Would you take advice from your cat?

And then there was the time we tried writing an advice column. What do you think? We’re cats, so we’re full of opinions. Superior opinions. Send us your questions! We like telling other people what to do.

We find our true calling
We’re grown up now. We’ve been watching the world outside our windows for a long time – cats are keen observers – and we read books, too. Interesting people come to our house and we eavesdrop on their conversations. We’re published authors. With all those qualifications, we’re ready – and willing – to offer advice to others. So, we bring to you Ask the Meezers!

Tip of the week!

Tip of the week (from Mischief, who doesn’t take his own advice): Don’t chew on rose bushes. Even the small ones have prickles.

Dear Meezers: What’s a “mee-zher?”
— A New Reader
Trouble: Uh, that would be us. We’re Sia-meeze cats, right? Meezers.
Mischief: Are all the questions going to be this dumb? Instead of wasting time like this, we could be napping.
Dear Meezers: Why?
— Karma Kat
Trouble: Why not? It’s the curious cat’s mantra. Or you want to know why we want to nap? Now that’s a dumb question. We’re cats. It’s what we do.
Mischief: Miao.
Dear Meezers: Miao? Are you French?
— Un nouvel admirateur
Trouble: (Rolls eyes)
Mischief: We’re Siamese. We say “Miao.” Draw it out. Breathe deep from the chest. “My-yaaaao-oo.”
Dear Meezers: My cat prefers playing with empty boxes to all of the sweet little mousies and fluffy toys we buy for her. What am I doing wrong?
— Confused in Carlisle
Trouble: Nothing! You’re providing boxes, that’s a good start. But make sure you’re letting her play with the packages the toys come in, too.
Mischief: Especially if the packaging is crinkly. Trouble won’t admit it, but he likes to lick cellophane and plastic bags. Ick. If your girl doesn’t like the fluffy things, send them my way. I love fuzziness. And feathers. Got any with feathers?
Dear Meezers: My house and yard are full of loud monsters that disturb my sleep and – I admit it – make me puff my tail up to three times its normal size. They’re scary. My heart races. Why won’t my family consider my feelings and get rid of these things?
— Frightened in Fairview
Mischief: Let me go first on this one. Don’t be afraid to call these “monsters” by their proper names. Blender. Disposal. Vacuum. Mower. See? Saying it won’t hurt you. And neither will the machines. Be bold. Let everyone know how you feel. Arch your back and spit at them. If all else fails, a timely nip on the operator’s ankle should help. (Note: This is not recommended for the lawn mower. What are you doing out there anyway?)
Trouble: Ha! Face your fears. I agree with that one. In fact, I’ve found that if you curl up with one of these monsters, people will get all googly over how cute you are and find something else to do rather than disturb you. But I gotta say, Mischief just talks a good game. He won’t go up the stairs if the bedroom ceiling fans are on.
Dear Meezers: I get so tired of deciding what to have for dinner. So I ask you, tuna or salmon?
— Gourmand in Gettysburg
Trouble: Tuna!
Mischief: Salmon!
Dear Meezers: You guys seem to get along pretty well for siblings. What’s your secret?
— Chocolatepoint in Hershey
Trouble: Two halves make a whole. In our case, I like wet food, Mischief likes dry. I like to play with bottle caps and crumpled foil. He prefers trying to catch dangly things and chasing foam golf balls. I like to sleep on top of the kitchen cabinets. He likes to curl up on a chair. I like laps. He likes to sit next to people.
Mischief: You take my food. You take my toys. You take her lap. You hog the bed. You call that getting along??
Trouble: You pounce on me when I’m sleeping. You bite my neck. You chase me!
Mischief: Decca likes me better than you.
Trouble: Nuh-uh. She likes me better!
Mischief: Wuss!
Trouble: Brat!
Mischief: Hisss!
Trouble: Hisssssss!
Mischief: Hey! What are we fighting for? It must be time for a nap.
Trouble: Pssst. You’re lying on my tail. Mischief. Mischief!
Mischief: Snoor.
Dear Ask A Meezer: What’s “snoor?”
— Sleepless in Shamokin
Trouble and Mischief are the pen names of two midstate Pennsylvania cats who blog about books, life and the world outside their windows. Got a question for Ask the Meezers? Post a comment here or send it to deccablog@gmail.com You can follow the Meezers on Twitter at @DeccaCats.

(Ask A Meezer was first published at Central Penn Parent as part of the Tail Tales blog in 2013.)

A Day in the Life: Mischief goes to the vet

I knew something was up right away. Decca kept stopping and looking at my face while she was getting ready for work.

Mischief loves his new blanket.

Mischief loves his new blanket.

Sure, I’m handsome, but this was different.

Then she was on the phone — at 7:15 in the morning! I didn’t know — then — who she was talking to, but I heard my name and something about a “weeping eye.” My eye??

Before she stopped talking I was halfway up the steps, and when she started calling me, I was under the bed. In the guest room, just to throw her off.

But it didn’t work. By 7:30, I was shivering in my cat carrier, in a cold car, torn away from my breakfast, my warm bed and Trouble, who didn’t even say good-bye. He was too busy hiding by then, looking out for his own skin. Some brother!

By now you’ve guessed what I only suspected. Decca took me to the vet. And then she left me there.

Now, don’t get me wrong. They are very nice people at the animal clinic, but this is not how I planned to spend my day. I’ve got new toys to play with, birds to watch, the fabulous fuzzy blanket I got for Christmas. And the sun was out today.

Mischief checks out his carrier.

Did I really fit in that??

Instead, I got a cage, too many distractions to count and did I mention the dogs? I couldn’t see them, but do they ever stop barking? Is that what dogs do when they’re home? Have they no self-control?

I, on the other hand, practiced my vocal scales when I was alone and purred whenever anyone came by. Everyone was so friendly! And even though I fussed all the way there (and, as it turned out, all the way home), I was a perfect gentleman while I was there. I heard Dr. T. tell Decca I was “a very good boy” and “very sweet.”

Let me tell you — it wasn’t easy. I didn’t mind so much being weighed — or even having my eyes and ears peered at. But someone took my temperature when I wasn’t looking. Delicacy prevents me from discussing that further. If you haven’t been through this, you don’t want to know.

In the end, I was pronounced fit and healthy. Since my eye wasn’t scratched — and it had stopped weeping by this time, of course — Dr. T. asked a lot of questions about new things in our home.

Christmas tree? Nope. Different litter? Nope. Plants, dust, anything heavily scented? No, no and no.

Siamese cat in carrier.

Trouble thinks it’s funny to take a nap in his carrier.

We finally narrowed it down to my new blanket, which I’ve been burrowing my face into for hours at a time, I like it so much. So Decca’s going to throw it in the washing machine and then watch to see if this happens again.

Meanwhile, I was really happy to get home tonight, only to have to put up with Trouble. He should be acting Shakespeare on the stage, he’s so dramatic. I’m the one who spent the day in a strange place with strange people and noises. So why is he hiding under the chair? He wouldn’t even come out for his dinner. So I did something I’ve never done before.

I ate it.