Tricky Treating

Dear Fluffystuff,

Have you noticed that every year about this time the weather goes from “bleh” to magnifique! in a matter of days? I think I have discovered why this occurs: someone on high has noticed that the refreshing breezes of autumn are a balm to my spirit, and taking pity on a poor kitty like me, they send the crisp air straight to KittyBottom Garden, benefitting all on its journey. How generous I am to share such fine weather! Does it infuse your spirit with zoomy wild vigor? Do you find yourself staging great attacks from behind the shower curtain? I heard that a certain Anne from Green Gables had something clever to say about the weather in October. I wonder if she knows she has me to thank, and if she is a cultured kitty.

Now I must tell you all about our Halloween. Our first stop was Sneakers’ family’s house at 4 Pottytock Drive. Have you met Sneakers’ family? Let me rephrase my question: have you ever been swallowed by a horde of gigantic orange kitties? Sneakers is one of at least 4,000 identical orange blobs, and their names are all stupide: Sneakers, Snackers, Snickers, Quackers, Splatter, Patter, Pitty, Pooter, Sam, Jack, Harley and Teddy. I could go on. Now if you had four thousand kitty Halloween costumes to fashion by hand, and all the kitties were orange, don’t you think you’d make the economical choice and go with pumpkins? I pointed this out to them but no – they wanted to be ghosts. I’m not even sure which one is Sneakers (see my photograph); he tends to blend at family gatherings.

Thank goodness my beautiful girlfriend Cordelia decided to accompany us. She had the idea that she and I could go as Prince and Princess, but I said to her, “How very dull, Cordelia!” She insisted on wearing her princess costume (see how pretty she is in sheepy pink?) but I – I decided to dress as one of the great heroes of classic literature: Heathcliff. Whenever whichever Bronte sister wrote that lovely novel (I hope to read it soon) I know that I must have been the inspiration. I’m sure Cordelia agrees!

I helped Braesnut and Scampers create the most terrifying costumes imaginable: Braesnut is a – gasp – veterinarian, and Scampers is a monster we are just beginning to understand. It is called a “Hoober,” and the morons who clean our house like to push it around while it screams at us. Some of the other kitties did decide to be pumpkins; see Otto and Toto hanging out of the gutter?

Fondly,

Jellybean

Not What I Wanted

Dear Fluffystuff,

Today has been the worst day of my existence! My morning was tolerable: I ate a plate of fine fish for breakfast, I took my morning nap, but I awakened in a panic realizing that my performance of King Lear is just two weeks away, and it’s been ages since I had my fur styled. You and I both know my performance will be magnificent, but imagine the embarrassment if my furs were a little less than magnificent. I’d heard that Cocobean is working at a new fur salon for fancy kitties, Salon de Fluff, so I thought I’d stop in for a new coiffure (she calls herself an artiste de coif!) I explained to her that I would like my furs to evoke the feeling of a modern-day Napoleon, the Great Empereur, and you wouldn’t believe the look she gave me! Two hours in her horrible chair, dressed in a pea green smock, and you see what has become of me: I look like a melted grocery store cupcake!

My brothers accompanied me, of course, and their behavior was disgraceful. Sneakers got stuck stuffing his enormous self underneath the sofa, and had to be removed with a shovel. Braesnut had his sparse head furs put in rollers, and he likes them so much he refuses to take them out. The only reason I continue to live is the dim hope of my great role as something-or-other in King Lear – I really must read the play soon! – and the fact that Cocobean assures me she can return my furs to their original state. I’ll believe it when I see it.

Fondly,

Jellybean

L’Artiste

Dear Fluffystuff,

I’ve been feverishly working on my latest masterpiece, aptly entitled “Sneakers Wearing Striped Shorts.” While all of my paintings are masterpieces, I feel certain that this one in particular will be invited to permanently reside at the Louvre once complete. Will I enjoy Paris, I wonder? The minute I arrive I am going to request a crepe filled with cod, and I would also like quatre boules of shrimp ice cream. Merci!

Do you see how unruly my subject is? He refuses to wear his striped shorts, and I actually saw him chewing on his bowtie. My other brothers are no better. I invited them into my studio so that they may appreciate fine art and perhaps absorb some culture into their tiny brains, but take a look! They are playing at the window and chasing bugs. If I didn’t possess such a compassionate disposition towards them, desiring nothing but their cultural edification and improvement, I would be mortified.

Aware of the likelihood that I would be photographed and interviewed while working on this artistic gem, I instructed my personal atelier to fashion an adorable smock in a beautiful lavender hue. Do you notice how Braesnut, my punctilious assistant, coordinates nicely? One last note before I return to my exceedingly busy schedule: I’ve noticed that you’ve decided to attempt “gardening.” One word of advice: DON’T. Your efforts are clearly misguided. If you’d like a few helpful tidbits or just to gaze at photographs of a far superior jardin, you might pick up a copy of my latest biographical botanical publication: Jellybean in the Garden: A Stroll through Splendor.

Fondly,

Jellybean