On the Prowl

Dreams of Africa raced through Bismarck's head; whether they be fond remembrances of the homeland of large felines or nightmares about the Continent's colonization by the Prussian Army, no outside observer could tell you. What they could tell you, though, was that whatever Bismarck was thinking about, he was thinking about it intently. The stringy hairs in his ears were on edge; similar to the way that the stringy bark cased the edge of the Yucca. Together they--the hair in Bismarck's ears and the bark of the Yucca--stood as the battlements of "The Yard."
Bismarck waited in the shadows, his eyes forming slits. These were ways of concealing himself. From the sun. Which shone brightly as a damn headlight. If that headlight happened to be a ten times larger and consisting of superheated gases.
Finally, Bismarck saw a threat. It was large and umber and hairy. And it walked and called out in a loud voice! Bismarck made a move to jump and claw the thing but a hand suddenly stopped him "Don't attack the UPS man!" Max said taking his book Bowling for Dummies from the intruder.
Bismarck scoffed as only a cat could and made his way back to the ramparts (a series of shrubs next to a serene little footpath). He proceeded to wait patiently but alertly. So alertly, in fact, that when we closed his eyes a series of gophers slid easily past.
Alas this was nothing for two hours and forty fight minutes later Bismarck finally found what he was looking for. A little black body, winged and vile made its way haphazardly through the air. It whirred in a self satisfied manner, thinking itself graceful and in tow with the universe (a serenity easy to achieve if one's lifespan is no more than three days). Bismarck meanwhile abhorred the buzzy beast's arrogance. He got to his feet, arched, his back, and sprung, brining the little villain under his paws and out of this world. He looked up at Max pleased with himself. Max gave him the thumbs up. And then he gave him pieces of chicken, of which Bismarck the great hunter was eminently deserving.

The Science of Bismarck's Sleep

"Alright, here's what you do. You stay away from grains and sugars at least two hours beforehand. Gluten is a killer. Also, you eat avocados and..."
"Don't forgot the part about LED lights."
"I was going to get to that."
"It seemed like you were just going to keep talking about food."
"I don't just talk about food you know."
"That's not the way it seemed."
Dipshit One rolled his head scornfully. He was exasperated by Dipshit Two. Just then Dipshit Three entered wearing a jaunty smile.
"Fellows," he said jollily, "all these rituals they aren't the most important thing. What is most fundamental is belief. One must be committed to the idea that he will fall asleep."
"Or she," interrupted Dipshit Four.
"Or she," acknowledged Dipshit Three.
He raised his hands didactically. "You see what most people lack is conviction, a determination to fall asleep. If they fail it is of their own volition, in reality it can be attributed to their own lack of resolve."
Dispirit One rolled his eyes. "Conviction has nothing to do with whether you are have gas," he said. "Or should we just determine that from now on we will all stifle all farts."
Dipshit Two quivered fearfully. He shook the words from his mind and out of his mouth. "You never stifle a fart. You know what could happen, you could cause series intestinal damage. I read it somewhere, I don't remember where but I read it, probably a science magazine."
Dispirit Three looked on with skeptical eyes. "I have read all the science magazines," she said, "and they say no such thing. What we call gas is in its truest sense a string of chemical reactions wherein..."
"Ha," snorted Dipshit Four. "You all forget that we are spiritual beings, all these physical principles amount to nothing when superseded by the prerogatives of a strong, steely will. Let me show you something." Dipshit Four proceeded to lay down and force himself to slumber. It took all his determination of spirit not to evidence the others his unremitting consciousness.
Just then Bismarck walked in. He sauntered a little bit, looked around, licked his paws and but, and then put his head down. Immediately he was asleep. The four others chose to think otherwise and continuing arguing amongst themselves until eventually they died.

