(I've also posted this on my Facebook page. I need all the help I can get!)
By now probably most of Fandom knows that for decades I've been breeding a particular bloodline of cats for intelligence. On average, they have at least the intelligence of six-year-old children, minus language capacity. They don't yet have a real sense of symbolism, and of course they don't have mouths shaped for speech, so they communicate by gesture, expression, and analog sounds. Within those limitations, they can be remarkably articulate. They still have the psychology of cats, and they use their intelligence for their own little furry purposes, which are not necessarily ours. They can be amazingly clever at getting what they want, whether it's toys, petting or people-food. I've been breeding the smartest to the smartest with the intention of getting their intelligence even higher.
Well, I've succeeded to a point that's downright scary.
I have a young tomcat – 22 months old – that I named Tuxedo, because he looks as if he's wearing one. He's very people-oriented, will downright demand to be petted, and loves to explore. He figured out how to get into kitchen and bathroom cabinets, and explored the contents – until he overturned a bottle of perfume, and decided he wasn't interested in that any more. He managed to find ways through the window-screens and got outside – until he ran into some bigger, older, tougher tomcats, and decided he preferred to be an indoor cat. He also likes to sit in front of the TV and watch the shifting images on the screen; sometimes he'll bat and pounce at them for fun.
Then he discovered my husband's laptop computer. The monitor-screen has nice sharp definition and lovely bright colors, and Tuxedo decided he liked that better than the TV screen. Of course he couldn't get very close while Rasty was working on the computer, and when not working, the computer was closed – and thereby turned off.
Well… Tuxedo, after observing carefully, figured out how to paw the computer open, which would turn it on and light up the screen. Then he found that by walking on the keyboard he could get the screen to change and make the images move, so he could play with them. This adds a whole new dimension to the concept of "Kitten on the Keys".
It also messed up the email program to no end.
When Rasty discovered just who had been turning on his computer in the middle of the night and doing weird things with the programs, he insisted that this was too much; that cat had to go, one way or another. It isn't just that he's upset about his computer; he's worried about what Tuxedo will think to get into next.
So I'm making an appeal to every SciFi fan, Pagan and cat-lover in the Phoenix valley; will somebody please give Tuxedo a new home? Anyone who values intelligence in any form, anyone who can safely armor their laptop, anyone who likes cats – please call me, at 602-373-0320 – or send me an email at firstname.lastname@example.org.