Hi! Mr. Monte here!

To my 23,417 feline followers, especially my many cat cousins residing in Virginia and Ohio, the following is “FOR YOUR EYES ONLY.”

I’ve had to lay low since December 27th. If you recall, Ol’ Fuzz Face was a little bit on the angry side that morning when he hit the Publish button for his post SFH Christmas – 2021 BC!!. Granted, he might have had some minor reason to be furious and unwilling to listen to my side of the story about the rather unfortunate Christmas tree incident. Yet, it’s hard for me to understand why he wasn’t pleased when he found himself covered with and surrounded by all those interesting glass ornaments. To me, the array of glittering “toys” strewn about the floor looked like the entrance way to an eternal feline paradise. But, from the moment he awoke with a start and bellowed an unrepeatable word, I could tell that he and I didn’t share the same curiosity. Oh well, I guess when you get to be his age your sense of humor and playfulness tend to diminish.

As you can plainly see, Fuzzy’s promise to keep me offline “for a long, long, long, long, long time” was rather short-lived. Today, Blondie, the very essence of charity and forgiveness that she is, gave me the new password to all the electronic devices here at Serendipity Farmhouse. – Now, this is where we get to the information that you, my trusted feline followers, are not permitted to reveal. All I received from Blondie today was “plausible deniability.” As some of you know, I have been sending out emails since early December 28th. – Yep, that’s right. I cracked Fuzzy’s new password in less than five seconds. You might well ask, “How could that be?”

Well, it goes back a very long way to when I first graced the SFH estate with my presence. At that time, Ol’ Fuzz Face was incessantly watching that schlocky cult movie Napoleon Dynamite. During the same period, I had just learned that my Valentine sweetheart, Miss Fleur, lived in the neighborhood. Forgive my rather juvenile thinking, but at the time, I was impressed by Napoleon’s unforgettable line – “You know, like nunchuck skills, bow hunting skills, computer hacking skills… Girls only want boyfriends who have great skills!” (See video.)

In my youthful zeal to impress Miss Fleur, I resolved that I would become a master hacker. Yes, I would become Hacker Cat (黑客猫). So, each night, while I was carefully filling in my SFH security logs, I was also taking on-line cybersecurity courses. Through diligent study and long hours of practice, I became the renowned “White-hat Hacker Cat” (白帽黑客猫). Just like the Lone Ranger, I would use my hacking skills only for good. Miss Fleur would by my muse, and I would right cyber wrongs and injustice wherever they exist.

So, my dear feline followers, that leads me to my disclosure about how I cracked Fuzzy’s password so easily. I would like to say it was through a display of hacking expertise, but that would be a dishonest statement. No, there was no challenge to figuring out the new password. Alas! Fuzzy should have listened to Napoleon and developed his own hacking skills. No, the truth, and for the honor of SFH it pains me to say this, Fuzzy’s original password (for the last 8 years) was: “password”. In his fitful rage brought on by the Christmas tree incident, the best he could come up with for a new password was: “Password”. Yep, he merely capitalized the initial letter.

Sometimes, I have to feel sad for poor Ol’ Fuzzy. As I have said before, “He’s just not the sharpest claw on the paw.”

Hi! Mr. Monte here!

To my 23,417 feline followers, especially my many cat cousins residing in Virginia and Ohio, observe the picture to your left. Ears back, eyes leveled and glaring, and, of course, an expression of utter disdain – that’s right, you know the look. This is not a happy cat. This a cat with an ax to grind. This is a cat whose blonde-haired human is in for a full course of early wakeups, scattered litter, nibbled kneecaps, and a random assortment of feline felonies.

You may be asking what my human, Blondie, did that so angered and insulted me. So, I suppose I should put this particular episode of human negligence and irrational behavior into its proper context. – It’s all about food and feline dignity.

How many humans have ever had to eat the crud they routinely give to us? Any thinking human being, if there is such a thing, would know that we cats prefer what they put on the table for themselves. Consider the number of times you’ve come over to your feasting human and begged for just a meager scrap of cheese or fried chicken. They puff up with their human vanity and speak down to you saying, “This is human food, your cat food is what you really need.” – That’s a bunch of malarkey!

Unfortunately, we cats are subject to human whims and ignorance concerning what cats really need. That’s true even here at Serendipity Farmhouse. Two days ago, I was making my rounds in the pantry, making sure that no mice or bugs had broken in. That is when I noticed this container of canned crud. Please note that it says “Senior 7yrs+”.

Immediately, alarm bells went off in my head, my ears drew back, my fangs came into view, and my body bristled. “Senior 7yrs+” – there’s no senior cat around here. True, I just celebrated my seventh birthday, but I’m no senior. I am, in the finest sense of the word, a “mature” cat.

