Faith Can Move Mountains... But Dynamite Works Better

Tuesday, November 19, 2019

A Day In The Life Of A Cat

And so it is time for the cat to have her say. Show her the respect she deserves, for she is a supreme being, after all.

7:04 AM. Waking up at home. Taking a big stretch. Slept exceptionally well. Dreamed of the biggest stretch of catnip ever seen by any cat.

7:07 AM. An examination of the exterior from my perch on the back of the couch. More snow has fallen in the night. Flying lunches hanging around the feeders. If I was out there right now, I’d be stalking every last one of you. 

7:11 AM. Waiting on the staff to get down here and see to my breakfast. I do hear her moving around up there, which is a good thing. That means I won’t have to go up there and yell at her to wake up. Of course, waiting on her to finish getting ready for the day is trying enough. Patience, patience. She’ll be down sooner or later.

7:19 AM. The staff finally gets downstairs. It’s about time, staff. I’ve been waiting for you to get down here for a quarter of an hour. Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to wait for that long? Now then, how about seeing to my breakfast? 

7:20 AM. Instructing the staff about how I want my breakfast as she goes into the kitchen. Now then, staff, do pay attention, because I don’t like repeating myself. If you set your alarm clock a half hour early, you could come down here and put a plate in the fridge in advance. Because I like my breakfast plate slightly chilled for optimum dining experience. And I would remind you that while milk and meat is entirely to my satisfaction for breakfast, the same does not apply to the field rations you keep putting down for me too. Are we clear on that?

7:23 AM. The staff has set down a bowl of milk and a plate of tuna for me. For whatever reason she persists in putting down a bowl of field rations too. I set to work on the milk and tuna. I shall ignore the field rations, and perhaps someday she’ll get the message.

7:25 AM. Finished with my breakfast. Heading back into the living room so that my staff can have her breakfast in peace. Because, after all, I am a benevolent higher being.

7:36 AM. The staff is on her way out the door, off to that work place. Well, have a good day, staff. Don’t forget to bring home some milk when you’re on the way home.

7:38 AM. I hear the distant barking of that idiot dog down the road. Someone remind me what the exact purpose of dogs is again, because I can’t figure it out.

8:03 AM. My tail is twitching furiously. I’m on the back of the couch. And a squirrel is on the window ledge outside staring in at me. A pane of glass and two feet of empty space separate us, and the little bastard knows it. Which is why he’s sticking out his tongue at me and giving me the finger. 

8:05 AM. The squirrel appears to presently be laughing and has turned to moon me. This is hardly the sort of behaviour to be engaged in around a superior being like a cat. I take my leave, refusing to give this miscreant an audience.

9:58 AM. Waking up from a nap. A yawn and a stretch. You can never stockpile too many naps, if you ask me, and you are asking me.

10:04 AM. An examination of the kitchen determines that the only food out and about is field rations. See, this is the problem with my staff. If she installed automatic food dispensers instead of leaving field rations around, I wouldn’t be in this situation. Well, I shall just ignore the field rations. For now.

11:17 AM. Watching a flat earther advocate trying to get his point across on CNN. Why isn’t the host putting a stop to this nonsense? Or challenging them? We all know the world is a sphere. If it was flat, the cats would have knocked everything off the edges.

12:02 PM. Coming back into the kitchen. Staring at the bowl of field rations. What to do, what to do…

12:04 PM. After much reluctance, I start eating some of the field rations.

1:28 PM. My peaceful nap is interrupted by the barking of that annoying mutt from down the road. A glance at the clock suggests that it must be time for the mailman to be dropping off the mail. Does it occur to the foul hound that it’s only the guy’s job to do that?

4:10 PM. Watching the Weather Network. They’ve brought back that crazy guy who keeps predicting the end of the world every time there’s a snowfall and has spent one too many times in a mental hospital. Is this general policy over there to hire paranoid lunatics, even if they have the proviso that he’s ‘doing better now’?

4:13 PM. Sure enough the crazy forecaster has gone off on a rant about how ten centimetres of snow overnight is going to result in closures of everything, of mass starvation, of looting the stores and eating the dead, and… oh, there he goes suggesting that if you have to, you can kill someone so that you’ll have a food source. And with that they drag him off the air.

4:14 PM. The other meteorologist apologizes for the behaviour of her colleague and promises he’ll get all the help he needs and will be back soon. Look, all due respect, this is like the twelfth time this guy has suggested we’re in Donner Party scenarios here- when we’re not- and you people still let him on the air after he does a couple of months in St. Waldo’s Home For The Deranged?

5:19 PM. The staff arrives at home. Well, staff, I’ll have you know that you missed seeing the deranged forecaster back on the job for less than fifteen minutes before being dragged off by the producers. So how was your day? And more important, did you bring any milk?

5:46 PM. Observing the staff while she makes dinner. She’s doing some work with stewing beef, which of course I approve of.

6:20 PM. Dinner with the staff. She’s having sprouts with her meat. I don’t know why, I mean, what is the appeal of sprouts? But she’s been good enough to give me a plate of stewing beef, uncooked, of course, just the way I like it. Now if you could be this thoughtful with breakfast, that would be ideal.

