Introducing the new kid on the block

Welcome back to my little corner of the Universe which has become even a little smaller because doors have to stay shut a lot here these days. Excuse me while I'm glaring at a 6 1/2 month old kitten when saying that.
I'll have to explain.
In June this year, Mom made a very unfortunate remark to Kosel, one of the upstairs poodles. She told him that she wasn't able to pick an older companion for me at the moment and that he should bring a kitten from the farm near his humans' garden in a village nearby. She claims that she was whispering, but a few days later a box appeared in front of our door and said box contained a kitten.
Awww, he was so cute, he was so small, he was so adorable. Ugh, you know how humans are around kittens.

I won't beat around the bush. Ever since the kitten left quarantine - which he had to spend in the bunny room with a lot of toys and enough food for a grown tiger both as an introduction period and because of the contents of his litter box (no words to describe that, I swear) - he has been wreaking havoc. On Mom (who deserves it for her reckless decision), but also on his surroundings (Mom deserves that as well, she keeps stuffing things into cupboards and drawers and she even started decluttering!) and on myself (which is completely inappropriate).

His name is "der Dekan" which means "the Dean". He is named after one of the wizards of the Unseen University from the Discworld books. I'm not so sure about that name. Attila the Hun would have fitted nicely or maybe Godzilla even if it's just our place he's trying to destroy and not Tokyo. He steals, he fights dirty, he's wild, he knocks stuff over and down, he eats about twice his weight every day, and I doubt that the rugs in this flat will ever lie straight again. And doors get shut a lot because right now we can't be in the room with the staircase both at the same time (he keeps jumping at me up there and Mom does not want us to fall down), but also because der Dekan loves the kitchen counter and isn't allowed in there during preparing of some food and cooking, because he gets so excited about food that he inhales his and then tries to eat mine, because Mom needs some time to do things without him, for example take a shower or work on something, and so on and on and on .....

You will hear more about him eventually. I need to vent somewhere, right?

And you will hear what I will be teaching den Dekan (don't be surprised that the article will be changing, that's just German declination). The youngster is totally clueless. All he knows is the farm and his large number of siblings (nine, they said). Yesterday, when he tried to knock Dude's portrait off the wall, Mom stopped him and told him to honor the ancestors. She told him Dude's story and how he might not even be here now, hadn't it been for Dude. I have no doubt she's going to tell him more stories, but I think I'm better at that.

So in the next post I will pick up where Ponder left off in 2019. I'll tell dem Dekan about the feline master and mistress of my Mom's sister, Johnny and Emma. Ponder said that there were 1000s of pictures, and miracles happen, Mom finally edited and sorted those, actually not just those of the Avengers, but also old pictures of yours truly.
I know that Ponder who had a very big heart for new people and cats would want me to show the pictures and tell the story, so that's what I will be doing very soon.

For now, I'll leave you with a picture of the new kid from about a month ago. I picked it for the look on his face. Remember how Ponder tried to tell Mom that I was dangerous and a thief when I first came here? I wonder what he would say to this brat now ...

See you around soon, I hope!
~ Gundel

Self-service

"Gundel, I know that you are busy ironing my jeans with your butt, but can we have a short word?"
"Again? What is with you? Talking, talking, talking. Are you bored because of self-isolation and think you have to annoy me all the time? I'm starting to think about getting a restriction order."
"Oh yeah? How about I get a restriction order, so you won't take up all the space on my pillow in bed all the time?"
"You love when I sleep on your pillow. Even then you can't keep your hands off me and stop talking. Admit it."
"Yeah, okay. It's true. You are so cute when you sleep and your fur is so soft and ..."
"Get a grip, lady! So what is it you wanted to talk with me about?"
"Valerian."
"Geez, now what have I done?"
"This."

"That's the bag in which your offering of a brandnew valerian pillow came. What about it?"
"I had put it on the side, you were not supposed to open it yourself."
"What, now I have to ask you if I take something that's mine, anyway? You should be the one reprimanded for leaving it out."

She looked so silly with her mouth open like that when I left her standing there. Honestly, if she doesn't want me to take something, she should put it away.
By the way, if you are worried, I didn't eat the plastic. This is just the cleaned up version of the bag. In fact, it was the only plastic bag I ever ripped apart. That pillow sure smelled good. Or so I thought. I guess it had been the other one that I had killed a few weeks ago whose scent was still lingering. I left the new pillow on the spot, it was boring.
But hey, at least I didn't pee on it. That should make Mom happy, shouldn't it? ;-)

The pillow

"Lady G., a word?"
"I'm busy."
"I can tell that! What in Bastet's name are you doing?"
"Playing with my pillow. What's the problem?"
"What's the ... ugh. Let me get the dustpan."

I honestly don't know what Mom's problem is now. She got me two new spelt and valerian pillows with the last food order.
I love valerian, I lick it and drool on it and it makes me happy. She only lets me have it for a little, though, because she's afraid I'll get too high or ingest something that's not good for me.

"Gundel, that was the last time I got you valerian pillows."
"May I ask why?"
"You may. The last time I got you some you peed on one of them while I was on the phone telling my sister how much you like your new pillows."
"I did like one of them."
"What was wrong with the other one?"
"It didn't feel right."
"And what have you done with this one? I saw you lick it, turned my back on you for five seconds and then this!"

Seriously, do you know what her problem is?

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 ...

She called me a thief!

Let me make this very clear first. I am not a thief. I was here first. I have been the supervisor in this house for 14 years. Gundel has been here for a little over two years.
I have been very generous from the start. I shared most of my sleeping spots, I shared my food, I shared Mom, and it wasn't always easy. I'm a gentleman.
And now I am being called a thief just for taking back the Stairs to Nowhere. It's unbelievable.

Here's the story ...
Once upon a time there were the Stairs to Nowhere with a little platform at the top. The top is quite close to the ceiling and the platform is just big enough to make a wonderful sleeping spot. There's no pillow there, not even a blanket, but it's still perfect.
All of us have been using that platform over the last seven years which is when the staircase had been cut off. While Mom can come up the stairs, she's way too big to do it comfortably, so she only does to sweep down our hair and remove one or the other hairball.
I hadn't been using it for a while because I had discovered Wardrobe Island.

Okay. When Gundel found the Platform of Undisturbed Sleep, I was fine with that. I didn't think, though, that suddenly I wasn't allowed to use it anymore at all without being slandered. Yes, Mom, I am looking at you! Calling me a thief when this whole thing is actually your fault!

Mom has an a/c unit standing in her bedroom. She doesn't use it most of the time, so then it is in a corner and it's from there I jump up on the wardrobe. Now there were a few really hot days when she did use it for which she has to pull it further into the room, but from where it is too far from the wardrobe. AND even though those really hot days were over, she still left it standing there "just in case". A case of laziness if you ask me.

Last week there were a few more hot days which I like to spend on top of things. If you don't take away my path to the top of things, that is. So yes, I dared to claim my old haunt on the stairs while Gundel was sleeping on Mom's pillow in the bed (who's the thief here?). Then the little lady got up and went straight for the stairs ... and stopped on the first step looking up at me ... and dropped almost right in the spot in one of our favorite sun spots and fell asleep.
Obviously she had no problem with this, I mean look at her, does she look anything but relaxed to you?
Mom, though, haha - you should have heard her nagging at me from her desk underneath!

Of course I played it cool. Call me Mr Cool. Ponder Cool. With the license to sleep on the stairs. Take that, Mom.