Attack Cat Extraordinaire

First, the unfinished business. The serpent lurks in point two of my previous post. I can carry a tune. That’s about it though. Was the lie too easy to spot? Any tips on how I could be a better liar?

Oops, I mean, how I could write more convincing prose? 😉


A friend of mine mentioned that I probably ought to introduce Zelda. Or rather, Her Royal Majesty, the Princess Zelda, Attack Cat Extraordinaire.

We got Zelda from Petco after extensive, persistent campaigning from my son, henceforth referred to as El Kiddo. She was a rescue cat. To paraphrase the character Adam Young, from Gaiman and Pratchett’s Good Omens, Zelda is a genuine, 100% purebred mutt. Or whatever’s the feline equivalent of “mutt”. The Petco lady told us she was found, with her litter of siblings, in a locked car under the broiling Southern California sun. Of all her siblings, she was the only one to survive.

Bad things should happen to whoever left the kitties there. Just sayen.

At the time we adopted her, she was known as Piglet. El Kiddo announced that since she had proven herself to be a fighter, she deserved a more legendary name. He wanted to name her Link, after the MC in the Legend of Zelda series of Nintendo games. Then we pointed out that Link is a male character and Zelda was, emphatically, a she. So he named her Zelda. He never liked Piglet as a character anyway.

In Indonesia, where I’m originally from, we believe naming is important. People/animals acquire characteristics of whatever we name them after. Well, this certainly held true for Her Royal Majesty.

Not for her the plebeian comforts of a cat bed. Not even El Kiddo’s bed. At least, not the whole night. She stays just long enough to scare away nocturnal monsters and for El Kiddo to fall asleep. Then it’s off to the main bed, where presumably, she thinks she’s fulfilling the same function.

Her water must be fresh and cool, straight from the tap. She’s learned how to turn the faucet on by herself, should her humans prove unable to satisfy her whim with adequate speed. Stale bowl water for the Princess? Perish the thought. And getting the wrong (read: different) brand of cat food is an unthinkable, deviant act against nature itself. Almost sacrilegious.

Yes, we love her to distraction. Especially El Kiddo.

As for the final part of her title? Ah, that I will leave for her to elaborate. Needless to say, I shall act as Her Royal Majesty’s humble interpreter and scribe 🙂



I was recently reminded that I’m a terrible liar. Since I write fiction, and fiction is, by definition, stuff I made up… you see where I’m going with this? Therefore, contrary to the popular stance that honesty is the best policy, I’ve decided to try and become a better liar.

Purely for professional reasons, you understand. Any professional worth his/her salt should always strive to hone his/her craft, don’t you agree?

I’m going to start small. Let’s play a game I call “Spot the Lie”. Three of the following four are true. One is complete, made-up hogwash. You can man/woman up and post your guess in the comment box. Or just keep it in your head and check back later when I reveal the proverbial serpent in the garden. Here goes:

1) A priest bought me my first dog and we ate it in a curry sauce. During our meal we discussed the Western tradition of announcing upcoming nuptials with a diamond engagement ring, and the local tradition of presenting a Portuguese hand cannon. On one hand, the diamond ring is easier to show off at the engagement party and significantly easier to find than the hand cannon. On the other hand, just look at the divorce rates in Western countries. Maybe that which we obtain too easily, we do value too cheaply.

2) I have an ongoing unrequited love affair with music. While I love it to distraction, it does not appear to love me. I’m completely tone deaf and can’t carry a tune to save my life. Not even if it comes in a bucket. When he was a baby, my son would break into uncontrollable howls if I so much as hummed a few bars. Therefore, I’ve resigned myself to loving music from afar, as a humble listener.

3) My name isn’t my actual real first name. When my parents told the priest (older, stickler for rules) the name they wanted me baptized with, he balked. He said the name my parents chose was not a proper name because that particular saint was de-canonized. They must come up with another name right then and there. Otherwise, they’d have to wait another 6 months to re-schedule the whole thing. So, pulling a name out of thin air, I was christened “Margareta”. Nobody calls me by that name. At least, not anyone who seriously expect me to respond.

4) My mother has asthma and is severely allergic to fur. Growing up, I’ve only have ever had fish and the odd terrapin for pets. That said, after I left for college, my family somehow managed to acquire a vegetarian dog and a rooster.

Let the guessing begin 🙂