My new alarm clock -- er, roommate...

I think you’ll enjoy this whether you’re a cat person or not…

So I’ve got this new cat — still a kitten, really. And I’ve been going back and forth between keeping it safe indoors and my previous convictions about letting cats outside. But what’s become apparent in the two weeks I’ve had it is that my two-bedroom condo and a few cat toys are no substitution for the great outdoors. So late last week I started letting him out.

We’re quickly settling into a nice routine wherein he wakes me up at 6am (still working on that), I feed him then cut him loose for a morning patrol of his domain while I check my email, web feeds and maybe even write a blog post — just as I’m doing right now.

He’s happier too — so happy, in fact that Saturday morning he brought me a present… In the form of a live baby mouse.

I didn’t see it in his mouth when I let him in (it was still dark out) and didn’t realize what was happening until he plopped the thing on the floor and started batting it around. It got away and hid somewhere behind my TV and stereo, and since my cat was doing a pretty crappy job of catching it I decided to lock him in the bathroom and deal with the mouse myself. But by the time I got a flashlight the little guy was nowhere to be found.

The way I figured, best-case scenario would be that the mouse would die of shock and I’d be able to find the corpse before it started rotting, so I went on with my day and headed into the shower. On my way out I noticed that my cat was paying more attention than usual to his scratching pad. And what lay underneath? If you guessed “a mouse with very poor judgement in hiding places”, you are correct!

I immediately went in search of some rubber gloves. When I came back my cat had the mouse in the middle of the kitchen floor. It looked for a second like they might actually be playing until I came to the realization that the mouse had probably resigned itself to die. I scooped it up by the tail in one hand and my cat in the other (so he wouldn’t swat at it), put the cat in the bathroom once again and set the mouse free outside. It didn’t seem to have any noticeable wounds; in fact, it curled its head around to look at me while I had it in my hands — possibly to thank me, or more likely thinking: “Oh no, what now?”

I guess my cat hasn’t yet been schooled in the fine art of the kill-bite. I kinda hope he never learns…

At first glance the two official DVD releases of Hatch-chan the blogging cat seem little more than a shrewd cash-grab by two pet owners and aspiring internet-preneurs. But repeated viewings of these cultural curiosities reveal a nothing short of a cinematic meisterwerk and damning condemnation of our society’s slide into the abyss of rampant consumerism.

And I should know, because I’m a film school graduate. So there.

Volume 1 of Hatch-chan, The Movie — IMDb reference unavailable, for some reason — Hatch-chan assumes the role of rampant consumer, flying over the Tokyo skyline while poised to squeeze out a giant cat turd on one of the world’s most populous cities… Talk about a carbon footprint!

As the film progresses we see Hatch-chan deconstruct the very notion of consumerism itself. As our feline protagonist endures an endless barrage of ribbon and tape the message is clear: The shiny gift wrapping that we tear through reveals nought but an empty, vapid experience within. Or to put it another way: Why spend money on a gift when they’re just going to play with the box?

In Hatch-chan 2, Electric Boogaloo — I don’t read Japanese but I assume that’s the title — our fallen hero shows us firsthand the trappings of celebrity, wandering the echoey halls of his cardboard cat castle alone.

The filmmakers’ knowledge of cinema history is also on display here, with a clever nod to the famous finale of Orson Welles’ Lady from Shanghai. And with a simple addition of a fish-eye lens the grotesque dystopia of Hatch-chan’s high-rise home becomes all too apparent, and almost too much to bare.

At roughly the equivalent of $20 CAD each you might at first blush think that of the Hatch’chan films as frivolous kitsch or possibly even a blatant rip-off; hopefully I have demonstrated that this is anything but the case.

Sooo… Anyone want to buy these off of me?

Image courtesy of www.lolsecretz.com

While flipping channels the other night I came across an alarming bit of news from — of all places — the CP24 show Animal Housecalls. It seems that anyone wishing to adopt a cat from the Toronto Humane Society is contractually obligated to keep it indoors, which is tantamount to cruelty if you ask me.

Any outdoor cat owner will tell you that all felines have a deep instinctual need to define a patrol a territory far bigger than your average one-bedroom apartment, and contrary to what you’d think they also enjoy an active social life with other members of their species. Don’t believe me? Check out photographic proof from the famous Mr. Lee CatCam!

By locking your cat indoors you take all this away, and more often than not you end up with a diabetic monstrosity like the one pictured above, simply because your poor kitty has nothing else to fill its day with other than food.

To be clear I’m not condoning neglect — having an outdoor cat doesn’t mean that you deny your animal entry when it’s done doing whatever it is that cats do. And if you’re worried about “what the cat dragged in” you can take comfort in the fact that at least your animal is getting some much-needed exercise.

This contract clause (no pun intended) is certainly going to keep me from adopting a Humane Society cat, and really, the only justification for it that I can think of would be to appease non-cat owners who might otherwise sue over the occasional bird carcass in their backyard. These folks might also benefit from more time outdoors and less time inside on the phone complaining…

UPDATE (September, 2008): For proof that I’ve made good on my word, click here.

Besides my scabby knees, there was one other casualty on our Ugandan trip. Adrian, the one-eyed cat rescued from the streets of Kampala by our host, went missing from the compound after being spooked by a burst water pipe, never to be seen again. He shall be missed by all…

When I picked up my cat’s ashes last night I was a little surprised to be presented with a brown paper bag. Inside the bag, though, was a nice card from the crematorium and a very tasteful ceramic urn — click on the photo for a look.

My original plan was to spread the ashes over a communal garden space outside my condo, partly to keep her memory close by and partly to piss off my nosy gardener-neighbours who keep peering through my solarium while tending to their pointless shrubbery. But now I’m having second thoughts.

If the ashes stay inside there’s always a chance they’ll be knocked over and spilled. If they’re spread outside I’ll be even more upset every time the gardeners come out.

Your thoughts?