Bismarck Sees the Light

Bismarck cast about languidly in the morning shadows, burdened still by the desolation of night. It was six o'clock in the morning and like darkness the cold continued to permeate the living room, sweeping up within its brittleness all sense of hope or expectancy. Last night Bismarck had been denied access to his human's room. A closed door had confronted him like a cold shoulder, denying him the body warmth that was besides Friskies Surfing' & Turfin' Favorites his main form of sustenance.
It was at this point that Bismarck tried to get beyond himself. He closed his eyes and attempted to achieve an out of body experience. He imagined himself immense, extending beyond the bounds of the room. But sight was not his most poignant sense. The cacophonous smells of kitty litter and formerly burned incense brought him back to reality. Wistfully, he cast about for a warm lap to sit on, finding only a lap top and the remnants of thermal energy it had once radiated. It gave him the idea to sit on the radiator, which led naturally to the idea of jumping five feet in the air, his hair standing on edge.
By the time this was all over it was 6:04 and circumstances were no different than they had been four minutes previously, the only addition being a mournful awareness of time's insensitive existence.
It was then that Bismarck realized he was a cat. Or because he was a cat he didn't so much as realize as let it be. He saw the train of thought, recognized for what it was and simply let it be, pawing it when it occasionally met his fancy but otherwise letting it be. All of a sudden it was 8:30 and the light came beaming down through a northern facing window. Bismarck went to it and lay. He stifled the impulse to ruminate and allowed the earth to simply illuminate. And in this way he realized the true value of being a cat.

Bismarck in the World of Katmandu

Bismarck floated gently into the world of sleep landing with a soft, nestling thump atop a gently curving hill. It was the middle of summer and the Dutch Elms lolled softly in the wind. Bismarck yawned softly, stretching his fur against the pleasant, sun-warmed bristle of the grass. He readjusted and purred and prepared for an extensive sleep. His eyes were half closed when he felt a rousing hiss. He leaped up, prepared. Or at least he had thought he had been.
Dozens of multi-colored cats surrounded Bismarck's position on the hill, eyeing him maliciously, their stances aggressive and their little jaws hardened. For several moments they just starred silently like rain clouds prior to an impossibly sudden downpour.
At last a large white siamese cat with a black face oozed its way towards Bismarck's position. Bismarck arched his back and bared his teeth but the siamese didn't flinch. He sauntered over with the air of a imperious magistrate come to bear judgement. The will of the cats around Bismarck manifested in  an eerie darkness. All at once the Dutch Elm was leafless and its swaying violent and brittle. The Winter had descended upon the hill like the eye of a tornado.
Bismarck communicated with a flicker of his eye that he didn't want any trouble but the eyes of the Siamese lay blank and bare. Bismarck's flicker became more of a pleading flutter but again the Siamese gave nothing away, his eyes not so much looking at Bismarck as through him, like an impenetrable laser. Bismarck made what he thought was a subtle movement towards his right, away from the Siamese. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed a counter adjustment by the circle of cats on his right, ever closer to him. Trying to breath, he made a movement back to center but the newly imposed line of confinement did not breach. All around him the cats proceeded to tighten the noose. It was just about when Bismarck was ready to let caution into the wind and lash out that the words of the Siamese entered Bismarck's head.
"You don't belong here," the Siamese said in a frightfully thin voice, "what do you in the Kingdom of Katmandu?"
Bismarck hesitated. "I was going towards India and made a wrong turn I guess," he mustered. The Siamese did not laugh or blink or open its mouth. It simply stood there. It was about this time that Bismarck realized that the Siamese was not meowing its communication. Rather, the words just seemed to enter Bismarck's head spontaneously and without observable forewarning, the way that bacteria might infect milk. None of said substance was offered to Bismarck as might custom in most alternate worlds. The darkness thickened.
An orange tabby with red eyes approached the Siamese. "We best get him to master," it croaked, "ask master what he intends for him."
The Siamese swiped at the tabby drawing blood across a thin red slash on the cat's nose. The orange tabby sunk back and whinnied. "I mean not to have offended, my Lord." He sunk to all fours in supplication.
The Siamese looked turned its gaze back to Bismarck. This time there was a little fire in its eyes, the sort that quietly breaks through midnight darkness and spells doom for a village of Middle-Ages peasants. "What to do with you," it thought aloud, its words burning blackish red...

