Best 586 quotes in «cats quotes» category

In the cat world, good manners are a must.

In the end, the cats were rounded up and put into a room. My father went into the room with his First World War revolver, more reliable, he said, than a shotgun. The gun sounded again, again, again, again. The cats that were still uncaught had sensed their fate and were raging and screaming all over the bush, with people after them. My father came out of the room at one point, very white, with tight angry lips and wet eyes. He was sick. Then he swore a good deal, then he went back into the room and the shooting continued. At last he came out. The servants went in and carried off the corpses to the disused well. Some of the cats had escaped – three never came back at all to the murderous household, so they must have gone wild and taken their chances. When my mother returned from her trip, and the neighbour who had brought her had gone, she walked quiet and uncommenting through the house where there was now one cat, her old favourite, asleep on her bed. My mother had not asked for this cat to be spared, because it was old, and not very well. But she was looking for it; and she sat a long time stroking and talking to it. Then she came out to the verandah. There sat my father and there I sat, murderers, and feeling it. She sat down. He was rolling a cigarette. His hands were still shaking. He looked up at her and said: ‘That must never happen again.’ And I suppose it never did.

In the morning, when she wishes me to wake, she crouches on my chest, and pats my face with her paw. Or, if I am on my side, she crouches looking into my face. Soft, soft touches of her paw. I open my eyes, say I don't want to wake. I close my eyes. Cat gently pats my eyelids. Cat licks my nose. Cat starts purring, two inches from my face. Cat, then, as I lie pretending to be asleep, delicately bites my nose. I laugh and sit up. At which she bounds off my bed and streaks downstairs -- to have the back door opened if it is winter, to be fed, if it is summer.

In this particular field of endeavour, there's not a cat in all of Japan as gifted as am I.... They say that every toad carries in it's fore-head a gem that in the darkness utters light,but packed within my tail I carry not only the power of God, Buddha, Confuscious , Love and even Death ,but also an infallible panacea for all ills that could bewitch the entire human race.

In "Tracer Shells," 2002, forty-six cats with bright-white fluron-tipped tails, leap over upturned chairs and tables (depicting social chaos) in response to rapid bursts of recorded machine-gun fire. In the darkened space the effect is startling, the message disturbing, and the method ethically challenging.

In Tybalt's case, it means bloody control of the local Court of Cats. He became their king by right of blood; he's held the position by beating the crap out of anyone who tries to take it away. The Cait Sidhe take a more direct and bloody approach to succession than most of Faerie.

I preferred to think of myself as a cat. If I think of my behavior as cat behavior instead of people behavior, it pretty much always makes sense.

I realized Nightwise had no collar. "Yes," he said, noticing my stare. "Today I remember the hunt

...I regard cats as one of the great joys in the world. I see them as a gift of highest order.

I scooped the cat up and snuggled him against my chest for comfort. He was warm and soft, a smooth fluffy ball of fur in my arms. I'd cuddled up with the little guy countless times over the years without thinking much about it, but now, for the first time ever, it occurred to me that maybe this little act of comfort was what life was all about.

I signed off with Ricky, and I was putting away my phone when TC slunk past, heading for his spot in the front window. "Hey, cat," I said. "We're bringing home a friend for you. A doggie big enough to devour you in a single gulp. Is that okay?" He turned a baleful stare on me, as if he understood. I'm convinced TC isn't just a cat, no more than Lloergan is just a dog. Maybe someday, when I'm moments from perishing at the hands of an intruder, TC will save me in a sudden and awe-inspiring display of supernatural power. Or maybe he'll decide I haven't given him enough tuna that week and leave me to my fate. He's a cat, so I figure my chances are about fifty-fifty.

I situate myself, and seat myself, And where you recline I shall recline, For every armchair belonging to you as good as belongs to me. I loaf and curl up my tail I yawn and loaf at my ease after rolling in the catnip patch." (From Meow of Myself, from LEAVES OF CATNIP)

Is this one of those situations that involves "ethics"? 'Cause I'm a cat, you know. I've never been very good at those.

It all began with a bucket of eggs.

