Whiskey Boris and I were recently interviewed for
a blog written by the amazing Ashley Schwellenback, who is set to publish her
third fiction novel, and, better yet, has two cats she adores. Her personal blog
is Jane Eyre Likes Cupcakes http://bit.ly/1Q6TD5F
blogger, and buddy Theresa Marie Wilson—who was my very first editor in my
first job out of college more than a decade ago, by the way—maintains a
hilarious and poignant blog about the joys and misadventures of life with her
two black cats Whiskey and Boris. I asked her, Whiskey, and Boris to answer
some questions for me and highly encourage anyone interested in cats, humor,
nuns, and animals in general to subscribe to her blog. She also happens to be
working on her first novel (as if wrangling these boys wasn’t enough).
What is Cat Noir CC?
CatNoirCC.comfollows the adventures of two cats,
Whiskey and Boris, and their human, whose name hardly matters. It is a humorous
blog dedicated to increasing awareness and adoption rates for black cats. Our
slogan is “every color deserves a forever home.”
I currently have two
black cats and it seems like at least one family member has always had one.
Whiskey is 13 and is rather, I shudder to use the word grumpy because that
other cat has cornered the market, but let’s say indifferent in a loving way.
He weighs in at about 22 pounds, which I attribute mostly to his large, square
head. Boris is 2 and doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, needy and whorish
when it comes to attention, yes, but not mean.
Where did the idea behind Cat Noir CC come from?
Black cats and dogs can
languish in a no-kill shelter cage longer, or be euthanized more readily in
shelters, than their colorful counterparts mostly because of the stigma that
Cat Noir CC shows that black cats are simply cats. They do not
come with any inherent negatives that some people who linger too long in the
shallow end of the gene pool associate with them such as bad luck, witchcraft,
or satanic ritual. Last year there was a survey that said black cats aren’t as
popular because they don’t photograph well in selfies. When half your ass is
visible in the bathroom mirror behind you in the photo you took of your best
duck face, I’ll take a black cat selfie any day.
What about the name Cat Noir CC?
Originally, the site was
going to be called “Home of the Deconstructionist Cat” because Boris has left
behind an extensive trail of broken household items from cell phones to a food
processor, but there was that whole deconstructionist theory associated with
French philosopher Jacques Derrida and, let’s face it, cats don’t understand
Do you consider yourself a crazy cat lady?
I’m medicated, but I do
carry on entire conversations with my cats and often try to reason with them.
Is that crazy? I have a book calledCrafting
with Cat Hair, but my brother gave it to me, so he is probably the crazy
one. I do not hoard cats, but I do have a pretty good size nun collection.
What is it like living with your human?
As humans go, she’s
pretty good. You guys can be a despicable lot. Over the years, Mom, that’s what
we call her, has become more than a meal ticket.
I sleep as close to her as
possible to protect her. To be honest, I would like a little more room. Is half
the bed really too much to ask? She also bleeds pretty easy when I’m on the
prowl and her arm is the first prey I find. That’s a good quality.
One time I saved her
from a raccoon. Yes, it was on the other side of a window, but those things are
crafty. If I hadn’t been there, it could have picked the lock and come into the
How did you two meet?
Yawn, I first meet her
when I was a kitten. She lived next door to a poor excuse of a man who I
allowed to be in my presence. Her front door was open, and I darted in and stole a
cat toy out of her living room. She chased me for a block. It was great fun.
She’s totally out of shape, and I kept stopping to make her think she could
catch me. The loser man moved three years later leaving me to live in the
streets. People were mean to me, I was hungry, and then I was trapped and
neutered. Sometimes I can’t even believe they are gone. I’ll be taking a bath
and, boom, it hits me, I have no balls. Mom says it’s a good thing, but she has
all of her parts.
Anywho, one rainy night,
Mom opened the door and I was sitting on her doorstep soaking wet with a big
sore on my head. I can be charming, so she invited me in. I gave her a test
drive for a couple months, basic chores and rules, and 10 years later here I
Do you mind if I bite
How would you describe your relationship with Boris?
Not a fan. Do you have
any treats? Mom keeps saying he is my brother; he is not. I once posted a note
on Facebook asking people to help me find
his real family. So much for social
media, that pain is still living with us, following me all over, trying to sleep
with me. So, what’s the situation on those treats?
What is the best thing about being a cat?
World domination is
right around the corner. I am truly confident that it will happen in my
lifetime. You will notice that I don’t have a comb-over, so this isn’t coming
from narcissism, but pure facts.
I also really enjoy
As the older brother, what do you hope Boris learns
First, we have
established that he is not my brother. Have you seen how small his head is?
But, I try to teach him things. Cats these days have it so easy. Back in my
day, we caught real mice not these catnip laced store bought things. When I
wanted to play with string, I walked uphill in the snow both ways to find some.
Don’t even get me started on those newfangled laser pointers. We chased
What is it like living with your human?
First of all, Ashley, I
must tell you how wonderful it is to meet you. Can I sit on your shoulders? Go
stand about three feet away, and I will launch across the room and just when
you are sure I am not going to make it, I’ll extend my claws and connect with your back.
They add inches.