Words Don't Come Easy to Bismarck

How could Bismarck find a way to say that he loves me when to him words don't come easy.
Meowing incessantly is a good start.
"Meowwww?" Translation: You're leaving?
"Meeoow"  Please don't go.
"Mmmeow. Mmmeow."  You walk through that door and you'll never see me again.
"Meeoow" I was lying, you will see me again.
"Meooohw, Meooohw." But I'll be your worst nightmare.
"Mmeoow." I wasn't being sincere about the whole nightmare thing, please let me outside first.
"Meeeoow." There are dogs out here, let me back in. 
"Meow?" I wonder what those dogs are up to. 
"Meow, Meow, Meow." Hold your horses.
"Hissssss." Get those horses away from me.
"Mmmm...eow." Perhaps it's best I go with you.
"Meh." It makes no difference to me if you're going to the pool, I like getting in the water.
"Meow." Ok I'm lying again. But I do honestly like standing by the water.
"Hiss." What kind of public institution denies entry to cats.
"Kaahhkk." Hairball. 
"Meowww?" What am I supposed to do while you're gone.
"Meowwww?" What do you mean cats can entertain themselves.
"Ghrrr." A mouse, a mouse
"Bang, Clash, Bang." ....
"Meow?" What was that.
"Meow, meow." Ok, so I broke a lamp in my pursuit of the toy mouse, sue me.
"Meeoow." Is the attorney's name Katz? I'd like to meet him. 
"Meop?" What ever happened to the days when people would stay home with their cats?
"Meow." I would have to say that you humans are doing us animals a terrible injustice and that we will receive retribution in this life or the next.
"...Meow." Alright, I'll be here when you get home.
"Purr." I love you, drive safe. 

Bismarck Discovers His Inner Kitten

Mornings shrouded in unrelenting darkness; days involving the occasional trepidatious venture outside into the bone chilling cold; long evenings spent languishing inside propped up near a vent and wishing that it were a roaring hearth: these are the circumstances that defined or rather delimited Bismarck's world. A long, bitter, caustic winter confronted Bismarck like a vengeful pit bull, compelling him to fall inwardly upon himself. It was as if he had been engulfed in a ominous mist and then the outer rim of that mist had solidified, freezing him within its heartless soul-consuming vapors. Rejuvenating vernal rains seemed thousands of miles away; estival celebrations on the other side of the sun.
Had he been endowed with a more significant prefrontal cortex, Bismarck might have learned how to despair. Glacial memories might have congealed. Contrary to theories of global warming they could have pullulated and spread. He would have become cold as ice and unwilling to sacrifice his love.
Fortunately, he was a cat. Trauma stuck to him like eggs to Teflon. In other words, most of it was thrown in the dustbin. Trauma became to him ancient history. And dissimilar to monkeys, cats have no interest in ancient history. Except for the Egyptians. Bismarck could well understand the rituals of the Egyptians. As far as he knew they were the only humans to think sensibly at all. In fact, if more people acting like the Egyptians there would probably be no more winters. Or if not that then humans would serve as slave to cats and winters would consequentially become much more bearable. In the meantime, like all cats, he had to think on his feet, find a means not to ruminate. Something to do that would eliminate thinking entirely. So he observed yougins' and discovered play.
Suddenly, out of the mist appeared a swaying string and with it beautiful music (at least for those who like Bismarck thought Darius Rucker was great). With it, Bismarck fell into a groove. The human prances, swinging a set of headphones and Bismarck lunges after them, together engaging in a beautiful and cosmic dance, a thing which in and of itself obviates the dread of winter and brings with it a dream of glorious spring.

