...and that's why you don't rub my tummy

What was she thinking?

Kate, of all people, knows the Seven Commandments of Pablo Touching:
1. No rubbing or scratching of the tummy- even when asleep.
2. No pulling of the tail- even when asleep.
3. Any kind of interference with the whiskers is a no go.
4. Don't pick me up in that way.
5. Don't pick me up (in any way) and sing to or about me and/or dance with me.
6. Especially to ABBA music (bad memories from my first housepeople, Nikki and Heidi).
7. Is that seven yet?

She SO should have known better. Next time, maybe.
-- Pabs

Stringplay

Apart from eating, sleeping and rumblin' with the Tigers, this is my favourite thing to do.

It's called stringplay.

I don't think that this still image (left) does stringplay justice... though even I have to admit that I look pretty damn fine mid-pounce. Stringplay's just so dynamic and fast-paced. How it works is I get one of the housepeople to sort of fling the string around and I chase it. It's great indoor training for hunting and rumbling. I can do awesome pounces, leaps and turns when I get going. I've experimented with various media in the string genre over the years: twine, ribbon, wool... but for weight, flight, claw-ability and chew-ability, you can't go past shoelaces. Long ones.

So that's stringplay. It keeps me sharp and looking fine. And it's wicked fun. Stringplay: try it sometime!
--Pabs

Sign o' the times...

It's a scary world we live in. Scary times. I know that September 11 is the anniversary of some big bad event in the human world (it happened in 2001- I was a youngcat in Liverpool St then, didn't really pay attention to world affairs), but I'd like to use the platform afforded to me by this infamous date to bring another 'sinister force' to your attention...

Cat hate.

The notices to the left of this writing were cowardly and anonymously left on the desk of my houseperson Kate at her office at work. Each was left on a separate occasion. It's obviously calculated cat vilification, aimed at making cats and their people feel threatened and vulnerable. You probably can't see the small print at the bottom of these notices, but each one is attributed to the Dog Defence League and is authorised by 'A. Dog'. In the words of GOB Bluth and Lleyton Hewitt, 'come ON'. 'A. Dog'. As if cats can't see through that. It's just like dogs to come out and slag off cats without being big enough to put their own name to it. As if we're threatened by it. Yawn, Dog Defence League. Yawn, 'A. Dog'. Lame-o. You want to be us, but you can't be us, so you hate us.

Felines and ailurophiles of cyberspace, join me in a large, cat food breath-tinged 'yawn' at the Dog Defence League! Then lick your private parts, turn through 180 degrees and assume a sleeping potition.

Yawn.

--Pabs
P.S. if you don't know who GOB Bluth is, Wikipedia 'Arrested Development'. Rent it on DVD. It rules.

Don't mind doin' it for the kids...

[Me in the jungles of West Hobart, circa 2002]

It seems that this blog has generated a considerable amount of controversy among the cats of Hobart (those with net access, anyway). If you've been reading the comments made on this blog, you'll notice that I've even received some hate mail! Turns out that it was from a little guy called Beto who lives in Sandy Bay. His whiskers were in a bit of a twist because he thought I was copying him by starting this blog. It's all sorted now, though. Poor kid was just jealous of my success. Who could blame him?

Anyway, I've agreed to help him out by plugging his blog here on my site. Happy to help a young up-and-comer join the self-promotion caper. It's quite good, for a kitten. It tells the story of a little guy from the sticks who moves to the big smoke to make something of himself, and features some great photos of Beto as a kitten with his mum and siblings. You can access Beto's blog by clicking the link on the right hand side of my blog. There's some other great cat-related links there, too. Check them out!

[This is a photo of young Beto in his home yard on the NW coast of Tassie. Comparing this photo with the photo of me above, you can see that he's styled himself on me from an early age. Again, who can blame him?]

Cheers,
--Pabs

A tribute to Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter

[This is a photo of me in the jungles of West Hobart that I sent to Steve Irwin to see if he would like to come and collaborate with me on a show about ...me. And the other West Hobart Tigers. But featuring me. Sadly, Steve's death today means that this can never be...]

The West Hobart Tigers dip their ears, whiskers and tails as a mark of respect to Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter, who died today doing what he loved, filming a nature documentary off the coast of Queensland, Australia. Now, you might not think that 'domestic' cats would have any regard for a naturalist like Steve, and I'm sure he held a very dim view of us, given our 'effects' on the natural environment and endangered species; it's true, we have not always seen eye to eye (a cat's gotta eat, Steve!). However, we acknowledge the contribution Steve made to the protection of animals the world over, especially tigers, our big brothers and sisters who are in a lot of trouble in the world these days. If everyone cared about animals as much as he did, the world would be a kick-ass place. And so, as spokescat for the West Hobart Tigers and Pablo Enterprises, I send my very best purrs to Terri, Bindi Sue and Bob. SFFL players and patrons please note: one minute's yowling will be held at all SFFL matches this weekend in Steve's honour. Cheers.
--Pabs.