If you read my column last month, you may remember that I took a trip with a Bengal, Pee Tun by name, to New Orleans. I may have mentioned that he liked to talk. As a matter of fact, he went on and on and on until I fell asleep – and he was STILL talking when I woke up. But something he said made an impression, he called me a country bumpkin. I let it slide at the time, but now . . .

The thing is, after listening to him (and how could I not listen to him) I got to thinking about what he called me and I feel that I have to set the record straight. I am a CITY purrperson. I was born in Houston, Texas (which definitely qualifies as a city) in a very nice neighborhood. I lived with the ginger haired lady (I believe I’ve mentioned her in the past) and her tom, Larry – don't you think that human names are so silly? Anyway . . there were lots of purrpersons like me living there, including Michaela and my great-great grandpa, Shuffles. My best pal was a barker called Clawed. Now Clawed is about the size of a small house, but gentle. When I was being shown I traveled a lot. Mostly with the ginger haired lady and her traveling companion, Nutter Butter, and assorted other purrpersons. None of them was as cute as me even if I must say so myself. Some were anorexic but then, I didn't say that either. We went all over Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi and lots of other places too boring to mention. If I don't say so myself (and let’s face it, no body else will so I have to), I did remarkably well. I got lots of rosettes and awards. Of course I don't talk about it like someone else I could mention (but won't). It is obvious that I am well-traveled and well-read. I have always kept up with the latest gossip and happenings no matter where I am. Clawed used to tell me all the stuff going on around the neighborhood since he walked the tom, Larry, two or three times a day (for some reason barkers haven’t mastered the litter box concept – just one of their many deficiencies). Granted, most of his information was about other barkers and barkers are almost as boring as humans, but he always shared his information with me -- I still miss that barker.

Now that I'm retired and living in the country, my life has changed (I sometimes feel that I'm on a different planet). It’s really laid back here. I'm in charge of a different set of nerds and other critters. Some of the critters are pretty peculiar looking if you ask me – they look like walking pin cushions! I’m still trying to figure out how they sleep with all those stick things pointing in all directions – but that’s neither here nor there at the moment. They even have to have special exercise equipment. The tom human puts them inside of this large red ball and they roll around in it. All they do is roll around for exercise, run into things, and poop. It’s a never ending cycle and I don’t think I’ve EVER seen anything poop as much as they do. I tried to be friendly and give one of them a pat on the back one day – my paw stung for HOURS afterward. I decided they weren’t worth my trouble and neither was their stupid red ball. Glad they’re the tom human’s responsibility – I sure wouldn’t want to have to clean up after them! Enough about them - I’ve still got to tell you about the rest of the critters. Sometimes, if my human is in a good mood, I can talk her into taking me for a walk around my yard. In the back there is a small lake (she calls it a pond, but I’m telling you, it’s really a big lake) with lots of large turtles living in it. I even saw several that were about my size. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately considering how “chatty” some can be – hint, hint, hint), they don't do a lot of talking. Maybe they are just real shy. I keep trying to get close enough for a casual conversation, but they always jump into the water. You would think they were afraid of me! I know what it is – can’t believe I didn’t think of it before – they’re scared of my human. She’s not big by human standards, but she probably looks like a giant to those guys. I wonder if I can get her to let me approach them on my own – they would probably be willing to visit with me if she wasn’t around. I’ll have to talk to her about that. Now the ducks, on the other hand, like talking to me. Well . . . not talking exactly. It’s more like taunting me to get into the water to see if I can swim. I don’t know what they think the big deal is about floating around on the water and diving underneath it? I used to do that all of the time when I was traveling to shows. Anyway, there are four drakes and one pretty hen. She's always the center of attention and she loves it. My human calls her Donna for some reason. Actually, she has silly name for all of them. Let me see if I can remember the drakes’ names.........David, Danny, Dennis and Delbert. I think that's right.

Have you ever seen a chicken? I guess I should have said seen a chicken in the feather? They are ugly things aren't they? There are some of these . . . birds . . . in the neighborhood and come to visit on a routine basis. I think that they like to sit in the tree near the cat porch and torment the nerds. They are truly ugly and they talk more than a certain Bengal I know (but still won’t mention by name). My human let me down (I prefer being carried everywhere whenever possible, as befits my station in life) near them the other day and I tried to . . . catch one (I just wanted to check out the . . . uhmm . . . feather situation and see if there was any room for negotiation on . . . a new drumstick shaped teaser I’ve been thinking about). My human felt she had to chase after me which was actually so funny that I almost stopped for her. I’m a pretty fast runner and she knows it – I know that I could have caught that noisy bird – but she scooped me up (no mean feat) and proceeded to lecture ME on MY responsibilities. That really ticked me off, let me tell you! There I was, trying to conduct a little business when she runs back into the house, scolding me no less, and puts me down. Then she had the nerve not to talk to me for the rest of the day! She would look at me and just shake her head – I didn't even get to sleep with them that night and it’s my bed too! While I still don’t understand what the problem was, I could tell I was going to have to be the one to apologize. So the next morning I jumped up in her lap and apologized. Gave her lots of head butts and sloppy kisses and purrs – and she was putty in my paw. Needless to say, she the incident was forgotten and I was forgiven.

Retirement is supposed to be restful – isn’t it? Me, I'm busier than ever. First I wrote a cookbook, with my human’s help of course (can’t forget to praise humans or they sulk). Then there is the monthly column I write for this magazine. Now we’re working on a new book, starring me of course. On top of all that, I'm the sheriff around here and I take my job very seriously. It just never stops. Granted, I may have put on a pound or two since retirement, but on me it looks good.

Pee Tun, on the other hand, has a life of leisure. He's being shown and traveling and making babies with some great looking Bengal purrgals (or so he says – and says and says and says). He even brags about teaching Ken, his tom human, how to take the worlds best purrperson photos. He keeps mentioning how he LOVES being a model and how hard it is to look so good. I can’t fault him there, but I have absolutely NO INTENTION of every telling him that (wouldn’t want him to get the big head – like it could get any bigger, right). However, you’ll notice he isn’t a famous author and he doesn’t have a monthly column – now does he? Sort of lets you know who’s who, doesn’t it?!