Bernard Nies: An Unlikely Muse

Welcome to Chronicles of a Bad Kitty, my foray into the online phenomenon we all know as blogging.  My cat Bernie was generous enough to let me post an introduction before he starts enlightening the masses.  At first, the Bern man was hesitant that I would muddy his reputation or misrepresent him in some way, but after I told him my intro would be only to prepare the audience for his unrivaled grandeur and insight, he decided that a post by me would be fitting.

I wanted to provide a little context to the origins of this blog and my history as a cat owner, or in Bernie’s humble opinion, a cat houseguest.  I promise it won’t be TOO much of a snore.  I adopted Bernie in August 2009, after finally wading through the sorrow of having to put my first cat to sleep, Mr. Whiskers (R.I.P. ol’ buddy.)  Anyhow, being a humane society feline, Bern presented himself as just the type of cat I was looking for.  He was male, a bit older, and just the friendliest thing.  Within 5 minutes of meeting Bern (previously named Tiger, I know, THANK GOD I name him Bernie…), I was entranced.  He hopped right up onto me, nuzzled my face, and even threw in a convincing roll-around with a toy.  Due to this behavior, Bernie was in demand.  Finding out that I was not the only one lined up for his affections, I left work midday and adopted him immediately.  Whiskers, my old cat, had been the quirkiest, sweetest, fattest specimen, and I was sure that Bernie could live up to expectations.  Although he was younger and slimmer than Whiskers, whose body shape made you wonder what happened during the birthing process, I saw the potential in Bernie’s eyes.  The mysterious rip in his ear further solidified this potential. 

R.I.P Mr. Whiskers.  In his heyday, Whisk was a ladies man.  This is his profile picture from an online dating site.  Trust me, it is VERY slimming. 

To me, the first few months with Bern were great.  It felt like a match made in heaven.  We learned each other’s sleeping and eating schedules, we bonded over lazy Sunday afternoon lolls, and my roommate, Mandy, even approved of him.  Despite my sunny perspective on the situation, Mand now tells me there were red flags, that my Eve “Love is Blind” demeanor could not recognize.  At a housewarming party, Bern unexpectedly scratched two guests.  I immediately took this as him being overwhelmed with new people, the noise created by the event.  Surely, this was just an error – a minor glitch on the pristine behavioral report that I had in my mind for Bernie. 

Before it all started. Feline/human companion bliss.

Then things started rapidly changing.  Bern started acting like he owned the place.  From plopping himself defiantly in the bathroom sink to refusing certain types of cat food, me and Mand were beginning to feel like tenants in HIS apartment.  The most significant change that followed was Bern beginning to view my roommate as a large, glistening pork chop.  A statuesque six feet tall, Mand was now being chased randomly by Bernie, just waiting to get a delicious taste of the prime meat makeup of her calves.  Although alarmed by this traumatic turn of events, I could not help but adore Bernie, as he loved to be held like a baby and insisted on sleeping curled up next to me every night.  Seeking advice, I called my vet and the humane society.  The humane society graciously agreed to put him under observation for two weeks.  This was a nail-biting time for me.  Anxiety filled my brain, as I wondered how my sweet, misunderstood Bern Bern was handling life back at the humane society.  He surely missed me, so much so that I convinced myself that he was staging a starvation protest until he was back in my arms.  After two weeks were up and I could get the report, I was confronted by a bunch of crazy looks from the humane society employees.  Apparently, Bernie had charmed the pants off of every worker there, sidling up for head nuzzles and even handing out a few licks to the lucky ones.  He even looked a little, PLUMPER.  Something CLEARLY was wrong with me.  Head down, but happy to have my Bern back, I went home, cat carrier in hand.  That day was about a year ago.  To this day, Bern continues to rule the roost, busting into the bathroom when he pleases, leaving presents around the house when he is mad, and finding time to still harass Mandy, although with much less frequency.  80 percent of the time though (ok this might be a slight exaggeration), Bernie is a needy doll, ready to sleep in with me, furiously lick my forehead, and guard the premises. 

The beginning.  Of the end.

Awhile back, as a joke, I started posting random pictures of Bernie on my Facebook page under an album called Chronicles of a Bad Kitty.  I envisioned Bernie as a self-absorbed, arrogant gangster type, down on his luck due to the economic downfall.  The permanent rip on his ear from a mysterious scuffle that to this day we do now know about.  People started to tell me to turn it into a blog.  At first I laughed it off, I am not much of a blog person, and well, did I REALLY want to present myself so transparently as a cat lady?  This hesitation lasted for about...two days, and then I was like, what the heck, I should give it a whirl.  And this is how Chronicles of a Bad Kitty came to fruition.  I hope you enjoy Bernie, or at least have a hearty chuckle at my expense.