Olive and Mabel vs. Gundel

If you don't know Olive and Mabel, you may think that they are new additions to the household, but you would be wrong. Olive and Mabel are labradors who live with some Scottish sports commentator, and obviously Mom is a fan.
Oh yeah, the self-proclaimed "cat lady" watches dog videos on the internet which we all know has been invented to spread the glory of felines.
I know, it's pretty unbelievable. She fooled so many people for so long.

The other day I caught her watching this.



Not only did she laugh, but she also had the impertinence to look at me afterwards and ask me what I was going to do around the house. She brought up the old joke - Greebo and Ponder had warned me about this when I moved in - of tying a little brush to my tail, so I could deal with the litter I am allegedly spreading all throughout the flat. At least I hope for her that it was a joke.
If she expects me to put together furniture for her, she's in for a huge disappointment although I understand where it comes from. You should see how she put together the little chests standing at the end of the bed. It's rather pathetic.

The betrayal gets even more real, though. Every, now and then she comes in from the hallway smelling like dog breath. It's in her clothes and on her arms and sometimes on her face. Ugh, it's disgusting.
I know she's cheating on me with the poodles upstairs. White woolly yappy sheep, what's the attraction, I'm asking you?! She could kiss some luxurious silken black fur instead. If I let her, that is. Can't spoil the human too much. Greebo and Ponder had spoiled her rotten with hugs and kisses and hanging out with her, and now I leave her alone for a second or two and the next thing she does is watching dog videos!

I know what I have to do. I'm going to hide in one of the dark spots where she can't find me easily and listen to her walking back and forth calling for me and getting more and more desperate. Every time she's convinced I dematerialized or found a Gundel size hole in the door or behind a cabinet.
Then if she gets lucky and finds me, I'll get up, turn my back on her and walk away. That should teach her.
And then, after all the apologies and promises that she'll never do anything like this again, we'll talk about the hole in my food ...

Relationship status "It's complicated"

Isn't it unbelievable? You try to kill one, two, maybe thirty Steiff wool miniatures over a few months, and not only Mom - just for the record, she's not my real Mom, I bet my real Mom would understand me - moves the cabinet with the woolies, so I can't get to them anymore (that's what she thinks), but she also accuses me of having "relationship problems".
Hey, I'm not the one having problems, just because I won't glue myself to her the way the boys did. I'm an independent cat lady, Mom should have understood that by now.

Then she comes up with old stories.
"Six weeks ago, Gundel."
Yeah, like I said, old stories. She gives me that look that she thinks is stern and will impress me. Dream on, old lady. "Tell them about the bat, Gundel."
The bat. She'll never forgive me "the bat incident".

Mr Black Batty appeared in early August, a very handsome guy. A child of the night, just like myself. Black felt and oh, he smelled so good, like valerian root. He wasn't much of a talker, but he was nice to be around.

We hung out in one of my favorite spots under the table and it was inevitable that we finally got closer. Exchanging stories about the moon, sharing secrets, gossiping about Mom, the things you talk about with another child of the night. We became instant BFFs.
It was just annoying that Mom kept hunting us with the camera. I swear there's no privacy in this house (although I found a great place now, in one of the armchairs under the big fake fur blanket, there's even a cat bed with a small blanket in there, but that's a different story).

Well, and then, you know how it is ... things got a little, hm, more passionate. I can't help it that Mom is such a dainty flower. I have teeth and claws and little spines on my tongue, and Batty just couldn't keep up with that being felt and thread.

Things may have got a little rough, and eventually the Batster may have, erm, changed a little.

"Changed a little?? Gundel, you killed him. You said you were BFFs, but that's by far the shortest 'forever' that I've ever heard of. It was not a pretty sight. He hadn't even been filled with the valerian root! They were just in a bag together. What would you have done with him had he been filled up?"
"Gee, lady, what's all the fuss! Bats come, bats go. It's nature."

That's the moment when she shows me this.

What can I say? Those were two really fun days, and it was worth it. For me at least.

You want to know what happened next? Mom got me a new ... whatever. Not a friend because yeah, who cares if I'm lonely.
She got me a cigar instead. A bloody CIGAR.
Sorry for cursing, but honestly, what is going on inside that head of hers? I'm not sure all that self-isolation is that good for her ....

Keeping the memory alive

Hi!

You have read about me before. I'm Gundel.
If you wonder what I'm doing on Ponder's blog, well, that's a sad story.
As you know Ponder wrote his last post in September. Not long after that he had a dental appointment and not long after that he became sick. It had nothing to do with his teeth, but he kept losing weight and not feeling well which broke Mom's heart. Be assured, however, that he stayed Ponder until the very end when Mom had to let him go in February.

It has been five months now, but the hole is as large as it was on the first day, and there are still tears flowing.

So, Ponder's footprints may be too big for me to step into them, but I've got my own footprints, and that's the way it should be.
The memories stay - not just of Ponder of course, but all the other cats that Mom keeps telling me about (shh, I am kind of glad I never had to fight things out with Meffi, she sounds as if she was some tough kitty) - and Mom and I will make new memories together. For that I thought it was just right to stay on Ponder's blog and not start a new one of my own.

So I hope you will keep following our stories.
It may not be as loud here anymore, but we will still be having fun.

Love,
Gundel

P.S. Mom is accusing me of sleeping on the job. Now if that isn't a fine start to this ...