Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! You don't have to live in the U.S. to celebrate holidays dedicated to pie and thankfulness. Me? I'm thankful for cats wearing pirate hats.





While at Petco recently, lolcatz and I came across this gem along with some other pet costumes stuffed into a bin by the registers. Naturally, when you see something like this in mid-November, the immediate question becomes: "Is this on clearance?" It was. $2. What a bargain! I'm usually very disapproving of people dressing up their pets, but this was too good to let go. I was especially enchanted by the disclaimer on the tag letting you know that the hat is For Cats. So don't wear it yourself. And for God's sake, don't put it on your collie.





Katie was surprisingly agreeable to it. In fact, as soon as we put it on her, she started purring. This confirms what I've suspected for a while now: that Katie has always secretly longed to sail the high seas in search of plunder, particularly if said plunder includes Pounce's chicken-flavored tartar control treats, which are actually shaped like chickens.





Happy Thanksgiving!

I've noticed something weird about my cats--and I don't mean the usual things, like how Morganna likes to lick plastic and Katie likes to sleep in Amazon boxes.

Tonight, while I was powering through today's wave of Shadow Kiss revisions, I suddenly heard a series of bangs! outside. There were about eight of them in a row with roughly five seconds between each one. My guess is that they were pre-Fourth fireworks being set off. Regardless, they didn't blow out my windows or anything, so I was fine with it all, albeit startled at first.

The cats, however, did not like it at all. They both jerked up out of their nap-modes and got all wide-eyed and stiff-spined. Katie even got a puff-tail. Now, here's the weird thing. If you heard something potentially dangerous, wouldn't you want to keep an eye on it and react accordingly? Nope. They both had their terrified eyes on me the entire time, not the window, and I'm trying to figure out why.

As always, I have a couple of theories.

One is that they were gauging my reaction to see if there really was a threat. If I'd shot up off the couch and run down the hall to hide in the bathroom, maybe they would have done the same or at least taken some other evasive action. Instead, they just sat there frozen. My other theory is that if my cats' recent affection is indication of them regarding me as some sort of god, then maybe they expected me to actually do something about all that noise. Maybe those wide eyes weren't filled with fear so much as annoyance and a sort of What the hell? Are you just going to sit there while that goes on? attitude.

Regardless, the noise couldn't have been too traumatic because once it ended, they promptly fell back asleep. In fact, they haven't spared me a glance since then. Godhood. So fleeting.

As part of that infamous Bachelor of General Studies, I studied Evolutionary Psychology. I like EP because it explains all sorts of human behavior, from dating to mental health to obesity. If you ever want your ideas about romance and sex totally warped, go read The Evolution of Desire by David Buss.

But one thing I've always been a bit puzzled over is the evolutionary advantage of domesticating cats and dogs. Horses and herd animals make sense, as far as food supply and labor go. But pets? What do humans get out of sharing resources with them from an adaptive point of view? The closest I can figure is that our primordial ancestors reaped the benefits of pest control and--particularly with dogs--protection and help with hunting, thus making the relationship mutually beneficial. But, there also seems to be an element of affection and companionship--which is not something EP generally accounts for in its cold lens of survival-of-the-fittest.

Recently, I've been a bit floored at my cats' overwhelming show of love for me. I'm not entirely sure what I've done to deserve it. The obvious answer among pet owners, of course, is that I feed them. Since instituting auto feeding and watering, however, I don't even really do that. Nonetheless, their love remains intact--and seems to be getting stronger. My two week traveling in April seems to have been particularly traumatic, despite the fact they were being cared for. Since I've gotten back, they seriously don't leave my side. When they hear my alarm go off, they sit outside my door and cry until I get up. They then follow me around while I make breakfast and brush my teeth, for no obvious reason. When I finally sit down to work, they always hang out where they can see me, usually no more than 6 feet away--which means something in a 600 square foot place.

What's also interesting to me is how well-adjusted they've become since I moved to the condo. They were always kind of neurotic, but now they act normal and seem pretty happy. Morganna has even decided lolcatz can pet her. They've learned their own names. I'm not sure if they just like a more secure place or prefer living with just me, but the changes have been remarkable.

And so again, the evolutionist in me ponders the biological advantages of such affection. I've read that people with pets live longer, so maybe EP isn't such a heartless bastard after all, and love and companionship really do play roles in our survival. Whatever the reason, I have no complaints. I like snuggling with them and can get distracted just watching them sleep. I'm glad they love me, and I certainly love them. But I'd love them more if they'd revise Shadow Kiss for me.