Category Archives: Winston

I bought Winston some cat treats the other day. The label boasts “Now even more taste!” This is quite the clever advertising gimmick. How do the fine folks at Purina know that these treats have more taste? Is someone taste-testing them? Who?
I’m going to have to take their word for it because I refuse to try them. And I would conduct a test using Winston, but I don’t have any of the old treats that apparently had less taste. And even if I did, I don’t think Winston would be objective. I’ve never seen him turn up his nose at a cat treat. In his opinion, they are all good.

The back of the carton says these treats will “awaken curiosity” and “encourage discovery.” I’m not even sure what to say about all that. Though I do know that Winston already has far more curiosity than is good for him. That stuff will kill you.

Winston often attacks Sarah. She has a great reaction, which he very clearly enjoys. Only occasionally will he attack me. Last night, he bit my leg and actually drew a little blood. It was just a little scratch, but still blood. Those are the times that make us question whether Winston should be here, or if we should release him into some jungle.

Winston is a hunter. He’s a tiger. He may be a bit on the small side, but he’s got all of the instincts and none of the inhibitions. In our first home, we had crickets. The house had just been finished, and there were still a few inside. It seemed that every morning we’d wake up to cricket body parts strewn about an area. Limbs were torn off, and sometimes he’d still be batting around a one-legged cricket who could now only waddle in circles. Winston is a brutal hunter.

About seven months ago, we had the fear of watching Winston play with a scorpion. He flicked the thing across the kitchen as Sarah shrieked. We knew he didn’t know what he was doing. Sarah grabbed Winston and ran, while I killed the scorpion. We’ve seen a few scorpions around the yard, but no more in the house.

This morning I came down to see scorpion body parts strewn across the reading room. A pincher was ripped off. A tail was in half. The head was squashed. This wasn’t a battle, but a slaughter. It was torture. There are clearly no rules of war for a cat.

Winston chases us, bites us, and gets us up three hours early to feed him a second breakfast. He isn’t an easy roommate. He isn’t an easy friend. But he’s a necessary one. Winston is our hunter and keeps us safe from all threats internal, be it cricket, scorpion, or excessive cat food.

Greg and I have often asserted that Winston is the smartest cat in the world. Some people appear skeptical about this claim. Well, yesterday Winston took a big pounce forward for cat-kind. We think he’s well on his way to becoming a computer engineer.

I walked into the office to check my e-mail, and as usual, Winston was sleeping in my office chair. Something was amiss though. My computer was off. I nearly always leave my computer running.

“Greg, did you turn off my computer?” I called.

“No,” Greg said.

“Well, it’s off,” I said.

I moved Winston from the chair and sat down, dumbfounded. Greg walked into the office and glanced at the power strip.

“Winston,” he said in a scolding tone, “Did you turn off Sarah’s computer?”

Greg told me that Winston had stepped on the power switch of the power strip. Greg flipped it back on, and my computer started to boot. But Winston wasn’t going to have it. With both Greg and I watching, and with his tail swaying arrogantly from side to side, he walked over to my computer and stepped on the power switch again. My computer went silent.

I don’t know what Greg and I are going to do with this creature. He’s faster than us. He’s tougher than us. And it appears that he is rapidly becoming smarter than us.