The Real Cat Owner's Survival Guide (eBook, ePUB)
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It's been said that cats are the nicest predators we'll ever allow in our homes. Humorist Kevin Lawson claims to understand how these masters of manipulation actually work, and he's even written a survival guide for other human "owners". We can't really say if the Cat Overlords have signed off on this project, however.The Art Form That Is Cat NappingCats are the ultimate masters of napping, and their ability to find the most absurdly small spaces to curl up in is nothing short of a miracle. I mean, have you ever seen a cat squeeze itself into a box that's clearly three sizes too small? It's li...
It's been said that cats are the nicest predators we'll ever allow in our homes. Humorist Kevin Lawson claims to understand how these masters of manipulation actually work, and he's even written a survival guide for other human "owners". We can't really say if the Cat Overlords have signed off on this project, however.
The Art Form That Is Cat Napping
Cats are the ultimate masters of napping, and their ability to find the most absurdly small spaces to curl up in is nothing short of a miracle. I mean, have you ever seen a cat squeeze itself into a box that's clearly three sizes too small? It's like watching a magician perform a trick, except instead of pulling a rabbit out of a hat, they're somehow folding their entire body into a shoebox. You've got to give them credit for their flexibility, but really, it raises the question: what is it about small spaces that makes cats think, "Ah, yes, this is the perfect spot for a snooze"?
Take my cat, Whiskers. He's a hefty little guy, not exactly the poster child for feline agility, yet he has this uncanny ability to turn into a contortionist when he spots a cozy nook. I once watched him climb into a cardboard box that was meant for a pair of shoes. I stood there, mouth agape, as he squished himself in, paws splayed out, and somehow managed to fit. It was as if he was channeling his inner origami artist, folding himself into a shape that defied the laws of physics. I half-expected him to emerge with a tiny hat and a bowtie, ready for a formal event.
And then there's the laundry basket. Oh, the laundry basket. It's like a five-star hotel for cats. Whiskers will leap into that thing, and suddenly it's like he's found the softest, warmest cloud in the universe. But here's the kicker: he doesn't just lie down. No, he has to dig himself in, burrowing deeper and deeper until he's completely hidden. You'd think he was preparing for a winter hibernation rather than a quick nap. I can't help but wonder if he thinks he's camouflaging himself, like some kind of furry ninja. "If I can't see you, you can't see me," he seems to be saying, while I'm left wondering how I can possibly do laundry with a cat in residence.
And then there are the truly bizarre choices. The other day, I found him napping inside a plastic bag. A plastic bag! I mean, what's next? A nap in the toaster? I can just picture it: "Whiskers, what are you doing?" "Just getting my beauty sleep, Mom! This is the latest trend in cat napping." It's like he's trying to prove a point: "You humans think you need a comfy bed? Pfft! I'll show you how to nap like a pro." ...
The Art Form That Is Cat Napping
Cats are the ultimate masters of napping, and their ability to find the most absurdly small spaces to curl up in is nothing short of a miracle. I mean, have you ever seen a cat squeeze itself into a box that's clearly three sizes too small? It's like watching a magician perform a trick, except instead of pulling a rabbit out of a hat, they're somehow folding their entire body into a shoebox. You've got to give them credit for their flexibility, but really, it raises the question: what is it about small spaces that makes cats think, "Ah, yes, this is the perfect spot for a snooze"?
Take my cat, Whiskers. He's a hefty little guy, not exactly the poster child for feline agility, yet he has this uncanny ability to turn into a contortionist when he spots a cozy nook. I once watched him climb into a cardboard box that was meant for a pair of shoes. I stood there, mouth agape, as he squished himself in, paws splayed out, and somehow managed to fit. It was as if he was channeling his inner origami artist, folding himself into a shape that defied the laws of physics. I half-expected him to emerge with a tiny hat and a bowtie, ready for a formal event.
And then there's the laundry basket. Oh, the laundry basket. It's like a five-star hotel for cats. Whiskers will leap into that thing, and suddenly it's like he's found the softest, warmest cloud in the universe. But here's the kicker: he doesn't just lie down. No, he has to dig himself in, burrowing deeper and deeper until he's completely hidden. You'd think he was preparing for a winter hibernation rather than a quick nap. I can't help but wonder if he thinks he's camouflaging himself, like some kind of furry ninja. "If I can't see you, you can't see me," he seems to be saying, while I'm left wondering how I can possibly do laundry with a cat in residence.
And then there are the truly bizarre choices. The other day, I found him napping inside a plastic bag. A plastic bag! I mean, what's next? A nap in the toaster? I can just picture it: "Whiskers, what are you doing?" "Just getting my beauty sleep, Mom! This is the latest trend in cat napping." It's like he's trying to prove a point: "You humans think you need a comfy bed? Pfft! I'll show you how to nap like a pro." ...
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