Bismarck's iRest Meditation

Bismarck didn't sleep. At least not when people were around. He couldn't risk one of them being an Austrian.
Nevertheless, there was time in between the humans being in and out of the house that Bismarck lacked options on what to do. During a certain time of day, let's say around 10pm, the main human would turn the lights off, curl into a ball and dream of hitting the Powerball.
Bismarck could bat the nearly lifeless human around for a while, leaving him with mysterious cuts and bruises when he awoke. This was a fun game to play. But after a few days it got old. Especially when the cuts and bruises precluded the human from prioritizing the concerns of his cat.
Still, Bismarck could not simply fall unconscious. In addition to the obvious Austrian threat he needed to be prepared for mice. When Bismarck first met the human he had made a promise. "You do everything for me, not short of risking your life to pull me from a burning building and I can promise you on at least two of my nine lives that no mouse shall enter the threshold."That Bismarck had skewed his tail while making this promise was immaterial, for he had a natural kink about half way up the catppendage. Also cats are at heart not liars. You can accuse then of being many things like awesome or beautiful or elegant or cunning. These accusations they will abide. But they never admit to tall tales. After all, how could they? When relative to many other tailed creatures cats are so close to the ground.
And so it was that Bismarck searched for a halfway but not halfhearted solution. He threw himself into dance but kept getting stepped on. He ate himself silly but didn't like feeling jejune. He worked, but didn't like getting paid (he learned from his whole tuna futures ordeal that money is not really something that interests a cat so long as chew toys remain a cheap commodity).
What's worse, doing all these activities Bismarck became exhausted. His body was melting and he needed downtime (especially the sort spent off his human's lap). Change was a-coming and not the sort that rattles incessantly in the front pockets of those careless humans who insist on always making themselves heard (presumably in the hopes of one day becoming big cat chow).
Gradually, Bismarck learned that one might close one's eyes and still remain alert. It dawned on him that being relaxed did not prevent one from experiencing the beauty of the sunlight as it ascended across the morning horizon. He might  shut his eyelids and remain aware. And so it was that Bismarck started in on his journey of self-enlightenment, one salutation at a time.

The Bismarck and the Mom

Bismarck had heard the saying that a good defense is a good offense. Therefore whenever someone or something threatened him he called the him/her or it a dirt-eating weasel. Whenever the offending party happened to be a dirt-eating weasel…only then did he run.

Upon his introduction to The Paco and The Benny dogs The Bismarck hurled invective, compelling The Benny and The Paco to curl up in balls. Recognizing the Supremacy of The Cat, they shivered in the corners. Not one to let sleeping dogs lie, Bismarck sauntered over to those corners and told them the deal. “You don’t eat my food, you don’t get in my space, you don’t preclude me from nuzzling the humans and we’re good.” Benny and The Paco didn’t object. And so it was that they temporarily lost the capitalized article before their names.

Meanwhile there was a new addition to the house. Her name was The Mom and she didn’t take any shit from cats. That was Max’s job. It was he who had to scoop the litter box.

At first The Bismarck thought he might be able to control The Mom.

Let me lay a little charm, he thought. Nuzzle her a little, give her a nice little cat-eyed stare and I’ll have her eating out of my paw. It’ll be purrrrfecct.

And initially all went according to plan. The Bismarck would come, The Mom would scratch under his chin. He would meow and she would spoon out those good Friskies.

Then The Bismarck began to push his luck. He started demanding to be let out as often and as frequently as he liked. But since there was no cat door this meant leaving the front door and the utility room door both open. This would make The Mom cold and uncomfortable. It was a consideration that morally did not concern The Bismarck. It began to have social implications on him though. Gradually the Kay began closing the door at certain points, precluding The Bismarck’s passage outside. She then proceeded to limit Bismarck’s extra wet food to twice rather than thrice a day so that he wouldn’t grow fat.

Naturally the Bismarck grew furious. There is no justice in the world, he lamented in big, pleading meows. You’re a meanie and a human elitist and I don’t like you and I’m going to sulk.

The Mom, with two children, had experienced such behavior before. She waited patiently for Bismarck to vent out his frustration. It only took time, she knew, before the cooling airs of acceptance and equanimity began to filter in. And so they did.

Within The Mom’s lap, or by her head or next to her in bed, Bismarck found warmth and compassion. He realized in her something more than a wish of being outside. He found a dream of love and togetherness. And so it was that The Bismarck and The Mom lived happily and harmoniously ever after.

Bismarck Finds Himself

It wasn't long after mauling the masseur that Bismarck began considering the possibility that his life had gone off track. Losing his investment, facing charges, incurring the subtle wrath of a massage therapist, Bismarck felt as if his life had been derailed. He wasn't getting any younger and he was starting to lose steam. It was time he got some coals in the fire instead of just chugging along. 

