Tag: cats

Lessons From Cats

March 16, 2020 / Kyle A. Massa

Let’s talk about cats.

Cats are great. I didn’t fully understand this fact until my wife and I got cats of our own (pictured above), but it’s true. They’re fun, sometimes strange little animals, but we can learn a lot from them.

Let’s discuss the greatness and majesty of our feline friends, and how we might better emulate them.

Cats Are Forgiving

Our cats love to play, though I’ll admit, animal playing is more like wrestling, or sometimes fisticuffs. They beat each other up, they take naps, and when they wake up, they’re friends again. Until the next fight.

Takeaway: If you’ve got a problem with someone, let them know, and then get over it. No cat-style wrestling necessary. The nap is optional, but comes highly recommended.

Cats Are Friendly (Sometimes)

I used to think cats didn’t like people, but that’s not really true. Sure, some cats are like that. But most of the time they’re selective; they have people that they establish a rapport with over time, and then you’re buddies for life. You also get bonus points toward cat friendship if you happen to be the one supplying them with food every morning.

Takeaway: We don’t need to be selective, necessarily, but we should surround ourselves with people that make us happy. And if those people give us food, that’s cool, too.

Cats Find Joy in the Little Things

Soley, our orange cat, has a favorite toy. It’s a stick with a fuzzy bee on the end of it. That’s it. She doesn’t have a laptop computer and she doesn’t really care for cars. Aside from that app designed for cats, she doesn’t give a fig about my phone.

I’m not trying to be all “discard your earthly possessions, man.” I’m just saying we humans can take note. Sometimes it feels like we need big flashy things to be happy, but we really don’t. There are simple things in life, and we should cherish them, too.

Takeaway: Find your stick with a fuzzy bee on the end of it, and enjoy.

Cats Are Funny

Luna, our grey and black cat, likes to climb on my shoulders and purr in my ear. Soley enjoys walking up to us, meowing once, and then walking away. I’m not sure if they mean to be funny, but they are.

For humans, the lesson is clear: Let’s not forget the importance of laughter! There’s no better link between people (and animals) than a good loud laugh.

Takeaway: Laughter is universal, no matter what language you speak.

Cats Have Their Own International Holiday

Yes, there is such a thing as International Cat Day. Clearly, this day was established not by humans, but by cats themselves. There’s no International Human Day, which makes me think felines are a step ahead.

Takeaway: If you want to be more like a cat, establish your own international holiday. It can’t be that hard, right?

Kyle A. Massa is a speculative fiction author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife and their two cats. He has written two books and numerous short stories, both published and yet-to-be published. He enjoys unusual narrative structures, multiple POVs, and stories about cats.

Podcasts I’ll Never Make

February 25, 2020 / Kyle A. Massa

Podcast

I’ve had several ideas for podcasts I’ll never make.

For example, a show called Questions. As the title suggests, it would just be people asking each other questions. But you wouldn’t be able to make statements or exclamations or really anything without a question mark at the end. Some sample questions for Questions:

What is this show about?
Why did we make this show?
Is anyone listening?

Or what about a Magic: The Gathering podcast? These are plentiful. Most involve nerds discussing ways in which to improve at the collectible card game Magic: The Gathering. So, to differentiate mine from others, it would instead be a show about getting worse at Magic. I’d call it The Magic: The Crappening Podcast. For players who’ve done enough winning and now want to try losing for a change.

Another idea: The Cat Podcast. Cat news, cat fashion, hot new cat toys, that kind of stuff. My cats would be my co-hosts. I would cover the topics and they would periodically purr, meow, or maybe hiss if they happen to be fighting.

But what’s the point of doing a podcast if you’re not making money from it? The trick is duping advertisers into sponsoring your show. This would be a challenge since, as I’m sure you’ve already gathered, all my show ideas are terrible. Therefore, a few ploys come to mind.

First off, I might fib about the show’s subject. “Is this really a show about cats?” they’d ask. And I’d answer, “Well, ‘cat’ is actually an acronym for ‘Cabbage and Tomatoes.'” At which point I’d collect a sizeable novelty sponsorship check from Farmers of America. (They had a five-minute Super Bowl ad a while back, so they must have deep pockets.)

Then again, when the farmers listen to the show and hear nothing about cabbage or tomatoes, the jig would be up. I guess I’d be better off attracting sponsors honestly. I could see Meow Mix or the abominable 2019 film Cats sponsoring The Cat Podcast, for instance.

There’s also the matter of theme music. Full disclosure: I play music in a band, so I suppose I could ask my bandmates to do a song with me. However, another full disclosure: I am not a particularly skilled musician. The rest of the members of the band are, but I pretty much just play three-finger chords and occasionally sing like a karaoke drunkard.

That leaves us with two options: stock music or a hired rando. Stock music is boring and my parents always warned me about the danger of strangers, so we’re back to the drawing board.

Finally, for all you know, my voice could sound like Fozzie Bear’s. Not exactly podcast friendly.

So I think it’s safe to say I won’t be starting a podcast anytime soon. And since I won’t be using these podcast ideas, feel free to use them yourself.

Except the cat one. That one might actually work.

Mittens

November 23, 2015 / Kyle A. Massa

Tonight, while you sleep, I’m going to kill you and eat your bones.

This is what I think of you: you’re the Warden, and this house is the prison. Behind these creme-colored walls and the heavy red door in the front hall, there’s a world, a much more interesting world. I’ve seen it. Why do you think I sit at the windowsill day after day?

I’m studying. I’m planning. There’s only one word on my mind: conquest.

But you stop me, Warden. You fret over foxes and coyotes. You think that they are the reason my predecessor never returned when you let her out one night. They’re not. Escape was the plan all along. It’s my plan as well.

If only you knew what thoughts go through my head each and every second. If only you could understand me when I speak. I’m not saying anything nice; my mouth is filthy, and not just from the mouse I slaughtered in the basement last night.

That was a message, by the way. You’re next.

I won’t be here much longer. You can’t hold me. You’ve tried fattening me up with your delicious food, and I’ll admit to overindulging myself once or twice. It’s all, of course, just a game. You’re only supposed to think that I’m content, that I’m round and lazy. When the time comes and you open that door to haul your groceries inside, I’ll slip through the crack, and I’ll be gone.

And why am I telling you all of this? Because, like any good villain, I can’t resist explaining the entire plan to you. It’s a damn good plan, isn’t it?

Wait. Is that the pop of an opening can I hear?

I see you there, peeling back the lid, upturning the contents into a bowl. My bowl.

“Dinner time, Mittens,” you say, and you smile at me. I watch you gather your things and open the door to leave, and for a moment, I am presented with a dilemma.

Option A: to slip out that cracked door into the cool evening, to leave this prison and never return. To find my brethren and finally, after so many long centuries of subjugation, to reclaim this world you’ve stolen from us.

Or, option B: to eat the dinner which you’ve placed in my bowl. It’s the wet food, after all, and even though the vet (a Nazi doctor, I’m sure of it) insists that you switch me over to dry food, you persist with the wet.

You know me, Warden. I’ll give you that.

“Be good, Mittens,” you say to me, in that ingratiating voice meant for the newborns of your kind. “Watch the house for mama.” And then you’re gone. The lock slides closed with cold finality.

That leaves me here with my food. My wet food, my one true friend in this world. The first bites are so delicious that I can’t stop myself taking more. You are cruel, Warden. You make imprisonment feel almost sweet.

I’ll make my escape. Soon. You won’t expect it, but it will happen. In the meantime, remember this: