does.
I’m Batcat and this is my Robert DeNiro impression. “Are you thawkin’ ta me? Are YOU thawkin’ ta me?” Good, huh. This tattered ear makes me look like a ruffian, too. Reckon Bob could get me in the movies with him?
What? Can’t you see I’m walkin’ here? — Was that DeNiro, or was that someone else with attitude. Actually, I’m not an attitude type of cat. It’s just that I want to be in the pictures so bad. I love attention. Spotlight. I’m a great one for head-butts. I hop up in laps and butt my person so hard under the chin his teeth clank together. That gets attention. I think I’d be great as a feline thespian. Wanna hear me do Hamlet?
I’m Shaman. Since I look like an early western Indian shaman, or medicine man, who rattled bones and scared the evil spirits away, I guess that’s why I got saddled with this moniker. I do look at people a little strangely, but I don’t mean a thing by it. If I look a little familiar, I was the first cat at the top of the page. You know, the one in the food dish. I grew up a little since that picture at the top of the page which was supposed to be down here with this picture but went to the top anyway. You know, of course, that Linda is having to do this stuff by herself since Mike is at work so there’s no telling what you’re going to get. I think she’s possessed by the bad spirits of Mech-no and Tech-no. No can do either one. Now, where’d I put them bones?
Paper or plastic? Don’t matter. Just bag me.
Hi. I’m the cute kitten of Christmas Past. We (my sibling and I) were taken in as orphans and subjected to posing for cute kitten pictures. Tch-tch-tch. People. You can’t live with ’em and you can’t live without ’em. I am cute, though, huh?
Just table this project.
Here’s me and brother on the table. We didn’t do it. We’re too little to get up here by ourselves. The big people did it.
Cute Knick-knacks. But as live-art or centerpieces we will never do.
Remember me? I’m Gideon (Giddy), a younger version of the picture you saw on the first Catnips. I haven’t sprouted my signature mutton-chops, yet. So. Uh. Mmmm. Okay. Now I’m trying to think of something else to say. Nope. Won’t come. Okay. I’m done. I don’t have writer’s block exactly. I’m just . . . well . . . stumped.
Wonder how much I can bench press?