To answer your question,
Mom is a work in progress. I’m really working on her training. Don’t get me
wrong she is a great trampoline, a wonderful scratching post and, when she is
sleeping, somehow she becomes the shortest path to anywhere. I just walk on her
from head to toe anytime I need to get anywhere. Sometimes I stop and stand in
the boob area, and ponder my existence or stare at the ceiling with a look of
concern on my face.
How did you meet your human?
I was at this open-air
adoption and no one was paying attention to me. All the other kittens with
their fancy fur coats were being played with and told how cute they were. The
humans would mumble something about being black and walk right by me. I didn’t
know what that meant, but I wanted a home and to be out of a cage. I saw her
walking by looking at the other cats. She even held one. I turned my charm on
full throttle. I started clawing people through my cage as they walked by. They
kept yelling “ouch” or “hey, don’t do that,” and finally she noticed me. She
walked right up to me and said, “Do you want to go home?” It was probably the
best day of her life.
How would you describe your relationship with Whiskey?
Awesome. He is so cool.
I jump on him, I sit on him, I attack him and he is just crazy about it. Sometimes while Mom is
sleeping, I wake him up, and we play next to
her on the bed. He throws me
around, usually off the bed, swats at me and sometimes yells; it is the best.
He lets me have all the toys in exchange for my share of the treats. I get the
feeling that he doesn’t really like attention from humans, so if I notice it
happening (believe me, I am always on the lookout) I step in and take one for
the team. I can’t imagine a day without him.
What is the best thing about being a cat?
Oh gosh, so many things.
Getting on the counters is one of my all time favorite things to do. I make
just enough noise so Mom can hear me from the other room and right before she
comes around the corner, I jump off. What can she do, I’m on the floor?
Crawling through the blinds at 4 a.m. is another great one. You can tell when a
human is asleep by how they breathe, so I wait until the right moment and crawl
back out. Knocking over water bowls—WOW that is a rush.
What’s the deal with you and nuns? I hear there’s a
Do I need a lawyer? You
read the blog, don’t you? One time, okay five times, I may have hurt nuns. The
last time, the one I am waiting trial for, I was on the fourth story of
Bookcase Manor, a home for religious icons, and gave her a little shove. She was
blocking access to the treats on the fifth story. The policed issued a warning
that I was clawed and dangerous, and, as you can see, I am not. I’m a sweet
little boy. I’ve already escaped prison once; I can’t go back man. Save me.
CatNoirCC.com. You can subscribe for free, but make sure you check for the
verification email to complete the process. We are also at
Facebook.com/CatNoirCC and on Twitter and Instagram.
If you have anymore questions for Whiskey or
Boris send them CatNoirCC@gmail.com or put them in the comment section on this
I don’t sleep
well, never really have. This last bout was several days with only a collective several hours of sleep. Feeling as if my eyes would fall out if I read anymore, I opted to watch the one channel I get on my TV, which makes owning a flatscreen pretty useless.
Whiskey makes sleep look easy
As fate would have it, I finally conked out on the couch. It’s a small couch and I am not exactly
a small person, so out of a natural instinct to survive a face-first fall to the floor, I slept on my
side with my face pressed against the back of the couch. What seemed like a nanosecond later, I was jolted awake by a
sudden onset of heartburn along with an urgent need to pee.
Whiskey, who had completely
forgotten the bedtime contract he was forced to sign, was sleeping on top of me. His instinct was to dig in deep and hold tight when I attempted to move. As a reminder, he is 22 pounds with impressive claws. I didn't really have a leverage point, as
noted I was facing the back of the couch, and the cat was pinning me from simply
rolling my feet to the floor.
I did practice kindness even in my barely conscious, burning chest state. My pleas began with “Whiskey, move honey. Whiskey, mom needs to get up. Okay, Whiskey time to
hustle.” It finally escalated to a “MOVE” followed by an upward thrust and
twist by me.
Time was of the essence. I made it to an upright position, and it is then that the damn cat decided to plop on the floor between me and his red velvet
bean bag chair. “Really, dude.” I side-stepped over him onto the bean bag chair, which
naturally slid across the wood flooring. It had been some time since I have done
the splits. I don’t know if I have every really done the splits prior to this, but I know
that I have never done them while battling heartburn and needing to go to the bathroom.
Whiskey, the large
I crawled off the
bean bag and began my sprint to the bathroom and who was in front of me,
freaking Whiskey. It is a narrow walkway and he was weaving and sauntering along
so I couldn't get past him. Just for fun, he looked over his should at me a few
times. I swear he was smirking, cats are very vicious animals.
Having no other recourse I jumped straight
up into the air and landed heavily on the floor hoping the sound of my bare feet on
wood would startle the little fur ball into action. It did, but did he sashay to the
left and go into the kitchen, no he darted into the very small bathroom and sat in front of the toilet. I did a sort of backwards leap to land on the commode all the while about ready to kill him, and he looked up at me and purred. Seconds later he left the
room with his tail held high.
I think cats were created to remind us
that we really should relinquish all control because we don't have that much to
The story ended well, I got into bed and both Whiskey and Boris joined me and purred me back to sleep.