Today I'm carrying on with the next part in this series of dog and cat blogs...
6:55 AM. Waking up out of deep slumber for no reason. In bed. Where is the staff, and why is the shower running at this hour?
7:05 AM. The staff comes out of the bathroom in a robe. Why on earth are you subjecting yourself to water torture at this hour? You could just make it easy on yourself and clean yourself up the same way I do. With your tongue.
7:10 AM. Meowing for my breakfast. The staff is chattering on and on about going to a wedding today. Wait a minute... this is the weekend. Your sole duty on the weekend is to cater to my every whim.
7:12 AM. It's no use... the staff won't pay attention to me. Apparently something inconsequential like being maid of honour for her best friend is more important than being at my beck and call.
7:15 AM. Back downstairs. Debating if I should demand to be let out. If she's already getting ready now, that means she'll leave soon. And I do not want to be stuck outside all day.
7:17 AM. The staff is downstairs to prepare breakfast. She's saying something about someone coming by later on to give me dinner. Wait a minute, you're going to be gone that long?
7:22 AM. She thinks she can get back in my good graces by giving me bacon for breakfast. This despite leaving me on my own today...
Hmmm, that bacon smells good....
7:24 AM. Yum yum yum... bacon tastes so good. Why can't you do this every day, staff? As I've explained many times, I don't care for field rations.
7:35 AM. Following staff back upstairs. She sheds the robe and starts getting dressed for the day. Naturally, I must watch. I feel so voyeuristic.
7:50 AM. The staff is finished dressing in something in peach. I guess bridesmaids and maids of honour must love their friends enough to dress in something like that for a wedding day...
8:10 AM. Escorting my staff to the door. Yes, yes, have fun at the wedding. I doubt they'll be serving tuna pate at the reception, but in case they do, bring me back some.
And whatever you do, I know it's practically tradition that the maid of honour's going to get lucky at these things, but you will not have sex without my express permission. Need I remind you of your bad taste in men?
8:12 AM. Watching my staff leave in the car. I suspect it's going to be a long day.
8:42 AM. Sitting on windowsill looking into yard. Birds on the grass. If it wasn't for this glass between us, I'd be on you like white on rice.
I wonder what that phrase means.
8:46 AM. Spotting movement at the forest line. Oh, wonderful. It's that annoying dog from down the road.
8:47 AM. Hey! Go away! You're not wanted here. Are you that unable to take a hint, you stupid mutt?
8:49 AM. The annoying mutt is wagging his tail. What is it with dogs and tails?
8:50 AM. Finally the dog decides to leave. Isis, what were you thinking when you created dogs?
9:30 AM. Deciding to look at things online. Fortunately I know the password the staff uses for her computer. Makes it so much easier.
9:45 AM. Examining articles on wedding customs and behaviours. Yes, there seems to be a well established tradition of the maid of honour getting lucky at weddings. And what's this? Catching the bouquet means she'll be the next one to get married?
The staff had better not catch a bouquet, let alone even think of getting married without my express permission.
10:05 AM. Watching online footage of women at a wedding reception clawing each other's eyes out for possession of a wedding bouquet.
Humans are truly weird.
10:10 AM. Feeling tired. I'll log off and take a nap. After I add one interesting item into the search history of the staff's computer. How To Steal The Mona Lisa.
2:10 PM. Wake up from nap. No sign of the staff. Just how long does it take to say I do and cut a cake?
4:10 PM. Turn on the television to see what's on. For some reason it's that World Cup nonsense. All they're doing is kicking a ball around and faking injuries! It's the most boring sport alive!
4:11 PM. Why on earth this sports inspires its fans to kill each other in riots is beyond me. I'm turning it off before it bores me any more.
5:35 PM. Front door opening. Well, hello there, Mrs. McIntyre. You're one of my favourite humans. Always good company, always willing to spoil me rotten. I take it you're the one who was going to be looking in on me?
In which case, I approve.
By the way, you smell like you've been around a dog.
To Be Continued....