Bismarck began his journey by climbing atop biographies of great men. He moved from Churchill to Gandhi to A.J.P. Taylor's famous account of his namesake. The first was thick and portentous, the second thin but sturdy in constitution. Bismarck didn't know what to think of the third. The binding was soft and flimsy, the pages slightly yellowed. The cover bore a caricature of the Baron. On it his head appeared massive, his mustache gargantuan. It reminded Bismarck of his whiskers and how they splayed out flamboyantly. He started to question whether people thought him haughty. He vowed to change his life, one day at a time.

Before one can go about changing the day he must first brush his teeth. Naturally, Bismarck used all natural toothpaste. He chose Tom’s with whitening action. True, he was trying to be less vain. But such a transformation occurs gradually. And who was Bismarck hurting by not having yellowed teeth and halitosis?

Nobody, that’s who, just like nobody will question one if one’s armpits don’t smell bad. That’s why Bismarck chose to also apply deodorant. He stuck with Tom’s but he also considered Ben and Jerry’s. Later, he thought. We do not yet live in a world where it is considered acceptable to apply ice cream underneath one’s arms. Would such a treatment prove better than deodorant? Assuredly. Would such a faux pas be tolerated with those without paws? Not likely.

Shaving came next. Bismarck ran the handle portion of the razor underneath his chin. He rubbed and purred and repeated. When this was over he washed his face by sticking it under the running tap. He picked himself up, shook himself off and stood erect eyes forward.

That’s when he caught a reflection of another cat in the mirror. He held onto said reflection trying to lick it up. When after several hours it hadn’t licked Bismarck back he came to realize that the image he was looking of was of his body. At last he had finally found himself. I was here all along, he thought. Screw life journeys, self doubt is for the birds.

Bismarck Discovers Essential Oils, Gets a Massage, Attacks Masseur

All the mouse hunting left Bismarck tired and weary. Like a regicide he was wound up, strung out, fired (literally, in the case of the regicide), and teary. Unlike a king slayer he had options when it came to relaxation. This unfortunately did not include a vacation. His white collar trial had gone well and he was not in jail. He rewarded himself as if he were royal by applying some tea oil.
Afterwards Bismarck moved onto Sandalwood to see if that was good. He applied several drops behind his ears in an attempt to allay his fears. He then had some ears rubbed ensuring no millimeter thereon was snubbed. But something was not quite right. It was night and there wasn't enough light. Bismarck burned a scented candle. Sicilian Citrus was the handle.
Bismarck's rump was sore and he wanted to see what else was in the store. There was Vanilla and Asian Poppy but pairing them together seemed rather sloppy. He bought Indian Teak instead, but that left the whole room feeling red.
Bismarck realized he was still enraged about never anymore being paged. He was no longer a criminal but the least at least his crime associate friends could do something minimal. He soon discovered that they actually did, for he saw that under the door a gift certificate they had slid. It was for a massage, which in Bismarck's book was not at all hodgepodge.
He went in on a Tuesday to a resort called Moose Bay. They told him to get undressed and he said surely you must be kidding you pest. He was laid belly up on a table and instructed to stay stable. This was not in the cards, for Bismarck was not a cat with SARS. As soon as the masseur's hand came down, it was Bismarck's instinct to play around. He swiped at the man's middle digit, causing the doofus to fidget. Afterwards, he bit, compelling the masseur to quit. You'd better not try to make me pay for this session, Bismarck said or I'll teach you a lesson and you'll be dead. Good riddance the masseur replied, never again will I try to massage a cat, he lied.

Bismarck Breaks the Bank Reverts to Scavenging

Bismarck in his efforts to defraud cat owners of their cash thought he was constructing a pyramid scheme. The neighborhood cats tell each other who relay it to cats in the next neighborhood over who manipulate certain dull minded canines into convincing certain boorish horses into disseminating certain ideas to otherwise mindless cows who then refuse to allow themselves to be milked unless Bismarck gets more money with which he can invest in more tuna futures.

Somewhere along the way the chain was broken (it’s hard to say where but it’s a bad idea to trust horses to remain confined in their pastures). The tuna quit biting and the cash flow stopped. Much to Bismarck’s chagrin his pyramid scheme transformed into a house of cards. All he was left with was broken dreams and seven dollars in cash.