The End of the Raven "On a night quite unenchanting, when the rain was downward slanting I awakened to the ranting of the man I catch mice for. Tipsy and a bit unshaven, in a tone I found quite craven, Poe was talking to a Raven perched above the chamber door. 'Raven's very tasty,' thought I, as I tiptoed o'er the floor. 'There is nothing I like more.' [...] Still the Raven never fluttered, standing stock-still as he uttered In a voice that shrieked and sputtered, his two cents' worth -- 'Nevermore.' While this dirge the birdbrain kept up, oh, so silently I crept up, Then I crouched and quickly leapt up, pouncing on the feathered bore. Soon he was a heap of plumage, and a little blood and gore -- Only this and not much more.

I think I would rather have a cat than a sweetheart, after all. They are less trouble, and even the handsomest sweetheart is sadly lacking in fur.

The Prologue to TERRITORY LOST "Of cats' first disobedience, and the height Of that forbidden tree whose doom'd ascent Brought man into the world to help us down And made us subject to his moods and whims, For though we may have knock'd an apple loose As we were carried safely to the ground, We never said to eat th'accursed thing, But yet with him were exiled from our place With loss of hosts of sweet celestial mice And toothsome baby birds of paradise, And so were sent to stray across the earth And suffer dogs, until some greater Cat Restore us, and regain the blissful yard, Sing, heavenly Mews, that on the ancient banks Of Egypt's sacred river didst inspire That pharaoh who first taught the sons of men To worship members of our feline breed: Instruct me in th'unfolding of my tale; Make fast my grasp upon my theme's dark threads That undistracted save by naps and snacks I may o'ercome our native reticence And justify the ways of cats to men.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a warm house and a well-stocked fridge must be in want of a cat.

I thought of Bobby, of the last look he had given me, and at that moment I understood one of the differences between man and cat: man knows he's going to die, so he can get ready and be willing, even eager, to go. A cat knows the end is near, but that's all. He can't accept death: he can't trust in it; cats are perhaps too metaphysical an entity to need to believe in the idea of a beyond; a cat is his own god and man his creation.

It is better to scare off a mouse than welcome a badger

It is common knowledge that 87% of the problems of the world are caused by cats. No cats, no problems." Hank the Cowdog

It is inhuman to humanize animals; it is like raising a child in a cage.

It is easy to make plans in this world; even a cat can do it; and when one is out in those remote oceans it is noticeable that a cat's plans and a man's are worth about the same.

It is natural for our unamiable sex to dislike the creatures, for you ladies lavish so many caresses upon them.

It meant he was a cat and he'd do whatever he pleased, when he pleased, and if I didn't like it, that was just to bad.

It's 8a.m. and time to rest It's 10a.m. and time to relax It's noon and time for repose It's 3p.m. and time for shut-eye It's 6p.m. and time for siesta It's 9p.m. and time to slumber It's midnight and time to snooze It's 4a.m. and time to hang upside down from your bedroom ceiling, screaming.

To a Vase "How do I break thee? Let me count the ways. I break thee if thou art at any height My paw can reach, when, smarting from some slight, I sulk, or have one of my crazy days. I break thee with an accidental graze Or twitch of tail, if I should take a fright. I break thee out of pure and simple spite The way I broke the jar of mayonnaise. I break thee if a bug upon thee sits. I break thee if I'm in a playful mood, And then I wrestle with the shiny bits. I break thee if I do not like my food. And if someone they shards together fits, I'll break thee once again when thou art glued.

It's like they've forgotten everything important, isn't it? I mean, forgotten things like cats and dancing exist.

I wake up to my cats judging me. They stare blankly as if to say, "Is this what you had in mind for your life? If it is, you may want to consider sleeping pills or a tall bridge because in our view, you're pathetic." Or they're hungry.

It was a fitting animal for a priest. Cats guard the secrets of the otherworld and are liaisons with mystic realms. Protectors of esoteric knowledge, cats can open the gates through which a priest can see the future and gain insight.

I walked through the house to the back porch and found the screen door covered top to bottom, side to side, with cats meowing for food. . . . They were so thick on the door I could barely see the light between them.

