Breakfast Quest

Dear Fluffystuff,

I was pondering the state of my existence this week, and I’ve come to a profound conclusion: I do believe that my quality of life leaves much to be desired. In fact, I believe I am being grossly mistreated. I shall explain.

As you know, my dining schedule is completely determined by the Moron who feeds me. Upon my word, this entire universe cannot possibly contain any other such person so unqualified to fill the role of Jellybean’s personal maitre d’ as this particular Moron. She has not once studied the art and science of tending to a Jellybean. Rather, she spends all of her time reading silly books and cavorting with the Hoober Monster, occasionally shoving him into my personal bedchambers! What she gets out of that relationship, I can’t imagine.

On Tuesday, after playing with my jingly balls for an hour or two, I thought I’d peek into one of those books she’s always reading. You will gasp when you hear what I discovered. Not only is the book ridiculous in every aspect (the subjects are magical creatures called Herbits) but get this – these Herbits are fed something called “Second Breakfast” every day. If the Moron knows about Second Breakfast, then why isn’t she feeding it to me?

I had no choice but to take my fate, nay – my destiny – into my own hands. I skimmed a couple paragraphs and discovered that the Herbits occasionally found this Second Breakfast in the woods. I gathered my brothers, we donned our adventuring costumes, and off to KittyBottom Forest we went.

Well, Fluffystuff, we traipsed through the forest and hunted and searched, and all we found were a few horrified lizards and beetles. But I must look at the bright side – don’t I look handsome in my cape with my picnic basket? In typical fashion, Scampers and Sneakers refused to wear their costumes, and Sneakers stuffed himself into a tree hole and couldn’t get out. I think he is still there. Scampers invited Cocobean along, and she painted her nails and fiddled with her makeup the entire time. Cocobean invited Otto and Toto, and who knows what they were up to! At least old Braesnut, my obsequious friend, attempted to help, although I’m not sure he knows how to read a map.

Fondly,

Jellybean

The Mystery of the Missing Cans

Dear Fluffystuff,

As a little treat to myself, this week I’m taking a break from pondering the task of maybe beginning to think about starting to read King Lear. Instead, I’m revisiting one of my favorite series of mysteries. Unparalleled in complexity, unrivaled in suspense, unprecedented in cunning, I present the great, the only, Nancy Drew!

My dear friend Mei Mei also adores mysteries, as she is something of a respected detective herself. I gave her a call Monday morning to see if she’d like to read The Clue of the Velvet Mask with me. Nothing thrills me quite like the prospect of an impromptu book club! I suspect the other readers benefit more from hearing my gleanings than I do theirs, but I do enjoy performing good deeds, so I never charge for the education.

Come Wednesday, Mei Mei gave us a call all in a fuss! I wish I had been the one to answer the phone, but Sneakers grabbed it (he is always tying up the telephone, both literally and figuratively.) Mei Mei told me that the devilish thievery she’d been reading about in our mystery novel had occurred in her own home. And then her tale gave me a fright: you see, in our novel, the thieves stole uninteresting items like jewels; but the things going missing at Mei Mei’s house were the most valuable things of all: cans of Fancy Feast!

My naturally compassionate nature compelled me to speed over to to Mei Mei’s house to help solve the mystery. I found both Mei Mei and her brother, Mr. Too O’Tall, completely distraught, although Mei Mei had already begun unravelling the case. She calculated that approximately one potato sack’s worth of cans had been stolen, and Too is certain that a curious scuffling in the pantry had awakened him from his nap. I assured them that with my help, we will arrest the thief.

Other than this great mystery, my week has been ho hum. My brothers are still complete idiots. Braesnut and Scampers have been quite smug all week, sneaking around and giggling like silly nitwits. What else, what else… oh! the Two Morons must have bought us new food. They’ve been scooping out all sorts of exotic flavors, some quite delicious (Slurpy Turkey & Gibbles, s’il vous plaît?) But if this is a ploy to trick me into letting them pet my tummy, they are wasting their time!

Fondly,

Jellybean

Sneakercise

Dear Fluffystuff,

Oh Fluffystuff, what a busy kitty I am! I have no photographs of myself to send because I am toiling in a whirlwind of King Lear preparations. Therefore I present my snapshot for the week: Sneakers attempting exercise (see how proud he looks with his meager weights?) Any other week I would force my brothers to attend my Kitty Wiggles class, and Fluffystuff, you would adore my Kitty Wiggles class. Not only does it provide lethargic lazies with a chance to dance their way to kitty fitness, but they can also witness me, their instructor, dancing and wiggling on stage! Did you know that I am classically trained in ballet, and that I spent my kitten years studying at the Opera National de Paris? Chassé, jeté, plié, oui oui!

Sneakers was recently fired from his position as set designer for King Lear; in a scene that was tragic and embarrassing to witness, we found him nibbling the tulle costumes and shredding the papier maché backdrops. He’s spending his new free time lifting weights (inedible ones, I hope.) I see his newest kitten siblings are helping him: Brisket and Buttons, Peanut and Pumpakin, Herbles and Ham Hock. I am delighted to see him wearing those dreadful striped shorts! I keep assuring him that they are so flattering on his figure!

Fondly,

Jellybean

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