A Well-rounded Property Report

Oh, please don’t use the “fat” word, or any flavor of “tubby,” “chubby,” adjectives. Definitely not phrases such as “tum with feet” or “jelly belly.” I am a chunky, rotund cat, a solid citizen of catdom, deserving of proportionate respect. Night is an expansive entity and so am I. Thus my name Yotur Na’Atira, Night during Day. There was a very long ago time (believe it or not as you may) when I was labeled “slim.” Indeed, I was starving. That memory scrapes my stomach even after thousands of brimming full breakfast bowls. Now I can while away an afternoon hour admiring the amount of area I take up on Brenda Biscuit’s bed. Nevertheless I still hone my begging skills, despite Malka’s disapproving gaze. Does he think himself such an aristocrat as to never need to utilize the pathetic paw and pitiful beggar’s mew I have perfected? Don’t demand your right to be fed, cajole, I advise. The result is a much tastier tidbit on the tongue, Malka.

Sorry, I was distracted from my required property management report. I just couldn’t resist justifying my expansive approach to life, which I will defend against clawed comments and Collective dietary legislation. Actually my idea of property management originates with what’s in my stomach.

However, to get back to Collective business, we have an adequately stocked summer pantry despite having to feed at least eight additional mouths. The Collective voted 4 (cats, of course) to 3 (dog and birds, naturally) to take on this charitable burden of providing shelter and food to two indigent miri families: the Tatamiru and Pelagiamiru or the heads (front yard) and tails (back yard) clans as I like to call them. Already this very charitable act has had unpleasant consequences. No more front yard outings for Mr. Whiskers and myself. The Tatamiru being streetwise toughs, pack hefty paw punches, claws out, when challenged. I’m definitely not the possessive type. You can share my kibbles and I’ll share yours. Just be aware I eat faster. Territory, even a cat cushion, isn’t worth a dispute. Malka, Mr. Whiskers, and Esmeralda believe in an extended claws plus visible teeth policy, deriding my open screen door and pacifist preferences.

It is grudgingly agreed that the outside miri keep away pooping pigeons, pilfering raccoons, and unhygienic possums. The Tatamiru also serve as somewhat attractive porch ornaments and doormen, always ready with an obsequious greeting. The Pelagiamiru put on amusing wrestling matches, execute miscreant mice, and supply us with neighborhood gossip. But I miss those pigeon watching outings.

Since Uli Var’s eyes have ripened from brown to white, I’ve volunteered as her sighted companion, nudging her away from furniture, escorting her to her begging bowl or the back door, and encouraging her to do roll and rise exercises instead of simply sprawling supine hour after hour. My efforts are not always appreciated, but I suppose the caretaker of a senior should expect some grouchy growls.

Midsummer is just a few days away and we anticipate being very busy with catnip processing, then harvesting lavender and oregano. Next comes the now traditional grape picking fete, and our famous applesauce cookup. Hey, outside miri, are you going to put your paws to helping with our tasks? “It’s payback time,” says Malka, displaying his long tooth smirk. He wants the Collective to post the same ABCD Collective entrance fee sign on our porch that was tacked up on the Seventh Street front door. Our fee for admittance to house and grounds was one appropriate edible treat per Collective member. He also strongly recommends visitors be warned that outside miri are definitely not legitimate members. Malka’s suggestion will be discussed and voted on at our upcoming Collective meeting. I am in favor of the proposal.

Submitted by Yotur Na’Atira