It takes me a while to drag him out, he's got himself stuck to the axle, and by the time I am done and stand over the body something strange has started to happen. The alley's filled with a half-dozen cats, runty little things with their ribs showing and their tails worn high like they're pointing to the moon. I stand there, breathing froth into the snowflakes and watch them gather round me, soft kitty paws, and now and then a patrol car rolls past in the distance. The cats are circling us, tails cocked at the moon, their muzzles bloodied by the tail lights' glow. They are vicious bastards, let me tell you: frost on their whiskers, eyes like cut glass, a half-dozen pairs, on me and the dead man. And then they start licking. Licking at the snow I mean, the blood in the snow, they lap it up like mother's milk. And all the while from their throats, from their whole bodies, there issues this sound, you hear it with your skin, it's like an engine running under your palm. That's when I realize they are purring, man, purring as they feed on the midget's death.

It was why no sane cat allowed kits to come anywhere near human beings. Humans seemed to feel that it was perfectly acceptable to teach kits to accept food from their hands as a matter of course, rather than teaching them the importance of hunting skill and self-reliance.

I've got a Siamese cat. It has 2 heads and 18 lives.

i wish cats could float around your head

I was just thinking how the purr of a contented cat is one of my favorite sounds in the world. There's something so comforting about it, isn't there?

i wish i had 15-20 cats that would serve as a blanket, like if i moved they would adjust to my new position, that would be good

Listening out for the sound of [his parent's] return kept him suspended in a semi-permanent state of agitation just like an apparently sleeping cat whose ear radar never rests.

I wonder if I brought my Silly-cat in…could you tell me what she’s thinking?’ ‘I can tell you what she’s thinking right now, no touching necessary,’ I drawled. ‘She’s thinking if she were three times her size, she would eat you.’ …Every cat that was awake when I’d smoothed its fur with a bare hand thought that. Every cat I touched that was asleep dreamed that.

Little cats mean little kids, little kids mean little cats!

Little known fact- a cat which has just bitten itself in the ass can achieve impressive speed at it dashes madly straight up a curtain.

Littlemouse was in danger, doubtless a prisoner, and the humans could not be trusted to handle her rescue with appropriate violence. They might be willing to leave someone alive, and Rowl was not prepared to tolerate incompetence where his personal human was concerned. He had just gotten her properly trained.

Majid gave me a brief dazzling golden stare and then half-lidded his eyes again. I know when my life is being threatened.

Looking back few friends had we but I've got him and he's got me. And when the golden minute comes when we no longer wake to smell the river where the wild swans sailed the orchard where the blossoms fell, we'll smile a little thinkin' of that. Me in my shirt-tails, him with his whiskers me and the cat.

(...) los enamorados de los gatos consideran que el suyo es la maravilla entre las maravillas, como si estuvieran ciegos ante todos los demás.

Love is whole. Love cannot be divided from itself. Love knows all paths, where even gods and cats are blind.

Love knows all paths, where even gods and cats are blind.

Loving cats wasn’t like loving skiing or comic books or arthouse films: when you walked into a pub, you usually didn’t feel the need to tell people about it, either stylistically or verbally. I didn’t try to hide the fact that I liked cats, it was just that a lot of the time it was hidden, by custom and by nature.” — Under the Paw: Confessions of a Cat Man, by Tom Cox

Loyalty is proved by what we do, not where we come from!

Man is the Reasoning Animal. Such is the claim. I think it is open to dispute. Indeed, my experiments have proven to me that he is the Unreasoning Animal... In truth, man is incurably foolish. Simple things which other animals easily learn, he is incapable of learning. Among my experiments was this. In an hour I taught a cat and a dog to be friends. I put them in a cage. In another hour I taught them to be friends with a rabbit. In the course of two days I was able to add a fox, a goose, a squirrel and some doves. Finally a monkey. They lived together in peace; even affectionately. Next, in another cage I confined an Irish Catholic from Tipperary, and as soon as he seemed tame I added a Scotch Presbyterian from Aberdeen. Next a Turk from Constantinople; a Greek Christian from Crete; an Armenian; a Methodist from the wilds of Arkansas; a Buddhist from China; a Brahman from Benares. Finally, a Salvation Army Colonel from Wapping. Then I stayed away for two whole days. When I came back to note results, the cage of Higher Animals was all right, but in the other there was but a chaos of gory odds and ends of turbans and fezzes and plaids and bones and flesh--not a specimen left alive. These Reasoning Animals had disagreed on a theological detail and carried the matter to a Higher Court.