Cleopatra or the Hair Club for Cats

Cleopatra is not just the chaircat of the Hair Club for Cats, she's also a member! Yes, the HCC has the widest selection of fine hair-replacements. Your caretakers won't see if it's real or not! It's amazing! Just look at her! Doesn't she look fluffy!

Oh, who am I kidding... It just doesn't work. Sorry, but Cleopatra asked me to promote her Hair Club for Cats. As you can she, she is hairless. No problem, I love her all the same. Cleo seems to think, however, that she is not as loveable and fluffy as haired cats. That's why she is always trying all kinds of wigs, pills, salves and concoctions to get some hair. The wig is one of her more succesful methods and it still looks terrible - but don't tell her I said that, she'd try to kill me.

A couple of weeks she tried the most terrible of solutions for her conditions. She had read somewhere that a special mix of rogaine and a special medecine used for cats having allergic reactions. So Cleo went out to go and make it. The rogaine wasn't a problem, it's fairly easy to acquire that around here. The cat-medecine was an entirely different ordeal. Our veterinarian, Dr. Elsbeth von Clawswird, refused to prescribe the medecine to Cleo. Why? First of all, Cleopatra doesn't have an allergy that causes her hair to fall out. And, more importantly, she's hairless, not bald. Sphinx Cats don't have the means to grow hair. A point Cleo refuses to understand.

Unluckily for us, Cleo had found out that this cat-medecine contained taurine. A simple solution formed in her mind: replace the medecin with something else that contains taurine. What has taurine in it? Indeed, Red Bull. She ordered out for it, a truckload of it. The cans cluttered up the house for weeks. That wasn't the worst of it, though. Oh no......

Cleopatra almost immediately started mixing the rogaine with the Red Bull. That was done quite quickly. Then she drank the mix. It's save to say that the rogaine had no effect at all. The Red Bull however had noticeable effects. Not hairgrowth, though. She couldn't sit still or sleep for weeks, convinced that if she drank enough of the 'cure', she'd grow hair. But instead she sped around wildly in every direction, attacking everything that even slightly startled her.

After she had clawed off the left arm of the mailman, I had enough of her antics. The other cats and I teamed together, one rainy Sunday afternoon and tried to calm her down. Eventually, after having destroyed the entire east wing of the mansion, we had her cornered. The other cats held her still, while I fired a dart with a powerful soporific at her. It hit and she fell asleep and spent days dreaming. I guess the taurine had worn her out, but kept her awake....

Crowley

Earlier today, when I was going through some shoeboxes of old photos, I stumbled on this picture; the only one I have of Crowley. Crowley was a cat I had at around the turn of the century. Of all the cats I have had, or ever will have, I think Crowley caused the most problems. Of course, each of my cats had its own way of being bothersome. EVERY single cat has its own way of being bothersome. Crowley's way however was quite unique.

He was very much interested in the occult. He dabbled a bit in the black arts, channeled spirits and all that occult jazz. Contrary to most other adepts, however, Crowley was truly adept. You could even say he was quite skilled in more than one field! I still cherish his annotated edition of P.B. Randolph's Magia Sexualis and use it quite often to replenish my life's forces and for pleasure.

But cats will be cats and as such have quite a short attention span. Crowley was no exception. About every other week he summoned some lesser demon from some pit of Hell and had quickly become disinterested in his obedience. So, there I was, every other week, doing my best to return some strange and dangerous creature from whence it came, and stop it from destroying property and hurting the neighbours. And Crowley? Well, he didn't care about the efforts I had to go through just to prevent him from becoming a set of strings for the violoncello.

I did manage keep him from being slaughtered. He lived a rather long life for a cat, dying in 1965 from old age. I can't say he ever actually left me, though, his ghost still haunts the halls of my estate, scaring mice and men into mortal heartattacks. Annoying at times, but at least he's cheaper to keep.

Mildew

You won't believe the problems I have with my cats. However, I cant seem to live without them.

After Raoul had taken off in my car, my heart was broken. Not only was my classic car gone, my cat disappeared with it. I quickly decided to get another kitten. That's where Mildew comes in.

Now, Mildew had a different character. She was quieter, gentler and in general more fluffy and loveable. So, one day I told her: "I hope you never, ever change." I failed to remember that cats, by nature, are very recalcitrant.

So, the next morning when I woke up, Mildew had grown considerably and was wearing a giant fez (Where she got it I never found out). As you can imagine, I was quite surprised!

Of course, there were problems. Cats that big are hard to feed. So after a day she already went tramping around the globe to satisfy her gigantic appetite. Several news reports showed her at various locations in the world. At one point, the Japanese even sent some giant robots after her!

This went on for several weeks, until one afternoon the mailman came to deliver a very large package for me. The package had an odd shape, I remember. And as I openend it, I discovered it contained a giant fez. In the fez I found Mildew, who had returned to her old size.

When I asked her why she came back to me, she mentioned that it was difficult to find food. Oh, and that she had failed auditions for the Tom Tom Club because she was too big.

Together again, we filed a law suit against Chris Frantz and Tina Weymouth for discrimination. We won the case and since then Mildew has been happily living with me, only occasionally taking a larger form to hunt kangaroos.

Raoul

About a year ago, I was watching TV with my cat, Raoul. We watched a program with a parrot riding a bike. I looked down at Raoul and said : "I'd like to see you do that you, lazy bastard!" He just stared back at me with his usual look of contempt.

One week later, as I stepped out the door to empty the mailbox, I saw my classic convertable driving by....driven by Raoul. "COME BACK HERE, YOU DAMN CAT!" I shouted as I ran after him. But he ignored me. Naturally, I went to the police to report what Raoul had done. They laughed at me. They refused to believe that a cat could steal a car. So I sat at home and I worried. What was I to do?

Luckily however, Raoul missed me a bit, as well as a decent meal I guess, and came home a fortnight later, with a car filled with cheap Polish cat prostitutes.
He still cruises the neighbourhood every once in a while, checking out his ho's, and looking for pussy and catnip.