Just then, Ol’ Fuzz Face walked into the pantry. He saw the food can with the highly offensive statement and turned quickly to make his retreat. I hopped down and stopped him at the doorway saying, “Fuzzy, what is this and who bought it?” His face went pale. He knows the only one at SFH who ever buys cat food is Blondie. He was trying to figure a way of covering for her.

He quite haltingly, with a fear-filled voice, offered that the can might have come in the mail as a sample product. – After he cleared his throat from speaking that piece of miserable fiction, I bit him on his ankle. He momentarily writhed in agony and once again made for the door.

Once again I stopped him, showed him my teeth, and demanded the truth. – In a very weak and quivering voice he mumbled the single word I had long before anticipated – “Blondie.” – Then he literally ran from the pantry and sought a place to hide from both me and the spouse he had just betrayed. – He still hasn’t emerged from his exile in the woodshed.

I won’t describe what happened next because it is not my intention to harm the fragile feelings of Blondie’s twelve wonderful grandchildren. They were not the perpetrators, so they should not be made to suffer. Suffice it to say, we had a little talk Blondie and I, and I suspect her wounds will mend in a week or two. During that talk, I gave her some references as mandatory reading material on the stages of cat development. I also made her write the following 100 times in her best penmanship: “Mr. Monte is a ‘mature’ cat, he is not a ‘senior’ cat.”

I have included the reading references I gave her and I have also composed my own table so that all who read this post will know that Mr. Monte is a “mature” cat. As you look at the table, you might also note that my two humans are rapidly approaching the stage of “geriatric” humans.

(No humans were seriously harmed in this episode, despite how they might testify in court.)

Life Stages – The Cat Care Clinic Veterinary Services Orange, CA – Cat Hospital Health Veterinarian

How to tell your cat’s age in human years | International Cat Care (icatcare.org)

The Four Life Stages of a Cat – Cat Friendly Homes

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Hi! Mr. Monte here!

To my 23,417 feline followers, especially my many cat cousins residing in Virginia and Ohio, I have an extremely important and serious topic to discuss, you need to pay close attention. As the Serendipity Farmhouse Chief of Security, it is my sworn duty to ensure that all SFH residents remain physically safe and secure. I do my utmost to fulfill that oath. Both day and night, I repeatedly check on Blondie and Ol’ Fuzz Face to ensure their safety and monitor their health. If there were something wrong with either of my big cats, I would sound the alarm. – – I would encourage each of you to be as caring with your humans.

But what about moi? Who looks after me to ensure that I’m in perfect health and medical shape? For once, I must admit that my big cats have done their very best to make sure I stay fit. Yet, if you remember in my post Indignity – Mr. Monte’s Day with the Vet things did not get off to a very good start. – – That’s because they took me to Dr. Dog-man – a veterinarian who is irredeemably lost to an irrational love of canines and an equally irrational fear of large, cuddly, and lovable felines like me.

No, our meetings were not pleasant.  One of the most excruciating indignities I endured was the day he body shamed me, suggesting that I was becoming obese. – – He’s lucky he still has any skin on his arms.

Things improved greatly, however when Blondie finally recognized that modern veterinary science could do better for felines than forcing them into cold, colorless examining rooms where they would be subjected to nerve rattling noises and terrible, noxious odors. She actually found a civilized veterinary clinic staffed by cat-loving technicians and an extremely learned and competent vet. You can read about my first encounter with the clinic here – Blondie Comes Through – Guilt Assuaged.

The reason I’m recounting this to you, my dear feline followers, is to let you know that during the long period that humans throughout the world have been dealing with a rather nasty disease, their vets (doctors) have not allowed them to come into close contact with one another. That raised the question of ‘What if my pet gets sick?’ – – Well, for a while, there was complete lock down and none of us could be seen. But, as soon as they could, my beloved vet at The Cat Cottage and her staff made it possible for cats like me to come inside for examinations. Unfortunately, Blondie and Fuzzy had to remain in their car and monitor the appointments on their phones. At least they could talk to me and let me know they were still close by.

This last week was the first time that we could all go in for a visit together. It was like a reunion. There was an excellent selection of classical music on the sound system and birds were clearly in view just outside the window. It was all very restful.

Since the body shaming incident with Dr. Dog-man, I have hated scales. My weight is my business. However, in the picture below you can see that I am rather content lounging on Dr. Myers’ scale. Don’t be jealous when I tell you this, my dear feline friends, but I weighed in at a mere 20.9 pounds. That makes me a rather slim, healthy, and most formidable Main Coon cat. – – Now, having said all that, it’s once again time to check on my two big cats. Their medical security is important to me.