An Olympic Day In The Life Of A Cat

A link for you to check out before I get started today. Have a look at Norma's page where she's writing about villains today. Now then, picking up with the next part of these Olympic blogs... and for once not on the same day as my doggie's point of view, but the next day. It's the cat's time to shine. A note to non-Canadian readers: just check Google Images for the hockey commentator Don Cherry, and you'll quickly see what kind of  fashion challenged douchebag he is. He reminds me of my ex-brother-in-law Mike: a loudmouthed bigot and idiot, thinks he's right about everything, and turns everything into an argument.

7:10 AM. Waking up. I hear the staff upstairs moving about. She had better have some breakfast out for me post haste, or I shall be cranky all day. And it had better not involve field rations.

7:25 AM. It's about time, staff. What took you so long? I see you're dressed for that work thing you go off and do. Well, just as long as you see to my needs first before you go...

7:30 AM. Sigh. Will she ever get it? Field rations again!

I walk away in dismay.

7:45 AM. The staff leaves for the day, saying she'll be home this evening. I hope you bring something tasty for me...

8:15 AM. Sitting at window, staring out into snow. Somewhere I hear the distant sounds of that annoying dog from down the road. As usual, the demented mutt is barking his head off. I swear, he's got a few loose screws in that head of his...

8:25 AM. Checking out the morning news. There's a piece about the beating of Eddie the Eagle yesterday in Russia. Ridiculous. Completely insane.

Sir, you are not an eagle.

8:26 AM. Eddie the Eagle says he didn't realize he'd get in trouble. Well, come on, Eddie, you think parachuting into Russia is a smart thing?

8:29 AM. That horrible human President Putin gives statement. He says Eddie the Eagle will be deported later today without charge. Putin strikes me as the sort of person who'd like to take over the world. Rubbish, I say. Everyone who knows anything knows that cats already rule the world.

9:15 AM. Continuing to watch Olympic coverage. If they happen to switch to figure skating, I'm turning it off. A reporter is chattering back to her studio. She sees someone, and moves off. The cameraman follows her. She walks up towards a Mountie. Hey, it's that Lars Ulrich guy. I like him. He's got the whole cat-like disdain and crankiness thing going on.

The staff, I think, is in lust with him. She hates entertainment reporters, and ever since Inspector Ulrich threw Ben Mulroney off a bridge last year, she's had a crush.

9:16 AM. The reporter assures Inspector Ulrich she knows he's not the Metallica guy, and asks if he's been confused for him by anyone else in Sochi, and if so, has he had a chance to beat them up? Ulrich says he hasn't as of yet, but that could change any time. He heads off, and the program heads off to the figure skating venue. Oh, no way. Uh uh. Not watching this... I turn the television off.

9:35 AM. With some reluctance, I eat some of the field rations.

1:05 PM. Waking up from nice long nap. Still snowing outside.

1:07 PM. Turning on television. Checking out the American network. Um, you morons bought the rights to the Olympics in your country... and instead of broadcasting live, you're airing a soap opera? 

No one cares about that dazed nitwit who can't act, the villain who's come back from the dead forty nine times, the pretentious and sanctimonious central character who thinks she's holier than thou, or paying attention to stories that never end. Why is this more important than actually broadcasting the games?

I'm switching back to the Canadian channels. At least our network knows what they're doing. Even if they brought that senile old bigot along for colour commentary on the hockey games.

1:15 PM. And speaking of the senile old bigot, there he is. Don Cherry's blathering away the same as he always does every Saturday night. The staff can't stand him. It's not just his horrible taste in fashion- though that's bad enough- it's his whole toxic personality. Not to mention he's really stupid... and has no idea how stupid he is.

I don't like him either. In my not so humble opinion, the man is a complete and utter cluster-jackass.

1:16 PM. Great. The cluster-jackass just initiated an international incident by saying the Swedes should be carpet bombed back to the stone age.

I wonder if we can have him tossed into the Marianas Trench, wrapped in chains.

2:05 PM. The Swedish government issues a statement of annoyance against Don Cherry. We'd be willing to hand him over to you, no questions asked...

2:25 PM. Footage of Eddie the Eagle being taken onto a plane on a stretcher. He's heard calling out something about it all being a joke.

2:35 PM. Out of curiousity, I have checked up on this Eddie the Eagle on the staff's computer. He did that? And how on earth did someone like this end up in an Olympics the first time around anyway? It's almost as silly as Jamaicans bobsledding...

3:05 PM. The senile old bigot is back on the air. He remarks that he stands by his words: the Swedes need to be carpetbombed back to the stone age, and says that'll teach them some manners. 

Why won't Don Cherry just retire? He's got to be a thousand years old already....

5:55 PM. Waking up from nap. The staff is back home. She's fixing dinner. Smells good. I think it involves lasagna.

6:05 PM. Watching news. Olympics dominates the news. Don Cherry tells a press conference that he won't back down from what he said, insisting that he's always right, and gives a personal message to all of Sweden by extending his middle finger.

6:35 PM. The staff and I are having dinner. She doesn't let me have lasagna, but has set aside some of the ground beef she uses for the dish so that I can eat. Acceptable, staff, acceptable. Particularly with that side dish of milk. Now, let's have ourselves a bit of ice cream for dessert.

8:00 PM. The staff turns the television back on again, and tunes into figure skating. Staff! No! Figure skating is ridiculous!

8:05 PM. Oh, great. She loves figure skating, and doesn't understand that I can't stand it. I meow my protests most ardently.

9:40 PM. Watching some speed skating footage. Now this is much more entertaining than figure skating. Fortunately that Apolo Ohno twit is retired. I remember seeing him before. I always felt compelled to rip that stupid soul patch off his face.

11:00 PM. The staff is reading. I indulge myself in sitting on her lap and blocking her view of her book. My purrs are irresistible. 

11:30 PM. The staff is off to bed. Good night, staff. I shall be sleeping soon myself. Perhaps to dream of Apolo Ohno. And his horrible screams of anguish as I rip every hair of that soul patch out of his chin one by one.