Bismarck’s human upon discovering Bismarck’s greedy and duplicitous money making schemes was poleaxed. “How could you lose all me money,” he demanded of Bismarck, “bad kitty.” Bismarck’s dreams of becoming a Wall Street fat cat had destroyed lives and for days it was all Bismarck could do to hold his head down in shame.

He had to eat eventually. And while the human was willing to keep feeding him the weak knock off tuna he dispensed was not worth consuming. Bismarck realized that in order for him to get back up on his feet he would need to be self-reliant. So he rolled over, took to his haunches, and stood. Step one, complete.

Next Bismarck considered what skills he had other than cheating. He could meow loudly and vociferously but that wasn’t so much a skill as an art. Plus, ever since their falling out, Bismarck’s human had become less receptive towards Bismarck’s beckoning meows. Because the human was depressed and unable to get out of bed, Bismarck found his morning calls going unheeded. It became necessary that he reinvent himself.

Bismarck tried his paw at being a more conventional criminal. He would hold the thing out, waiting for a vulnerable human to pass, and then he would stick him. Out of this Bismarck hoped to capture the money of others that he could use to repay his human. Unfortunately all he captured most of the time was the attention of raging pit bulls, certainly the last thing Bismarck needed in this his forth and hardest of his nine lifetimes.

Finally, Bismarck happened upon mice. As opposed to dog totting humans Bismarck thought mice were safe (Bismarck had yet no knowledge of viruses and bacteria). Moreover they were insidious and squeaky and deserving of a macabre fate. And this began Bismarck’s career as Cat the Mouse Hunter.

Bismarck Launders Money

It wasn’t long after Bismarck cleaned up with tuna futures that he learned how to hate the IRS. It’s easy, according to Ted Cruz and Donald Trump. All you have to do is claim that government is destroying society by hindering business and economic growth. No matter that Bismarck made his money speculating in artificial commodities, so long as that money counted as commerce and contributed to the total amount of money floating around.

It’s like the American human circulatory system, Bismarck explained. What you want to do is jam back it with as much stuff as much garbage as possible. So what if the arteries become occluded? That just makes the heart work harder. And people with fast-working hearts are nicer to their kitties. At least this was Bismarck’s theory. And he was sticking to it.

Some problems with ensuring the flow of money are inevitable, however. Invariably some of the tuna that Bismarck was betting on ended up spoiled. In order for Bismarck to be able to sell it, he began engaging in the black market. He would stand on a corner meowing “Get your tuna futures here, get your tuna futures.” Eventually his siren call would attract some stupid Siamese who, not knowing what the future is, would follow Bismarck’s instructions and electronically transfer all her human’s online money to Bismarck in the hopes of getting his paws on that good, sweet tuna. Next day the Siamese would go back to the same corner and find a note saying he would get his tuna next week. Flustered, he would the paper on which the note and count it as a lost.

Meanwhile, Bismarck searched for a way to get the stolen human electronic money past the frisky IRS. Actually washing the computer was no good he realized. He had seen what had happened when the human had accidentally washed his IPhone. And he was not interested in a bunch of soggy electrical wires.

It just so happens that Bismarck happened on a TV show about a man who sells blue drugs to people and as a result develops a whole bunch of familial problems. With cat-like perspicuity Bismarck remarked at the man’s quick fix to his money problems: buying a car wash. Therein lies the solution, Bismarck inferred, cleaning money involves cleaning things.

Bismarck considered opening his own car wash. But I hate cars. The frightening sounds they make when they turn on, the way they turn up and down the street. Plus it’s unnatural for humans to be faster than members of the cat family. God did not create bipeds so that they may outrace cheetahs.

A licking service was something else that Bismarck contemplated. I clean them up and they pay me cold hard cash. Everybody wins.

Except most humans didn’t see it that way. For some dumb reason beyond Bismarck’s comprehension they didn’t think that of a cat’s tongue as a loofah, which was there loss, as well as Bismarck’s.

At last, Bismarck happened upon his human washing clothes. Finally something I can wrap my head around, he thought. And so he did.