7:03 PM. While the staff is doing the dishes, the television is on the news. And it turns out that crazy forecaster just escaped from a place called Belwood. If you ask me, St. Waldo’s Home For The Deranged is a much better name for a mental hospital.

8:48 PM. Lying in the living room, staring up at the ceiling, pondering the great mysteries of existence. When did the purr first come into common usage among the various feline species? 

11:35 PM. The staff is off to bed. Very well, staff, but do keep the door open. I expect to be able to access you at any hour of the night, particularly if I want to walk all over you at four in the morning. Because that’s the sort of thing a cat likes doing.

Friday, November 15, 2019

A Day In The Life Of A Dog

It is time once again for the perspective of the cat and the dog. As always, the dog gets the first say.

7:12 AM. Waking up at home. Slept exceptionally well. Dreamed of chasing snowmen. 

7:15 AM. A look outside at things. Birds around the feeders. Fresh snow in the night. You know, for whatever reason, I get that some people don’t like winter, but there’s nothing quite like running through fresh powder, barking your head off, with not a care in the world. This world would be a lot better if more people were like dogs.

7:18 AM. Waiting on the human to come downstairs. I mean, as much as I’m raring to get out there and get running, we have to think of priorities, after all. And the big priority right now is breakfast. The most important meal of the day, in a five way tie with lunch, dinner, snacks, and more snacks.

7:19 AM. ….and it’s not as if I can see to my breakfast all by myself. I mean, the kibbles are in the pantry, after all, and that not having opposable thumbs issue makes opening doors problematic. I wonder if dogs can someday figure out a way to compensate for that. 

7:23 AM. The human comes downstairs. Good morning, human! Fine day, isn’t it? The sort of cold day that makes you feel glad to be alive. Say, have you given any thought to my breakfast? I’m just saying, it’s been nine hours since I scarfed down that oatmeal cookie, and I’m famished.

7:25 AM. Thumping my tail with anticipation as the human pours me a big bowl of kibbles. Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy…

7:26 AM. Licking my lips after finishing off the kibbles. That was good! And only seven seconds off my all time fastest eating of breakfast. 

7:31 AM. Inquiring with the human as to if she can let me out for my run. 

7:33 AM. The human lets me out the back door. I break out into a sprint as I bolt into the snow. See you later, human!

7:38 AM. Sprinting through the fresh powder, barking my head off, as happy as I can be.

8:03 AM. Stopping by to see Spike the Magnificent, Tormentor of Squirrels. Hey, Spike!

8:05 AM. Spike and I compare notes on the relatively early snow cover we’ve got. He says his humans had to get their snow tires put on sooner than they expected. Mine says it’s going to be a very long winter. But that’s a good thing.

8:09 AM. Spike and I discuss the movements of the enemy. I know the squirrels have been raiding the bird feeders. What it is about sunflower seeds that they like is a mystery to me, but regardless, they must be up to something, Spike. Something nefarious and evil. Because that’s what a squirrel would do.

8:22 AM. Parting ways with Spike. He agrees to keep me informed when the mailman passes his way. We pledge to give the mailman a serious barking at. Because mailmen are evil, and deserve no peace of mind. If you ask me, they’re in some unholy alliance with the squirrels and the vet, and it’s got something to do with world domination.

8:39 AM. Returning home, and barking to alert the human to my return. Human! It is I! Loki, Annoyer of Mailmen and Chewer of Slippers! Let me in!

8:41 AM The human opens the door, but is wise to my methods, and stops me from getting inside so that I can shake the snow out of my fur indoors. Instead she starts a vigorous application of the Towel of Torment.

8:44 AM. Finally back inside after the human’s done with me. I settle into the living room for a nap, wondering why it is humans find the smell of a wet dog so disagreeable.

10:53 AM. Mooching a cookie off the human while she has her morning coffee. Yum yum yum!

12:09 PM. Using my patented sad eyes look to convince the human give me a couple of dinner rolls for lunch. What’s all the better is that there’s ham and cheese on the rolls.

1:28 PM. Barking up a storm when the mailman’s dropping off mail at the box and driving away. I keep barking when he’s gone. And don’t you ever come back! You hear me???

3:01 PM. The human is having her afternoon tea. She’s been kind enough to give me a couple of cookies, which I scarf down without hesitation.

4:13 PM. Watching the Weather Network with the human. What was supposed to be a normal forecast with that meteorologist who just got out of the mental hospital- again- has deteriorated into a speech of panic and paranoia. Why do they keep letting this guy come back to work?

5:39 PM. The human is making bacon pancakes. I am busy watching. And thumping my tail against the floor.

6:10 PM. Dinner with the human. I must say, there’s nothing quite like bacon pancakes on a cold day. Thanks, human!

8:17 PM. Lying on my back in the living room, pondering the great mysteries. Do humans lie about chocolate being bad for dogs, just so they can eat more of it?

11:24 PM. The human is off to bed. Good night, human! Sleep well. I’ll stay on guard down here against any incursions by rabid squirrels. Nothing to worry about there at all.  Right? Of course right.