It's mad, I tell you, mad!

Had you thought der Dekan and I disappeared off the planet? No, but we were really busy. We had to eat, we had to nap a lot, play sometimes, fight every, now and then - and most important of all we found a hobby that we can both agree on. It's cheap, it's fun, it's easy and you can do it all around the clock.
I'm of course talking about driving Mom to ultimate madness. It's not that we don't like her, she's quite useful as a can opener, she does our boxes, she makes quite a good bed for lounging (especially if she falls asleep and doesn't move), she reads to us which can be pretty relaxing, she pets us, and she catches our beauty in pictures (den Dekan more than me because my pictures tend to be blurry if the light isn't right and she hates how flash makes my gorgeous fur look all wrong while it really brings out his stripes nicely) and, even more important, knows which pictures of me to delete (who cares if she shows the goofiest, least flattering pictures of the brat, mugshots are rarely good).

First of all, I'm really pushing my art career at the moment.
Let Mom call me a vandal, I don't care. Here's just a small reminder of my inspiration, I never pose like that with my artwork to keep a bit of the Banksy touch.
Der Dekan has pretty much given up on this kind of art installation, by the way. Obviously he had to acknowledge that I'm so much better than he is. He's more into

I am taking this further than der Dekan, though, in frequency for example which is of course a comment on the many Sisyphos tasks humans are dealing with throughout their lives, such as laundry, vacuuming, cleaning, grocery shopping, etc.
To be clear, they are doing some of them happily because they know we allow them do those for our wellbeing - choosing the best food (which we will like and then refuse and then like again), creating a safe but inspiring environment for us to develop our many amazing talents, but also litterboxes for example (although sometimes I wonder if that is more of a weird obsession and I'm thinking about writing my thesis about that).
For Mom, one is obviously kicking back the baseboards with her foot while mumbling to herself, no doubt about the flawless execution of not ripping out just the short, but also the long board. Extra touches are to pull them out far enough to either knock over one or several of the door stoppers or leave them slanted which looks very good if I may say so myself.
I'm quite grateful she took over that duty because if she didn't put them back, I couldn't rip them out again, right? About a minimum of three times a day, with the record probably at about six or seven.
You can tell I'm working very hard on this.

Another way to make Mom panic is to eat something you shouldn't it. Like bats.
If you have been around for a while, you may remember my complicated relationship with bats. No, I didn't follow Ozzy Osbourne's example, I'm talking about felt bats (or actually any other felt pieces).
Mom never fails to show me this picture of my former BFF and she keeps pointing out that two days are not "forever". So petty.

Well, she gave me "another chance at proving I'm a responsible and mature cat".
I won't be saying any more without my lawyer except that I had fun hearing Mom yell for me to stop licking the new bat to death. She says she doesn't want me to swallow the felt that gets stuck on my tongue. Pfff.

By the way, no need to worry about the missing hair on the back of my legs,
it comes and goes.

Unfortunately, Mom has taken measures to fight back in the most cruel and humiliating way. All I'm saying is "vet".
But that, my dear readers, is a story for another time ...

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 ....